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  Sophy stiffened, and Dewhurst sent Grimshaw a pained look. Putting a restraining hand on Dewhurst’s arm, she said levelly, “I am afraid that my relationship with Viscount Harrington is none of your business, and I would remind you, that these days, no man allows me to do anything!”

  “Which is unfortunate,” Grimshaw returned with a gleam in his gray eyes. “I have always thought that you needed the hand of a strong man. Since Simon died, you’ve developed into quite a shrew, my sweet. If you don’t watch that sharp tongue of yours, you may find that you have driven off every member of the male species.”

  Controlling her temper with an effort and reminding herself that she did not have to put up with his presence if she did not wish to, she said bluntly, “You are entitled to your own opinion. Now if you will excuse me, I intend to go in search of more congenial company.”

  She was on the point of turning away, when Grimshaw murmured, “Like the viscount? I see that he has arrived and is fast making his way to your side.”

  Sophy spun around to see that Grimshaw spoke the truth, and a tingle of delight shot through her at the sight of Ives’s tall form striding determinedly across the floor in her direction. The evening, which had seemed oddly flat, suddenly became dazzlingly vibrant, and the smile Sophy gave Ives when he finally reached her side brought a dazed expression to his craggy face.

  Bowing low over her hand, he murmured, “Can it be that you are actually pleased to see me, sweetheart?”

  A flush stained her cheeks at his public endearment, and her fingers trembled unaccountably in his warm grasp, as she muttered, “Viscount Harrington! If you would only learn to keep a civil tongue in your head, I am certain that our acquaintance would proceed more smoothly.”

  “But tediously, do you not agree?” he returned with a twinkle.

  Sophy snatched away her hand, which he was all too inclined to retain, from his, and said politely, “You remember Mr. Dewhurst and Lord Grimshaw?”

  Ives bowed to both men. “Of course. Lately I have been seeing a great deal of them. They need no further introduction. Good evening, gentlemen.”

  Sophy looked puzzled. “You have become friends?” she asked uncertainly. Dewhurst might be a favorite of hers, but she knew that he was as reckless a gambler and hardened a rake as all the others. And of course, Grimshaw . . . The thought of Ives becoming friends with a man whose mere glance filled her with revulsion was disquieting.

  Grimshaw laughed. “Ah, yes, the viscount has been joining your beloved uncle and me and several other friends for some enjoyable evenings lately.” He looked at Ives. “How much did you drop last night playing with Meade and Caldwell? Five thousand? Ten?”

  “Enough,” Ives replied lightly, “to make me wonder if I am a gambler, after all.”

  Ives was very aware of Sophy’s dismay that he should be losing such vast sums as well as the fact that he was apparently on such easy terms with a fellow like Grimshaw, and her uncle. He sighed inwardly. The lady was elusive enough, but if she thought he had turned into a reckless gambler and enjoyed the company of men like Grimshaw and Scoville . . .

  Dewhurst spoke up. “Did you receive the Allentons’ invitation for the weekend house party planned for mid-May?” he asked. “Allenton said he intended to invite you. It should be amusing. There will be some deep drinking and heavy gambling if I know Thomas Allenton and his lady. You should find it enjoyable.”

  “The Allentons’ house party?” Sophy inquired sharply. “You have been invited to stay at Crestview?”

  Ives flicked a brow upward at her tone of voice. “Yes, I have, but I have not yet made up my mind whether to attend or not.”

  “Oh, you will find it most amusing,” Grimshaw said. “Sally Allenton puts on a fine house party.” He cast a sly look at Sophy. “Unlike some hostesses, she is very easygoing and does not cast a rub in a fellow’s way.” He winked. “She also has some of the most... accommodating . . . female servants.”

  It was a most improper conversation to be having in front of Sophy, but she did not appear shocked by it, Ives thought. But then if everything he had heard of her husband was true, she would not be. In fact, she had probably been exposed to far worse.

  For a moment Ives was conscious of a great burst of rage within him at what Sophy must have endured. Simon Marlowe, he thought savagely, should have been drawn and quartered!

  Hiding his distaste for Grimshaw and the entire episode, Ives murmured, “Hmm, so I have heard. But I have also heard that there are many members of the ton who do not approve of either Allenton or his dashing wife. They are considered far too fast and careless of convention to suit many people.”

  “Only by stiff-rumped old harridans,” Grimshaw drawled. “I tell you, the Allentons are most amusing. You should accept the invitation. The company will be uncommonly gay.”

  Henry glanced at Sophy, who had been listening to the conversation with growing dismay. “And you, Lady Marlowe? Are you attending the house party?”

  Her refusal of the invitation was sitting on her writing table at home. She knew exactly the type of party it would be—she had survived too many similar orgies at Marlowe House while her husband was alive—and had thought that there was nothing on earth that would compel her to willingly attend such a wretched affair again.

  Allenton had been a frequent guest at Marlowe House, and he was of the same ilk as Grimshaw. The unsettling news that Ives appeared to be firmly clasped to the bosom of the most depraved of Simon’s friends gave her pause. She could not credit that he was as immoral a fellow as this conversation would lead one to believe, yet what else could she think? Perhaps, she thought unhappily, she should attend the Allenton party and see for herself.

  Sophy smiled weakly and admitted, “I have not yet made up my mind. I have heard that Crestview is very beautiful, and May is a lovely month. It might be pleasant to leave London briefly for a weekend in the country.”

  “I would not have thought that such a party would be to your liking,” Ives said slowly, a slight frown growing between his brows.

  “Oh, and what gave you that idea?” Sophy asked lightly. “I assure you that I have attended many parties of this sort.”

  Ives shrugged and let the subject drop. This was not the time to convince her that the last place she wanted to be was at Allenton’s house party. If he understood it right, it was going to be nothing short of a drunken bacchanalia and an excuse for the others to commit any sort of depraved excess which crossed their minds. For all her fashionable ways, Sophy was not that sophisticated, and he did not want her subjected to any unpleasantness. More importantly, he thought grimly, he did not want her to see him in his current guise of flagrant degenerate!

  The chance for private conversation between them did not occur until the next day, when Ives came to call. To Sophy’s annoyance, he showed himself into the conservatory where she had been reading a new novel from the Minerva Press. Ignoring the flutter in her chest, she told herself that he was too arrogant by half and that he was in desperate need of a sharp set-down. Show himself in, indeed!

  After greetings were exchanged, Ives immediately brought up the subject of the Allenton house party. “I wondered,” he began carefully, “if you had made up your mind about the Allentons’ invitation?”

  “Why?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing. “Why do you care whether or not I have decided to attend their party?”

  Normally he would have handled her more carefully, but the late nights he was keeping, not to mention the heavy drinking and the urgent need to keep her as far away from that sordid part of his life as possible, made him clumsy.

  Ives smiled, a smile that made her bones feel like sun-warmed honey, and promptly shot himself in the foot as he said, “Because, sweetheart, I do not think that it is the type of party you would enjoy. It would not be wise for you to attend.”

  Sophy gasped with outrage. He was telling her what to do! The utter gall of the man. It was perfectly acceptable for him to attend the wretched a
ffair, but he had the audacity to tell her that she should not. How dare he!

  “And you are a fool if you think that you can dictate to me where I should go! You have overstepped yourself, my lord. What I do is none of your affair, and I would remind you to remember that in the future,” she said icily, her lovely eyes brilliant.

  Cursing himself for taking his fences too fast, Ives groaned. Damn and blast! There would be no stopping her now, and it was his own bloody fault. Trying to undo the damage, he murmured, “You mistake my intention, Lady Marlowe. I only thought to warn you that the party may not be what you are used to.”

  Sophy’s lip curled. “I think you forget, my lord, that I was once married to one of the most debauched men in England. Believe me, there is nothing that will happen at the Allentons’ house party that will surprise me. Nothing will occur that I have not seen previously.”

  “Then you are determined to accept the invitation?” he asked grimly.

  “You may lay money on it!” Sophy retorted with great relish.

  Chapter Eight

  The weather for the Allenton house party was particularly fine. The sun was warm and golden, the sky a soft spring blue, and the air fragrant with the scent of roses and lilacs. Staring glumly out of the windows of her room at the Allenton estate of Crestview, Sophy was not consoled by either the charming setting or the wonderful May day.

  She had been, and she was the first to admit it, a fool for having allowed her temper to rule her. And she had no one but herself to blame for the predicament in which she found herself.

  Having met most of the guests the previous night when she arrived from London at the Allenton home in Surrey, it was appallingly clear that the house party was going to be every bit as vulgar and debauched as she had feared. Worse was the news confirming that Edward would definitely be in attendance. But far worse than that, it was obvious from his actions last evening that Ives Harrington was not the man she had first thought him; he was, it appeared, every bit as lewdly inclined as Simon had been.

  There was an unhappy droop to Sophy’s mouth as she stared out of the window of her second-floor room. She thought that she had begun to know Ives Harrington, but recalling his conduct last night her spirits sank. He had been right in the thick of it all, laughing coarsely and drinking wildly, his boon companions Grimshaw and a military man named Meade. Even more depressing, she had actually caught him ogling and pinching the bottom of one of the pretty housemaids. She sighed heavily. She had no doubt that the same housemaid had shared his bed last night.

  The idea of leaving crossed her mind more than once. Many of the guests were old friends of Simon’s, and they were definitely not the sort of people she wished to become reacquainted with. A shudder went through her.

  Last night’s raucous activities were a clear indication that events were not going to improve. The mere fact that Edward, Grimshaw, and all the others from Simon’s past were in attendance only confirmed her dismal opinion. She was in danger. By being in this very house, she was leaving herself open to the advances of men she detested and she was bitterly aware that she ran the risk of finding herself in a very precarious position. Crestview, this particular weekend, was no place for anyone who wished to hang on to even a shred of virtue. She should leave. Now. There was nothing here for her. Except Ives.

  A pang went through her and she wondered bleakly when he had come to mean so much to her. She could pretend no longer that the only emotions she experienced in his company were irritation and annoyance. She cared for him. Damn him!

  She did not know how it happened or when he had gone from amusing irritant to someone whose very presence was vital to her happiness, but it had happened. By infinitesimal degrees he had breached her defenses and deftly insinuated himself into her heart. Her problem now was how to get him out of that vulnerable space before he did more damage.

  Sophy frowned. The only way that she saw to accomplish her goal was to grasp the nettle and bear the sting. She would have to see him at his worst and let disgust and contempt fill her heart in place of the softer emotion that had come to dominate it. And the one sure way of doing that, she conceded grimly, was to remain at Crestview.

  Waking with an aching head and a mouth that felt like the floor of a henhouse, Ives was wishing violently that he was anywhere but at Crestview. The look of hurt and shock on Sophy’s face when she had caught him fondling the housemaid had been one of the lowest moments of his life. It was bad enough that she saw him cavorting familiarly with men he freely stigmatized as scoundrels and blackguards, but to observe him acting like a damn-all rake of the worst kind . . .

  The expression on her lovely face, the disbelief and bleak disappointment that had flashed across her features had been like a knife blade in his heart. And there was not one damn thing he could do about it! Not unless he wanted to undo everything he had done so far and frighten off his quarry.

  The Fox was near, Ives could swear to it. There was no doubt in his mind that he was probably already on very good terms with his quarry. More importantly, events seemed to be moving in the direction he wanted.

  Last night, appearing far more drunk than he actually had been, he had played hand after hand of whist with Grimshaw, Meade, and Coleman. Marquette, Dewhurst, and a few others had been looking on, and to his intense satisfaction, the subject of the planted memorandum had been mentioned.

  It had been Meade, of course, who brought it up. He had been completely foxed and could not help bragging a little about what he knew. Marquette—or had it been Dewhurst?—had made some comment about the progress of Wellesley’s troops on the Peninsula, and Meade could not help referring to a very important memorandum that had just crossed his desk that very day.

  When pressed by Grimshaw and Coleman and the others to reveal its contents, he had grown sly and, beyond throwing out tantalizing hints, had revealed little. Ives was certain the Fox had been present and his quarry now knew that a very important document existed and that his tool, Meade, could lay his hands on it. The question remained: Would he take the bait?

  Ashby entered the room just then with a silver tray containing a tall, lidded pot, various condiments, and china and utensils. Watching blearily as his manservant placed the tray on a nearby table, Ives asked, “Tell me that you have brought me very black, very hot coffee and a great deal of it.”

  Ashby grinned. “Deep doings last night, were there, my lord?” Ives sat up and promptly groaned as his head exploded into a thousand shards of plain. “Indeed there were. Too deep for me, I am afraid. Many more nights of this sort of activity, and I shall be a withered old man before my time.” He glanced at Ashby. “Anything interesting to report?”

  Ashby shook his head. “No, except that this is a curst rum household, I can tell you. Too many young and pretty female servants about and most of them gigglers with greased heels, if you catch my meaning. As for William and John, they have discovered nothing either, other than there is some mighty fine horseflesh driven by your friends.”

  Taking the cup of coffee Ashby handed him, Ives took a wary sip. It was bloody-damn hot and strong enough to melt teeth—just the way he liked it on a morning like today.

  Several cups later, Ives felt enough in control of himself to attempt to rise and dress. The room spun, and for one awful moment he thought he would lose the contents of his stomach. But the room finally slowed and he was able cautiously to wash and groom himself.

  Garbed for the day and feeling a trifle more in control of himself, he said, “There is something the three of you can do for me. Keep your eye on Meade, but keep an eye on Lady Marlowe, too.” His mouth twisted. “I can offer her little protection since I shall be involved with Meade. None of the gentlemen here seem above forcing their attentions on anything female, and a few of them would not stop at rape. I do not want her in any danger.”

  Ashby nodded, his face somber. “I see you had your room changed. Is Lady Marlowe next door?”

  Ives started to nod, but then thought be
tter of it. “Yes. Lady Allenton simpered and looked arch when I requested the change, but she made no comment.”

  “What are you going to do today?” Ashby asked as he gathered up things and prepared to leave the room.

  “I would like to hide out and nurse my head, but I am afraid that option is not open to me. Fortunately, I doubt that many of the guests will be up and about until late in the afternoon, so I may be able to please myself for much of the day.”

  Ives looked thoughtful. “I shall probably try to redeem myself somewhat with the lady, but I suspect that endeavor will end in futility. And this evening when she sees me acting as depraved and salacious as Grimshaw and the others, all my efforts will be for naught.” His expression was grim as he finished speaking.

  Ives’s observations proved correct. Most of the guests did sleep the day away, and his plans to ingratiate himself into Sophy’s good graces came to naught. Unlike nearly everyone else, she was certainly up and about, but she had nothing for him but stiff replies. The contemptuous glances she flashed him from those great golden eyes of hers sent his heart right down to the bottom of his highly polished Hessians. He went up to change for dinner in a thoroughly foul mood.

  Despite her cool reception to his overtures, Sophy felt herself half-hoping she had been mistaken in him. Perhaps last night had been an aberration? She made a face in the mirror as she watched her maid arrange the masses of golden hair in a charming knot of curls on the top of her head. Was she so desperate to believe well of him, she wondered, that she was now willing utterly to delude herself? She snorted. Suddenly disgusted with herself for being such a weak-willed ninny, she determined to take action.

  Unhappily she faced the fact that the man who had charmed her and broken down her defenses had been merely playing a role in order to slip beneath her guard and that his true character had only recently been revealed. Her mouth tightened. Well, she wasn’t going to waste any more heartache on Ives Harrington, she decided fiercely. She would endure tonight, but in the morning she was leaving for London.