There were more men in uniform than in civilian evening dress. The women glittered under the brilliant chandeliers-a swarm of jeweled butterflies in gowns every shade of the rainbow. But something lurked beneath the gaiety-a feverishness to the conversations, a slightly shrill pitch to the laughter, the distracted darting of eyes around the room, on the watch for a sign, a hint of new information. The world contained in the Duchess of Richmond's salons this hot June night was in waiting.
The Marquis of Carrington was speaking with the Duke of Wellington and General Karl von Clausewitz across the salon from the double entrance doors as Judith and Sebastian entered the room. Judith glanced sideways into the massive gilt-framed mirror on the wall, checking her reflection. She was abruptly annoyed with herself After this morning's debacle, Carrington was unlikely to approach her, and why did she want him to? The man had offered her the most offensive insult imaginable. She turned to her brother. "Dance with me, Sebastian."
"If you wish." He looked at her quizzically. "But since when have you been dependent on your brother for a partner?"
"My card is filled from the third cotillion," she said, taking his arm. "I refused partners until then because I didn't think I'd want to dance immediately. But I find that I do."
Sebastian said nothing, merely clasped her waist lightly and whirled her into the dance.
They were a strikingly handsome couple, Carrington reflected, watching them, his mind wandering from the discussion of the need for latitudinal support for the Prussians behind the Sambre. Copper-haired and with those fine golden-brown eyes, flecked with green, they could almost be twins. There must be barely a year between them. Judith's chin was slightly more rounded than her brother's, but they both had straight, well-pro-portioned noses and generous mouths, slanting cheekbones and firm jawlines. An elegant pair of disreputable adventurers. Who were they? And where the devil had they sprung from?
Would she refuse to dance with him after the morning's fiasco? A man's pride could take only so many defeats at the hands of an impudent, though admittedly clever, baggage.
After excusing himself from his companions, he moved around the dance floor until the Davenports were abreast of him. Then he weaved his way deftly between dancing couples and lightly tapped Sebastian's shoulder. It was a most unorthodox procedure, but sometimes a man must be creative.
"Will you yield your sister, Davenport? It seems a crying shame that you should keep her to yourself when you have the advantage of her company at all other times."
Sebastian grinned. "Well, as to that, Carrington, it's for Judith to say."
"Ma'am?" Carrington bowed with a self-mocking gallantry. His eyes smiled, both colluding and conciliatory.
Judith glanced around, well aware of the notice the byplay was attracting. Marcus Devlin had rather cleverly cornered her.
"I suppose a woman must grow accustomed to being passed from hand to hand like a parcel," she said, gracefully moving out of Sebastian's encircling arm and turning into her new partner's hold.
"Baggages are usually handled in such fashion," Marcus murmured, savoring the feel or her. She was light and compact… and as sleek and dangerous as a lynx.
Judith drew a sharp breath. "I suppose, after this morning, I must expect such an insult from you, sir."
"Is that the best you can do?" His eyebrows lifted quizzically. "You disappoint me, Judith.''
"Unfortunately, I don't have my pistol with me," she returned. "I trust you've recovered your equilibrium, sir."
"It took awhile," he admitted. "I've never had dealings with a lynx before, you see."
"A lynx?" She was betrayed into looking up at him.
His black eyes laughed down at her, rich with enjoyment.
"Yes, my lynx, exactly so."
A tinge of pink appeared on her high cheekbones. It seemed sensible to ignore such a statement. "You received the payment of my debt of honor, I trust, sir."
"I did indeed. I am grateful for the improvement in my financial state."
She caught her lip between her teeth and resolutely fixed her gaze in the middle distance over his shoulder. But it was impossible, and finally she chuckled and he felt the tension leave her body.
"Am I forgiven?" he asked, suddenly serious.
"For what, my lord?"
"I'm not playing games now, Judith. I have begged your pardon for this morning. I should like to know if my apology is accepted."
"It would be ungenerous of me to refuse to do so, my lord."
"And you are not, of course, ungenerous."
She met his eye then. "No, I am not. It's not the Davenport way. Any more than it's our way to be dishonorable."
"Card sharping is honorable then?" It was not a playful question and she bit her lip again, but not this time to hide her laughter.
"I can't explain about that."
"No, I should imagine it's very difficult to explain."
"We don't make a habit of it," she said stiffly.
"I'm relieved to hear it."
"When we win at the tables, we win on skill and experience," she said. "What you saw… or thought you saw-"
"I saw it."
"We were merely practicing for a couple of hands. The money involved was insignificant."
"You'll forgive me if I remain unconvinced of the scrupulous purity of your play."
Judith was silent. There seemed nothing more to say.
When he spoke again, the hard edge had left his voice. "I might, however, be induced to understand why you were obliged to learn such dubious arts."
Her chin went up and for the first time he saw the shadows in the lynx eyes. "Would you, my lord?" she said coldly. "That's really too kind of you. But I hope you won't consider me discourteous if I tell you my business is my own. Your understanding is a matter of complete indifference to me."
Marcus drew breath in sharp anger. His hand tightened around hers, crushing the slender fingers. Then the dance ended and she had pulled free of him. Fighting his anger, he watched her walk off the floor, her gown of ivory spider gauze over deep cream satin setting off the rich burnished copper hair falling in delicate ringlets to her shoulders. He wondered whether the topaz necklace and earrings were paste. If they were, they were remarkably good copies. But then he couldn't fault the skill with which the Davenports conducted their masquerade.
Who the devil were they? And why did she arouse in him this savage hunger?
He shook his head impatiently and stalked off the dance floor. An image of Martha drifted into his head: soft, brown-haired, doe-eyed Martha, who wouldn't say boo to a goose. Gentle, simple Martha… the perfect prey. A lamb on the one hand and an untamed lynx on the other. There must be a middle course.
Judith retreated to the retiring room. She was more shaken than she cared to admit by the intimacy of Car-rington's questions. They trespassed on the darkness, the
darkness that only Sebastian could ever truly know and understand, because he shared it. She confided only in her brother. It was the way it had to be. Their secrets and their griefs and their plans were their own. They knew no other way of living.
She bent to the mirror, adjusting a pin in her hair. The room was filled with chattering women, making repairs to dress or countenance. The talk was all of what they would do when the battle was joined.
"I'm not staying here to be raped by a horde of Frenchmen," one lady declaimed, fanning herself vigorously as she sat on a velvet stool in front of a mirror.
"Oh, dear countess, how could you imagine such a thing happening?" squeaked a dim, brown mouse of a woman, dropping a comb to the floor. "The duke would never leave us to the mercies of the ogre."
"Once our own men have left the city, those Frenchies will be here, you mark my words," the countess said with an almost salacious dread as she brushed a haresfoot across her rouged cheeks.