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“My mother’s actually,” she informed him with a chilly look. “To the carriage, Thorpe,” she demanded once again.

But the animal remained firmly in place, setting an imperious paw on Adam’s patents.

“Really, Thorpe, this is the outside of enough,” Miranda hissed.

“It would appear that he is not heeding you,” Adam said with a soft chuckle. “If you would allow me, Miss Wilton.”

“He will scratch you dreadfully, milord. No one but Mama . . .”

But Adam had already drawn the cat into his arms. Miss Wilton’s expression was one of patent amazement as Thorpe suffered his head to be stroked, letting out a loud rumble that was more akin to a roar than a purr.

At the sound, Lady Wodesby turned with a startled stare. Hurriedly, she made her way back to the front of the room to stand before Adam. “But of course,” she spoke a trifle absently. “It should have been obvious. Thank you for bringing him to my attention, Thorpe. You may go now.”

With a “Meoowrrrr,” that somehow put Adam in mind of “yes, milady,” the cat jumped from his arms and padded from the room with the dignified gait of a superior servant, his tail and head upraised.

“I shall read the cards for you, Lord Brand,” Lady Wodesby said, inclining her head like a queen conferring a boon.

His Uncle Lawrie kicked him on the shin. The older man’s warning frown emphasized his none too gentle hint that a polite decline was in order. “Perhaps, milady, you might want to seek out someone who is more interested in your . . . er . . . talents.”

Lady Enderby was aghast, and Adam knew the reason.

A scene of monstrous proportions was looming.

Certainly something had to be done. The dream of every London society matron seemed about to come true.

Their hostess was anticipating that an infamous incident about to unfold in her very own ballroom.

He could just imagine how it would be described in the scandal rags.

The rigid flint of the foremost naysayer in England striking a spark of conflict with the so-called heiress of ancient magic; the cream of the ton serving as tinder for a marvelous conflagration.

Adam had no intention of lighting the fuse and he was about to decline once again until Lady Enderby stepped into the breach.

“Now milord,” she said, chiding him like a recalcitrant child. “Lady Wodesby said that she would do the choosing and ‘tis clear that her cat chose you.”

“The cursed beast was only seeking out those known to him,” Adam protested. “Doubtless, the cat would have gone to anyone sitting next to Miss Wilton.”

“I must say, Lord Brand, that this is most unsportsmanlike of you. You should be glad of this privilege,” Lady Enderby declared with a martial gleam in her eye. “Especially given your most public interest in the realms of magic. Do not tell me you are afraid of what Lady Wodesby might say?”

He was doomed. Lady Enderby had laid him low by invoking the sacred credo of sportsmanship, but her final imputation was a dastardly blow. By no means could he refuse without seeming both hypocrite and coward.

“Very well, Lady Wodesby, but I feel it only fair to warn you that I do not place any credence whatsoever in this folderol,” Lord Brand said as he rose and walked up to the front of the room.

“That is of limited importance, milord,” Lady Wodesby said graciously as she seated herself in one of the chairs. “Although, the reading would be somewhat easier if you were a believer.”

“Is that what you intend to claim then, Madame?” Adam asked, his words dripping skepticism. “Even before you start, you hedge your bets by implying that your interpretations might be inaccurate due to my feelings.”

“Nothing of the sort, Lord Brand,” Lady Wodesby said, inclining her head to indicate that he should sit down.

“The cards will reveal as little or as much as they wish. It is only a matter of the energy that I must expend to seek the answers if you close your mind to the possibility of what they may say. Now if you will give me a moment, I must accustom myself to this unfamiliar deck. One always prefers to work with familiar tools, but I shall make do.” She closed her eyes and held the cards in her hands, frowning.

With a sigh, her eyes opened and she handed the cards to Lord Brand. “Look at them, touch each one.”

“This is absurd.”

“Do you wish me to have the excuse of failure, because you refuse to play this game by its rules?” she asked archly.

Reluctantly, Adam received the deck and examined the garishly drawn pictures. He had more than a passing familiarity with the Tarot. His many encounters with the false prophets of the pasteboards had provided him with a fair acquaintance with the Tarot’s iconography.

With grudging obedience, he handled each card, marking a few surreptitiously under the cover of close examination.

A useless act, most likely, but at the least it gave Adam a small sense of control over the situation.

The tawdry painted Sun, an unsmiling bearded Hermit, the Wheel of Fortune, the macabre face of Death, each was minutely bent or impressed with the imprint of a nail until the last of the twenty-two, the Hanged Man came into his hands.

The poor fellow, dangling upside down by his foot with his eyes wide open, roused odd feelings of sympathy.

As Adam surveyed the expectant faces of the crowd, he felt as if he too, were suspended for humiliating public display.

“Will that suffice?” he asked harshly.

Lady Wodesby nodded. “Shuffle.”

Adam obeyed, once again, using his expertise to fix the order of the deck. Lady Wodesby shook her head, her smile amused as he returned the deck to her.

“You cannot cheat the whims of fate, Lord Brand, much as you might try,” she said and he knew that she had somehow detected his sleight of hand, but she did not attempt to change the order he had created.

Candle glow touched the rings on her hands.

Her fingers moved with swift grace touching everything with a jeweled aura that seemed to soften the harsh colors.

A trick of light, nothing more, Adam decided, blinking.

“Past, present, near future, far future.” She indicated clusters of face-down cards representing each. “Self, others, dreams, and fears. Choose.”

Following her pointed direction, Adam set his selected cards face up. He located and revealed the Hermit.

“So you deliberately take cynicism as your symbol,” Lady Wodesby said, tacitly telling him that she was well aware of his effort to mark the draw. “Loneliness is your companion and bitterness has driven you inward.”

Generalities, words that could apply to most of mankind, so it was not surprising that they struck a chord.

Yet, as they moved on, Adam was impressed by the manner in which she matched the cards with shrewd assessment.

Without doubt, Lady Wodesby was the most intuitive card-turning charlatan that he had ever come across.

He had to remind himself that most of the information that she “revealed” was public knowledge.

Finally, the “oohs” and “ahhs” of the spectators irritated him beyond bearing. Adam could no longer stand the charade.

“Specifics, milady,” he demanded. “You say nothing here that half of London does not already know.”

Lady Wodesby arched an eyebrow. “Do you truly wish me to be more specific, Lord Brand?

‘Tis usually the minor Arcana that is used for the divination of the esoteric. Normally, I carry my decks with me, however the small reticules that are de regeur for the evening can hold nothing of use. My cards are at home.”

“How convenient,” Adam said, not bothering to conceal his derision. “Shall we draw this gammon to an end, milady?”

“I said that it would be difficult,” Lady Wodesby said stiffly, “not impossible. All the Arcana are in my mind, sir.”

“Mama, no!” Miranda rose, concern writ plain on her countenance. “Is it not bad enough that you must work against his disbelief? No matter what you say, he will still find some way to make you appear the liar. Without the proper tools, the strain upon you could-”

“Hush, my dear,” Lady Wodesby said, “I do what I must.”

Miranda was instantly silent at that final emphasized “must.” She cast the Marquess a look of disgust.

Adam groaned inwardly. Miss Wilton obviously believed in her mother’s magical fiction, and he was beginning to consider the possibility that Lady Wodesby was fooling herself as well.

In his experience, true charlatans were relatively simple to deal with.

Uncover their trickery, reveal them as frauds and the vermin scurried back behind the wainscoting from whence they came.

However, he had encountered a few individuals who truly placed credit in their own magical capacities.

Those true believers were far more difficult to deal with.

They would hang upon any excuse, seize upon any questionable rationale when their so-called powers failed.

If Lady Wodesby’s reading were to continue unsatisfactorily, she had already paved the path of blame by placing fault upon the cards and his attitude.

Yet, having cast down the gauntlet, he had no choice but to let the farce continue.

“We shall carry on if you will, but I ask you to forgive me if I reveal what you would have wished to remain private,” she said.

“You have my permission,” Adam agreed with a dismissive wave of the hand.

“Very well. If you will bring me writing materials, Hester?” Lady Wodesby closed her eyes.

“I am now fixing the forty cards of the four suits in my mind. You know the Tarot, Lord Brand. I ask you to picture the faces of the Queens, Kings, Knights and Pages, Lord Brand. I will also place before you the accompanying symbols of Wands, Cups, Swords and Pentacles. I have shuffled them and now I deal them in four rows.”

A servant brought paper, pen and ink.