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“Stop ogling a slut?” He laughed. “Now, why would I do that? If he’s too shy to fondle you, I’m certainly not.”

“Sir, I must protest!” Mr. Pearce said. It sounded more like a plea than a threat. He looked positively terrified, poor man. She would rather he didn’t get hurt—in fact, she couldn’t risk it, for he was their clue to some sort of plot.

But what was she to do?

Wharton ignored him and put an arm around Lucinda. “Come to me, sweetheart.”

“Let go of me,” she snapped, trying to wrest herself away, but he tightened his arm. Where was Restive and his so-called protection?

“Leave her be!” Mr. Pearce cried, trying to pull Wharton’s arm away. Wharton slapped him, and Mr. Pearce clenched his fists. “Dastard! I demand satisfaction!”

Lucinda, meanwhile, dug frantically in her reticule. Where was the penknife? She came out with her scissors instead.

Wharton laughed at Pearce and eyed Lucinda’s decolletage. His fingers snaked forward to caress her.

She jabbed his hand with the scissors. He yelped and let her go, bumping into the table and knocking the cards onto the floor.

Restive strode into the room and gave a bark of laughter. “Well done, Miss Belair.”

Wharton cradled his injured hand. “Why, you bitch! I’ll?—”

Restive’s fist shot out, and Wharton fell to the floor, blood spurting from his nose. He choked out a truly vulgar curse. “If you’re so fond of your doxy, Restive, don’t let her play with other men.”

“She’s no one’s doxy,” Restive growled. “She’s my responsibility .”

Oh, she was, was she? With difficulty, she refrained from glancing at the tittering whist players.

“Shall I demand an apology on your behalf, Miss Belair?” Restive asked, while a shaken Mr. Pearce gathered up the cards.

“No, for an apology from such a man is worthless,” Lucinda said, eyeing the blood on her scissors with distaste.

“True.” Restive took the scissors, wiped them on his handkerchief, and handed them back. “Come then, let’s go.” He tossed the handkerchief to Wharton, who took it with a snarl.

“Not yet,” she said. “First I must speak to Lady Alice about Mr. Pearce’s kind invitation.”

“What invitation?” Restive demanded.

B loody hell, thought Restive. Needing to come to her rescue had been damned inconvenient. He’d been eavesdropping on a significant conversation—in French.

On the other hand, she’d shown just the sort of initiative required of an agent of the Crown. She’d realized that uncovering the plot mattered more than obeying his orders.

Coming from Pearce, the invitation must be significant. He hurried Lucinda from the room; best not to let Wharton hear.

“Miss Belair insists that you must escort her and Lady Alice to my aunt’s party,” the poet said, following them. “I shall do my best to acquire an invitation for you as well, although it may be difficult.”

“If you want Miss Belair to attend, you shall have no choice,” Restive said. “When is this gathering to take place?”

“The day after tomorrow,” Pearce said. “Beltane Eve.”

Ah.

“It’s a masquerade and will be great fun.” Pearce gabbled on and on about the select company, the propriety ensured by the hostess, and so on.

Damn, damn, damn .

“No,” he said, when at last they shook him off, gathered up Lady Alice, and drove away.

“What do you mean, no ?” Lucinda demanded. “I ruined my reputation, not to mention my safety, by playing piquet with Mr. Pearce to find out what he really wanted! We have to go!”

“ You don’t. Davis and I shall.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Lucinda said. “He wants, no, needs me to come.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Restive said. “You did very well tonight, Miss Belair. It took courage to play piquet despite its unfortunate connotations. However?—"

“I’m not an idiot,” she said. “I defended myself today.”

He huffed. “Yes, you and your little scissors did very well, but he wouldn’t have seriously assaulted you right there with a pack of tabbies watching. This is dangerous business. A masquerade, of all things! Anything can happen there, and assault and rape will be the least of your worries.”

“Oh, heavens,” Lady Alice said. “He’s right, dear. It will never do.”

“What could possibly be worse than rape?” Lucinda demanded, and then, “Oh.”

H er life might be in danger. That was what he meant. If treason were involved, or even sedition, the perpetrators might kill to protect themselves.

“I overheard a conversation tonight,” Restive said.

“Actually, if it makes you feel any better, it was thanks to your presence that the two—who I believe are conspirators—managed to speak privately. Unfortunately, I didn’t see them, as they were behind a servants’ door, trying to avoid being overheard by Wharton. You distracted him nicely.”

“What does Wharton have to do with anything?” Lucinda said.

“He is also a government agent, and thanks to several blunders, is known as such by the enemy. His new role, which infuriates him, is merely to lead the plotters astray, whilst I work in secret. He considers me a rival for a position which he feels is rightly his. He must have had me followed here, suspecting that I know something he doesn’t.

” He cursed. “My advantage is that I am not known as an agent, although that won’t last long if he keeps putting himself in my way. ” Another curse.

Lady Alice tutted. “Such language, Algy!”

“Sorry, Auntie.” He frowned. “Hopefully, his inability to keep his hands to himself will make them think he came here to try his luck with you.”

“Well, I refuse to pretend anything but loathing for him,” Lucinda said. “Why did he want to arrest Mr. Davis at your estate?”

“He knows Davis is my contact with an agent in France. He seeks any pretense to arrest him because he wants that contact for himself.”

“But you’re working for the same cause!” Lucinda said.

“His only cause is himself,” Restive said. “I don’t claim to be a saint—I loathe this sort of work—but if I must do it, I’ll do it properly.” He paused. “Which means not putting you in danger.”

“What if Mr. Pearce needs me to be there for the plot to succeed?”

“We’ll provide a substitute. Dressed to pass for you in costume.”

“Mr. Davis?”

“I expect so. You’re a tallish girl, and he’s only a lad.”

“Yes, but our features are not at all alike.”

“A mask and some lip rouge should help. He’s good at disguises.”

“His voice isn’t at all like mine, either.”

“He’ll whisper a lot. Pretend he has a sore throat and lost his voice. I don’t know.” He sounded awfully grumpy.

“What about Lady Alice? Is she to risk her life as my substitute’s chaperone?”

“Definitely not! My aunt will fall ill at the last moment. Or she’ll refuse to permit you to attend, and you’ll make a secret assignation with Pearce, which Davis will keep. Or some combination of the two. In the meantime, you will continue to favor him. We have two days to decide.”

The we , obviously, did not include her.