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Someone…who? With an unwelcome sense of foreboding—as if she hadn’t enough to worry about already—Lucinda followed her up the stairs.

R estive and Davis, who was playing valet for the moment, drove to the Bell Inn, a pretty spot on the river.

“Come for Lady D’s masquerade, have you, my lord?” The innkeeper bowed low.

“Yes, for my sins,” Restive said, as ostlers hurried out to take the horses’ heads, and Davis unloaded the baggage. “I don’t care much for masquerades anymore, but I didn’t like to refuse Lady Delworth’s invitation.”

“Aye, she’s a goodhearted lady,” the innkeeper said. “Has plenty of overnight guests, looks like, by the number of carriages going in early.”

“Anyone you recognized?” Restive grimaced. “I wouldn’t mind knowing in advance whom I’m likely to encounter there.”

“Not to say recognize, exactly,” the innkeeper said, “but one of the carriages had a lozenge on the panel.”

“Perhaps one of her ladyship’s cronies?” Restive said. “One doesn’t expect many dowagers at a masquerade.” Except perhaps those known for seeking excitement.

“A young one, mayhap, my lord?” The innkeeper winked, and Restive smirked. Thanks to the broadsheets, his reputation was well known, and he couldn’t risk going out of character tonight. Anyone might be working for the seditionists, and although the innkeeper likely wasn’t, the walls had ears.

Fifteen minutes later, attired as a shepherdess with her beribboned crook and carrying several posies in a basket, Davis slipped out a side door.

Meanwhile, Restive dressed himself as Prince Rupert of the Rhine.

There were plenty of places to stow weapons as the soldier prince.

Not only that, he could carry a sword cane, too.

The only drawback was the long, curly wig, which was de rigueur at the time of the Restoration and for far too long afterwards.

He stowed his mask in a pocket and sauntered out of the inn and down the street, twirling the beribboned cane.

It was less than half a mile to Lady Delworth’s house.

He had been invited there once, years ago, before the death of her husband.

It was set back from the river, with a terrace leading to a swath of lawn and the embankment of the Thames.

Despite the stone wall surrounding most of the estate, it was easy to access it via the water—on foot at low tide and by boat when the tide was high.

He strolled along, affecting unconcern whilst anxiety gnawed at him. When he reached Davis, who was flirting obnoxiously with one of Restive’s men, he snapped, “Well?”

“Care for a posy, guv?” Davis asked. “Or maybe three or five? Plenty willing ladies at the masquerade.”

Restive’s man, whose name was Baker, told Davis to shut his cakehole. “Miss Belair went in willingly with Pearce. The coach they came in belongs to Lady Tollister, but she was already here.”

Proof that she was involved—no surprise, but in what way? She didn’t have the wits to plot sedition, but she had plenty of guile.

“Some others are here,” the man went on.

“A young lady in a hack, alone and not in costume, shortly before Miss Belair and Pearce. A Neptune, a Harlequin and a Columbine, a Richard Lionheart, a Roman senator, and a goddess—Athena, I think, but a bit long in the tooth. She weren’t no Venus, that’s for sure.

I didn’t recognize any of ‘em. Just now, Mr. and Mrs. Haraldson, not in costume. Then two young toffs dressed as gladiators.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Not a pretty sight, I can tell you that. And Mr. Pain-in-the-arse Wharton as Henry the Eighth.”

“Unoriginal,” Davis said. “Never fear, coz. Soon’s I get rid of these flowers, I’ll take care of Wharton.”

“Watch him, but don’t kill him.” Restive tossed a coin into the basket, scooped up all the posies, thanked Baker, and forced himself to stroll the rest of the way.

L ucinda and Alfreda had just reached the bedchamber where they were to dress when Mr. Pearce careened out of a passage toward them. “Lucinda!” he cried, belatedly noticing Alfreda. “Oh, it’s you, Miss, er, Wallace. Glad you could come. Lucinda, I mean Miss Belair, I need to speak with you.”

“Go ahead then,” Lucinda said, and when he paused, said, “Here I am. Speak.”

“Privately,” he mouthed.

“Ooh,” Alfreda said, “how romantic. Go on then, Lucinda. Come and get me when you’re done .” She paused. “With whatever you’re going to do in private.”

“We’re going to talk ,” Lucinda scoffed. “Nothing more.”

“If you say so,” Alfreda said slyly.

“I have the utmost respect for Miss Belair,” Mr. Pearce said pompously, and then his lip quivered. One could almost see the warring emotions as they passed through him. “I would never stoop to taking advantage.”

“Boring. What else is a masquerade for?” Alfreda tittered and walked away.

“Very well,” Lucinda said. “What is it?”

He took her by the arm and hustled her along the corridor. “I want you to see my mother,” he said.

“Your mother is here ?”

“Yes, they took her captive by—by a foul trick! If you see her, you’ll understand how important it was to me to bring you here as well.”

“Surely she won’t want to see me,” Lucinda protested. “She may even blame me for what happened to her. In any case, aren’t they guarding her?”

“No, they’ve given her something to make her sleep.” They turned the corner into another corridor. Mr. Pearce opened a door and Lucinda peered into the room. A low lamp showed a white-haired lady lying on her back, fully clothed, on top of the coverlet. She snored in a soft, gentle rhythm.

Well, at least they didn’t drug me , thought Lucinda. Because they needed her to be awake for something else—but for what and for how long?

“It will kill me if they harm her,” he said miserably, and then, almost as an afterthought, “I don’t make a practice of abducting innocent maidens, I swear.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Lucinda said, feeling sorry for him.

“But if you must know, looking back on it, it was rather exciting, for me at least.” Which was mostly untrue, but perhaps it would comfort him a little.

“How many young ladies get the chance to be abducted by a handsome poet? And I would have come anyway, only a bit later.”

“True. Either way, you would be here now, wouldn’t you?” He sighed, unhappy, she thought, but resigned.

L ady Delworth was just coming out of the ballroom, whence floated strains of music, when Restive entered the house.

He’d waved his aunt’s invitation at the footman manning the door, but her ladyship wasn’t as easy to deceive—which is why he didn’t bother donning his mask.

Best to find out now what her involvement might be.

She pursed her lips. “You were not invited, my lord. This is a respectable masquerade.”

“I come in the guise of a chaperone,” he said, “that is, in place of my aunt, who is unwell this evening. I am to keep an eye on her protegée, Miss Belair.”

“You don’t look much like a chaperone,” she retorted. “Who are you meant to be, Charles the Second or the Earl of Rochester? Either way, you’re not at all respectable. Why, they call you Stallion, of all horrid names.”

“Given to me in my boyhood by idiotic friends,” Restive said. “I can’t help it if my name invites such folly.”

“Perhaps, but you can help it by not acting on it. By what I’ve heard?—”

“Not everything one hears is the truth,” Restive said, beginning to be impatient. “Tonight, I’m Prince Rupert of the Rhine, Charles II’s soldier cousin. He was a much more responsible sort of man—as am I this evening.”

“I daresay, but you’re not even wearing your mask!” She fluttered her hands. “Everyone will know who you are. It will give my masquerade a bad name.”

“I wished to greet you first, my lady, and reassure you as to my good intentions before donning my mask.” Obediently, he went to the mirror in the entryway and slipped the plain black mask on—not that he would leave it there.

As himself, he could prowl without being suspected of anything but lust. “And to reassure myself as well. Is Miss Belair here? She feared that her mother would forbid her at the last moment, so she may have made her way on her own.”

“My nephew brought her. He is very much enamored of her, but he is a perfect gentleman, so you need not fear for her safety.”

“How kind of him,” Restive said. “However, she is a disobedient chit and my responsibility. If I may not stay, I shall have to remove her now—and she will not take that well.” He gave an artistic shudder.

Lady Delworth threw up her hands. “Oh, very well, you may stay. But you must promise not to importune anyone—innocent or otherwise.”

“I shall be as perfect a gentleman as Mr. Pearce.” So far, so good. Seemingly, Lucinda was well, but what was she planning to do, apart from never forgiving him? She was a blasted nuisance, preventing him from concentrating on his real reason for being here.