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L ucy had learned how to swim in the slow-moving river at home but knew she could never prevail against the current of the Thames, much less combined with the outgoing tide.

She tore off the hastily stitched gown and swam desperately for the embankment.

Her gown was behind her now, caught on some debris, while Wharton was already yards ahead, floundering, then going under.

He didn’t resurface, and she struggled toward the embankment, grabbing for anything that might come to hand, scraping her fingers against stone and other debris, and grasped a dangling rope just before the current swept her past.

The French ship was gone. Guests milled about in the garden, their expressions confused in the light of the bonfire.

She didn’t think they had seen her yet, but she couldn’t wait for them to leave.

She had to get out of the river. The water was cold, so very cold, and she was practically naked.

Her stays barely reached to her nipples, and nothing covered her legs but a flimsy shift that ended above her knees.

Restive was upriver, near where she and Wharton had fallen in. He cried out as her gown finally swept away and ran toward the water, tearing off his coat.

“Algy!” she yelled, waving frantically. “I’m here!”

“Thank God,” Restive said, hastening to lift her bodily from the water. “Stop struggling, Lucy. I’ve got you.”

“I’m half-naked,” she cried, shivering.

“I noticed,” Restive said with a grin. He put his arms around her. “Ah, Lucy, you are magnificent.”

“What I am is freezing!” she retorted, “and totally ruined now, thanks to?—”

“Thank God,” he said again, holding her close and kissing her hard and long. Heat washed over her. When at last he let her go, she was shaking, and it wasn’t from the wet and cold.

She struggled, still dazed by that sudden, intense onslaught of desire.

And appalled at her complete loss of control.

Restive released her. “Lucy, I—” he began, but Davis loped up, dressed once again as a lad and carrying the shepherdess gown.

Lucinda greeted his arrival with relief. She didn’t think she could bear to hear Restive apologize for kissing her, to swear it was a mistake caused by relief, to promise never to do it again. How could she have been so stupid as to fall in love with him?

“Well done, Miss Belair,” Davis said. “You rid us of Wharton for good.”

“That was pure luck,” she said, reaching for the gown. “He was so busy accusing me of treason that he didn’t notice what was really going on.”

Davis tossed the shepherdess costume over her head and helped her into it. It didn’t fit, and the stuffed fabric that served as false breasts got in the way, but at least she was decently covered.

“Go tidy it all up,” Davis told Restive.

“Mourn the unfortunate accident which caused Wharton’s demise.

Claim to have shot the French spies. Fortin’s long gone, and Wharton will roll in his grave knowing that you got the glory.

My only regret is that I didn’t get to kill him, but I’m a magnanimous sort of chap, so I’ll forgive Miss Belair. ”

“Shut it, Davis,” Restive said.

Davis went on talking. “Escort the Prince back to Carlton House without telling him what an ass he is. Have fun.” He grinned. “Meanwhile, I’ll see that Miss Belair gets safely home.”

“Not yet,” Restive said. “Miss Belair and I need to talk.” He appropriated her arm and all but dragged her away.

“About what?” Lucinda snapped. “Stop manhandling me.”

“I beg your pardon, but I owe you an apology, and?—”

“You owe me nothing,” she retorted. In fact, she would be the one to apologize, on her mother’s behalf, when he read that ghastly announcement in The Gazette .

“And I intend to make good and sure you are wearing your own clothing when you arrive home, not that rag of Davis’s.

I’ll deliver you into the hands of a maid who will help you to dress.

I wish I could take you home myself, but escorting the Prince now falls to me.

Davis will take you home in due time. I shall call on you as soon as I can, to discuss?—"

“That’s all very well,” she said, in a hurry to change the subject, “but what will happen to them?” She indicated the equerry, being held by two grim-looking footmen, the bewildered, weeping Lady Delworth, leaning on Mr. Pearce, and the fearfully cowering Mrs. Spence.

Lady Tollister was nowhere to be seen. The Prince asked querulously what had happened to the fireworks.

Someone had thrown a shawl over Monsieur Beaudry’s face.

The other Harlequin, as Davis had said, had disappeared into the night.

“I imagine the equerry will be dismissed for incompetence,” Restive said as they hurried up the stairs to the terrace, “and Pearce and the female conspirators will be interrogated and then warned on pain of sudden, violent death to keep their mouths shut and behave from now on.”

“Whatever were they thinking to conspire with the French in the first place?”

Restive shrugged, holding the door open for her to enter the house.

The ballroom was almost empty; everyone was still milling about outdoors.

“Most likely they didn’t realize exactly whom they were conspiring with.

Maybe they were told the plot was meant merely to embarrass or frighten the Prince of Wales, for it’s clear they expected to continue with their usual activities afterwards.

It’s astonishing how gullible people can be. ”

Lucinda started up the stairs to the bedchamber where she had left her clothes. “You needn’t accompany me,” she said. “I know the way.”

“I need to speak to you,” he said, and followed.

She reached the bedchamber, pulled the bell for the maid, and turned to Restive. She forced herself to meet his eyes, to make her voice cool and firm. “Thank you, my lord. Kindly leave me now. We shall speak some other time. I’ll wait by the front door for Mr. Davis.”

He frowned at her. “When you get home, what will you tell your Mother?”

Nothing about you and that kiss. “That Mr. Pearce abducted me, which is true,” she said, “for a wager, which isn’t.” She closed the door and waited, listening, as his footsteps died away.

“D on’t think you’ll fob me off with a pack of lies, Restive,” the Prince said as his carriage finally headed back to Town. “I was bored, and the equerry seemed eager to improve his standing, so I agreed to come to the masquerade. Mistake, no doubt.”

Restive could hardly agree to that, however true it was. “We received a message in code about something of great concern happening on Beltane Eve. We worked out the time and place—moonrise at the masquerade—but we had no idea it was directed against you until you arrived.”

“And what did Lucy Belair have to do with all this? I’ll have you know that she’s very dear to me. Known her since she was a girl, damn it all.”

“She decoded the message,” Restive said.

“Ah, she would do!” the Prince said. “Clever girl, that.” He frowned. “But it doesn’t explain her presence at the masquerade, dressed so inappropriately. I am most displeased.”

Briefly, Restive explained Lucinda’s interest in attending the Haraldson salon, the poet’s strange behavior, and the subsequent evening at Lady Tollister’s.

“Can’t stand that woman,” the Prince said. “At one time, she wanted to be my mistress, would you believe? Still does, judging by the way she planted herself next to me tonight.”

After a few moments’ silence—best to let the Prince believe what he wished—Restive continued.

“We had learned what we could from Miss Belair’s involvement and intended to use a substitute at the masquerade, but Pearce abducted her because of anonymous threats to his mother’s life.

He claims he knew nothing of the plotters’ true intentions.

His cousin, the equerry, claims to know nothing at all—that he received an invitation to the masquerade and thought you might enjoy it. ”

“Humph,” the Prince said. “A pity we’re obliged to keep it all a secret.

I’ll have the equerry sent somewhere highly unpleasant as a diplomatic aide.

Outer Mongolia or some such.” He paused.

“You and your men did an excellent job of defending my person. Three Frenchmen dead! And one of our fellows was drowned, but I never did like Wharton. Excellent work, but a shame the French ship got away.”

“They may yet be captured,” Restive said, wishing it was not so far to Carlton House. He knew the Prince well enough to tell that this conversation wasn’t finished.

“The only loose end is Miss Belair’s reputation, and it’s entirely your fault. Don’t try to cast the blame elsewhere, for it won’t do.”

“I accept the blame,” Restive said. “I just don’t know what to do about it. I would gladly marry her, but she doesn’t like me.”

“For God’s sake, man, you’re Stallion Restive. Surely you can do something about that.” He huffed. “She says you see her as a sister. Not likely, I told her, with a bosom like that.”

Restive’s fists clenched. He forced them open.

The Prince had never been good ton ; one had simply to put up with him.

“She shouldn’t have worn such a gown, but they didn’t give her a choice.

” The same lack of choice might apply to Mrs. Spence, although she could have become involved for love of Beaudry, piqued by Fortin’s lack of interest. Restive didn’t know and didn’t care to; he hoped she’d learned her lesson.

“If Lucy were of royal blood, I would have snapped her up just like that,” said the Prince with a flick of his hand.

Restive ground his teeth.

The Prince laughed. “Annoyed you, did I? Well, I’ll annoy you even more. You got out of that fiasco with Miss Bury, but you won’t worm your way out of this one. Too many people saw you kissing Lucy tonight.”

“Because I was so damned relieved that she was alive,” he retorted. “I don’t want to worm my way out, but nor do I want an unwilling wife.”

The carriage pulled up before Carlton House. The Prince prepared to descend, saying, “Then make her willing.”