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Mildly abashed, he shook his head. “I prefer to avoid conflict, and as long as she’s not up to anything harmful, why not humor her? She seldom has any reason to disobey me, but she enjoys the feeling that she may.”

“How delightfully frank,” Lucinda said, unable to suppress a grin as she was passed once more to another partner.

He continued their conversation the instant the dance brought them together again. “However, lately my wife has become evasive and even pugnacious. She’s excited about tonight, too excited, and anxious as well.”

Lucinda was sorely tempted to blurt out what she knew of the plot. And yet, what if Mr. Haraldson were one of the plotters, and merely sought to find out what she knew?

“Perhaps you should take her home,” she said.

“I hesitate to do so, for she may well make a fuss. I’d prefer not to quarrel in public.”

“Then you must use guile,” she said, and proceeded to use some of her own. She took his hand and led him off the floor, feigning a turned ankle, so they could continue uninterrupted.

She couldn’t see Restive at the moment, but he must be somewhere about.

“The Restoration-era gentleman is Lord Restive. Why not ask him to flirt with Mrs. Haraldson? He can escort her in the direction of the front door, and meanwhile, you will have your coach waiting, so you may thrust her into it and drive away.” Like what Mr. Pearce did to me.

He laughed and helped her toward the chairs. “What an unusual young lady you are. I shall ask him.” He paused. “By the way—”

“Yes?” The dance would soon end. Mr. Pearce glared in their direction, as if he feared Mr. Haraldson would spirit her away before he could escape his own partner.

“I met your mother yesterday, entirely by mischance,” Mr. Haraldson said. “She harangued me at length for allowing you to meet and fall in love with a poet at my house.”

“Oh, good,” Lucinda said. “That is, I’m sorry about the harangue but glad she believed me.”

“You’ll not convince me you’re in love with Pearce.”

“No, but I hoped it would prevent her from spreading rumors that I’m to marry Lord Restive, although it didn’t work.” Lucinda felt herself blushing, drat it. “She cannot force me—or poor Restive—to wed, but she will try.”

“His lordship would be fortunate to find himself such a clever and charming wife,” Mr. Haraldson said dryly. “Be careful, child.”

Mr. Pearce swooped in, took her arm, and pulled her willy-nilly away.

~ * ~

R estive found Davis flirting with a gangly gladiator. As far as Restive knew, Davis had no sexual interest in other men, but he seemed to enjoy toying with them.

“Yolanda, my love,” Restive interrupted. “Abandon this poor sod and come with me.”

Davis struck a pose. “Cruel tease! You will lead me astray but refuse to satisfy me.” He batted his lashes at the hapless gladiator. “This courtly fellow will not be so unkind.”

“Never, kind lady,” the gladiator said. “That is, I shan’t intend to. I mean, that is—"

“The road to satisfaction is paved with good intentions.” Davis gave Restive a roguish look. “What shall you promise me, sir?”

“That you’ll be doing a good deed if you come with me,” Restive said. “A foolish young lady needs a safe escort.”

“Oh, dearie me,” Davis said. “I’d best be off to the rescue!” He wiggled his fingers in a cheery goodbye to the gladiator and hooked his arm in Restive’s. “Have you discovered what’s afoot?”

“Not yet, confound it, but in the meantime, Alfreda Whatshername is all but naked.” He described the girl to Davis. “When I last saw her, she was dancing with a Harlequin. She’s wearing a purple domino, but the dress beneath it is transparent.”

“Ah,” Davis said. “She’s pursuing you.”

Restive grunted, glancing around for a sight of the purple domino.

“And you feel it’s your fault.”

“To some extent, it is. I’ve had enough of this persona. I don’t care to ruin the reputations of any more foolish girls, and this one is worse than most. She believes she can trap me into marriage, despite all evidence to the contrary. I’d rather keep her intact and well out of the way.”

“So you can keep your eyes on the far more important Lucinda.” His eyes gleamed with friendly mockery.

“She’s the key to what’s about to happen—she and that poet of hers.” Restive pointed. “There! Oh, damn !”

The purple domino was about to leave the ballroom—and her escort was Henry the Eighth.

“It’s Wharton,” Restive snarled, threading his way through the chattering crowd, Davis tripping delicately behind him. “I thought you were going to watch him.”

“You wouldn’t let me kill him,” Davis said. “I got bored.”

“No, no, I don’t want to,” came Alfreda’s feeble protests from the passageway.

“You needn’t play that game, you little slut.” Wharton’s mask failed to hide the swelling on one side of his nose. “We both know what you want, and my, oh my, you are ripe and ready, aren’t you?” He clamped a hand over one breast as he hurried her along.

“Help!” Alfreda quavered. “Somebody help me!”

Wharton laughed. “You’re not much of an actress, love.”

“She’s not playacting,” Restive said. “Let her go.”

Wharton whirled. “Spoiling sport again? To hell with you, Restive. Keep your tedious Belair slut. This little sweetmeat belongs to me.”

Why couldn’t he have found himself a willing female instead of this hapless chit? Not that Restive would wish Wharton on anyone, but locking him in a room with a woman would have kept him out of the way.

“Lord Restive!” Alfreda cried piteously. “I don’t want to go with him. Save me!”

Nor could he have Davis play the seductress and woo Wharton away. Not only was Wharton obsessed with breasts—for which Davis had nothing but padding—but Davis would most likely take advantage of the opportunity to dispose of Wharton once and for all.

“Better not, Restive,” Wharton said. “You’ll have to marry the chit.”

Restive sighed, shook off the tempting thought of getting rid of him permanently, and once again landed him a facer.

Wharton squealed, releasing Alfreda to grab his nose. Blood bubbled and spurted, and Wharton bleated in agony.

“Tsk, tsk,” Davis said. “How very rough and ready of you, my lord. You should have let me take care of him.”

Alfreda cast herself onto Restive’s chest, gazing up at him in blatant adoration. Restive suppressed a shudder and passed the girl to Davis. “Unfortunately, my dear Yolanda, I need you to take care of her . Find her some clothing and put her somewhere safe—preferably under lock and key.”

Davis took hold of Alfreda, who burst into tears. “You can’t lock me up!”

“He can but needn’t do so,” said a familiar voice. “I’ll take her home. She’s the perfect excuse to get my wife out of here without a fuss.”

“Haraldson,” Restive said. “How convenient.”

“Your delightful friend Miss Belair suggested I ask you to flirt with my wife and guide her toward the doors, after which I would toss her into my waiting coach and drive away.”

Restive muttered under his breath, and Davis tittered. Alfreda’s substantial bosom heaved. “I hate Miss Belair, and I shan’t go home! I can’t !”

“You shall not only go home, but your parents will learn precisely what you were up to this evening,” Restive said coldly. “Take her aside, Yolanda. Mr. Haraldson and I wish to have a private chat.”

“I shan’t go, I shan’t!” Alfreda shrieked.

Davis clamped a hand over her mouth. “Quiet, or I’ll give you back to Henry the Eighth.” He indicated where Wharton was staggering to his feet. “Well? People are beginning to notice you. Do you wish to be shunned from good society forever?”

Alfreda subsided into silent weeping, and Restive turned to Mr. Haraldson. “Why must you spirit your wife away?”

“Because, as I explained to Miss Belair, there’s something untoward going on—perhaps something to do with sedition, which seems so popular with the set my wife favors nowadays. I want her out of here.”

“Untoward in what way?”

“How should I know? She’s brimming over with suppressed excitement, and I don’t like it. She thinks I don’t notice when she’s doing something I would disapprove of.”

“Women,” Restive said bitterly. “Yolanda will make sure Alfreda gets into your coach.”

“Thank you—but what about Miss Belair? She tells me Pearce abducted her.”

“So I understand,” Restive said. “One of my servants saw it happen and followed the coach, but lost it. Fortunately, Pearce brought her directly here.”

“What do you intend to do about her? She may be in danger, if only from unscrupulous men.” Mr. Haraldson eyed Restive sternly, who did his best not to bridle. The old fellow meant well.

“I will defend her in whatever way is necessary,” Restive said grandly. “Even with my life.”