Gareth went to VauxhallGardens the following evening, but not for the usual reasons people went to VauxhallGardens. He was there to meet his superior from the War Office, Lord Owen Lovell, with a report on Lord Kingsley.

Alas, Gareth had nothing to report. Nothing the War Office wanted to hear, at any rate.

While Lord Owen might have been Gareth's superior at the War Office, socially they were equals, as both were the second sons of dukes.

Gareth hovered near the Rotunda, where the orchestra played something by Handel, either from his Royal Fireworks suite or Water Music. Even after countless visits to Vauxhall in the line of duty, Gareth still had trouble distinguishing between the two, though maybe it was the latter, since he didn't see any fireworks. Then again, he didn't see any water, either.

Or Lord Owen.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see one of his colleagues, Regis Hurley. "Expecting Lord Owen, I presume?"

"Yes, but apparently he couldn't make it and so sent you in his place."

"He's supposed to be retired now," Hurley said. "The war is over now, but he feels the need to tarry in his office and tie up any loose ends. Did you find Kingsley at his lodgings?"

"He was already out, which I thought rather odd for so early in the morning. Early for him, at any rate. He's known as the sort who stays out till dawn and sleeps till teatime."

"Maybe he hadn't yet returned after his night out."

"No, the porter at the Albany informed me that I'd just missed him, and that he was on his way over to Tyndall House." Gareth saw no need to add that Kingsley went there to propose marriage to Miss Evangeline Benedict.

"So you followed him to Tyndall House?"

"I did, but he left before I could speak to him." Which was true, strictly speaking.

"What happened next?"

Gareth glanced around at the various revelers in the pleasure gardens, but as usual, others were enjoying themselves too much to take notice of the two gentlemen who would not appear to be enjoying themselves at all. "If you must know, I arrived to find him giving the young lady there some unwelcome attentions, and I brought a halt to it, after which he fled."

"You must mean Miss Benedict. Well, small wonder that he did. They say her mother used to be a courtesan. Maybe I should have gone to Tyndall House in your stead."

Gareth was glad he hadn't. Hurley might not have tried to kiss Miss Benedict, but Gareth would not have missed such an opportunity for the world. In that sense, his errand was not a complete failure.

"Why?" he asked. "What would you have done? The same thing Kingsley did?"

"I'm married, remember? No, I would have recovered the list."

"That's assuming he happened to have it in his pocket at the time. Besides, Lord Owen didn't task me with retrieving it—he only wanted me to talk to Kingsley." And Gareth hadn't even managed that—or rather, it wasn't the conversation he was supposed to have with Kingsley.

In that sense, his errand was an utter failure.

"About what?" Hurley wanted to know.

"About what happened at his ancestral pile last month, when his older brother died falling down the stairs, and his father shot Lady Ruth Hale after he learned she was the one selling secrets to Madame Delphine."

Hurley shook his head. "You know, I still have difficulty believing it, despite all the evidence."

"You say that because she was a lady, the daughter of an earl, the wife of one of our late colleagues, and the sister of a soldier killed on the Peninsula—someone with every reason to help us for the past few years, so naturally we never suspected she was working with the other side, too—until I saw her at Madame Delphine's."

"Aren't the women there always masked?"

"Yes, but she had other distinguishing features, such as a port wine stain on her left knee."

Hurley creased his brow. "How could you know something like—oh. I had no idea the two of you—well, did Lord Owen ever know about the two of you?"

"My dalliance with her was very fleeting," Gareth replied. "One night only."

"At Madame Delphine's?"

"No. But sometimes I wish Lord Owen would have sent you there, instead." Especially now, in light of his brother's appalling betrothal.

"Sometimes I think the same thing," Hurley grumbled. "But he never would because of my wife, more's the pity. Still, your little history with Lady Ruth might explain why I was the one charged with searching her London residence for any further leads. I had more luck than you. I found her engagement diary, in which she made note of a meeting with someone named Eris at Madame Delphine's—on the very same night you saw her there. So the document we seek is likely sealed and addressed to Eris, spelled E-R-I-S. Does that name sound familiar?"

"If I correctly recall my mythology, she's the Greek goddess of strife and discord and general chaos," Gareth replied. "Which means there may be a third female involved. I did not see Ruth with another female." Only with another man.

"We have to recover that list," said Hurley. "Kingsley didn't inherit a penny with his title. He could sell that list for enough money to clear his debts. The war might be over, but rest assured the French, just like us, remain very interested in bringing their own traitors to justice. My guess is Eris had to be one of Delphine's Cyprians, but they've all scattered since that night. Alas, Ruth is dead and Delphine has fled to the Continent, so who knows? Either way, the War Office wants to find that list—if it's still in England—and ensure it's destroyed before it falls into the wrong hands, if it hasn't already. Our one bright spot is that it only disappeared when Ruth did, and that was after you happened to see her at that Cyprian ball and she realized she might be in trouble. So Delphine may never have received it. But she received a great many other things from Ruth via this Eris."

Gareth suddenly felt queasy. What if Eris was Lady Milner?

Treason would certainly be a good reason for his brother not to marry her. For Miss Benedict's sake, Gareth wished it was any reason but that.

Hurley jabbed into his tormented reverie. "Let me find Kingsley and talk to him, Gareth. Lord Owen just wants to recover that list, and doesn't care which one of us does it."

"I agree." Gareth also had to admit—but only to himself—that he'd made an utter mull of things. He was tasked with speaking to Kingsley, and instead he all but thrashed him for forcing himself on Miss Benedict and accusing her of being one of Madame Delphine's Cyprians. Kingsley was highly unlikely to be cooperative with him now.

Hurley offered his hand, and the two of them shook. "Besides, you should be concerned with other things right now."

Gareth narrowed his eyes. "What other things?"

Hurley chuckled. "Take a look over your shoulder. Who is the mysterious masked woman sitting in one of the supper-boxes with the Duke of Bradbury?"

Gareth did not bother to take that look. "Who my brother brings to VauxhallGardens is none of my concern. Why don't you go search for Kingsley? He might actually be here this evening. If not, check the gaming hells. I wish you joy of it."

"Maybe you can find out if that masked woman is the Cyprian named Eris." Hurley clapped him on the shoulder and disappeared into the crowds mingling about the Rotunda. Gareth continued leaning against the column for a long moment before he finally turned to survey the supper-boxes. Sure enough, there sat his brother with a woman wearing a very familiar mask, her face almost entirely concealed behind a silvery, sequined butterfly that revealed only her eyes, mouth, and chin.

Gareth had seen that mask before, but his groin didn't even stir at the memory, which was just as well. She'd been dressed in the costume of a faerie, as if she were on her way to Lady Whitbourne's masquerade, all silver tulle and sequins with the diamond butterfly necklace glittering on her bosom, and several starry clips sparkling in her hair. She'd even waved a wand as if she thought she could cast a seductive spell over him. The wand had been topped with another of the starry clips.

The faerie magic had worked on that occasion, but not now. She wasn't wearing the necklace or starry clips this evening, but as long as she wore that mask, Gareth would know her anywhere, and remember why he couldn't let his brother marry her. The fact that Lady Milner didn't seem to remember Gareth from that night didn't change anything. If she wished to marry the Duke of Bradbury, of course she would do her absolute best to pretend she'd never clapped eyes on Gareth until the day of her son's wedding.

Then he glimpsed his brother hailing him. He stalked over to greet them.

"Gareth, come join us!" Dane called out. "What are you doing here, anyway? I mean, besides spying on me and Lady Milner?"

"I was supposed to meet someone else here, but he didn't show," Gareth said in a veiled reference to Lord Owen. Dane summoned a waiter to bring some food and drink to Gareth.

"Maybe he's wandering around thinking you didn't show," Lady Milner countered. "It's dreadfully crowded here this evening, isn't it? I suppose everyone wishes to enjoy one last summer evening before the frost comes."

"Where is Miss Benedict this evening?" he inquired. "I understand she's never been to VauxhallGardens."

"Oh, she's at home. We might have invited her to come along, but then people would have assumed that your brother was courting her, and that might have been terribly awkward for her." She lightly tapped her fan on Gareth's arm. "A pity we didn't know you'd be here this evening, or we could have made a foursome. Of course, then those same people would assume that you're courting her."

"Won't you dance with me?" he asked on impulse, and before she could answer, he addressed his brother. "Would you mind if I danced with your lovely lady? I doubt anyone will think she's with me, since she's been with you all along."

Dane smirked. "In that case, people might think the three of us are in some sort of ménage, rather like the old Duke of Devonshire with his first wife and the lady who became his second."

"They'll think what they like, I suppose." Gareth held out his hand to Lady Milner, who stared at it as if he were showing her a toad. "Come, my lady. If we're to be related one day, we should get to know one another better."

"Go on, my dear," Dane prodded her with a wink. "Perhaps you'll let him in on our secret."

Gareth surmised the big secret was either the wedding date, or the news that they'd just adopted a pair of elephants to replace the children they couldn't have.

Lady Milner joined Gareth among other couples dancing near the Rotunda. He turned to her and smiled. "So why do you wear a mask this evening, Eris?"

"I'm not an heiress, though my daughter has a very nice dowry," she replied. "As for the mask, Bradbury and I have yet to make our betrothal public."

Her guileless response, given with no hesitation, left him satisfied that she wasn't Eris any more than she was an heiress. "I must say, now that I see you wearing this mask, I can't help thinking more than ever that we met before your son's wedding. I know that sounds odd—that I would recognize you based on a mask—but I'm absolutely certain. You were dressed as a wand-waving faerie. 'Twas the same night your daughter went to the more respectable masquerade ball at Lady Whitbourne's without you, because you told her you had a cold. So you came to Madame Delphine's Cyprian ball, where I warmed you up."

Despite the mask, he could still discern the change that came over Lady Milner—almost as if she waved that wand over herself. But all she had at hand was her fan. Her mouth fell open in some rather convincing shock, and the whites of her eyes suddenly showed through the eyeholes in the mask, wide with horror.

"That's right, my lady," he said. "I know it was you."

"What makes you say such a thing?"

He steered her around one of the columns supporting the Rotunda, where Dane wouldn't see them from his supper-box. "You wore this mask. I have never seen another one like it, or anything like the diamond butterfly pendant that you also wore to your son's wedding. And while you did not identify yourself as Lady Milner that night—"

"No woman would ever dare to identify herself in that place," she hissed. "That's why they wear masks, you fool."

"Then you should have worn a different one this evening. Who's really the fool? As I was saying, another gentleman there did tell me that's who you were, as he was just as familiar with this mask—and, apparently, the lady behind it. Lord Forrestal surprised us in our—ahem—chamber, and he called you by name. Are you saying you don't remember any of this, Lady Milner? Or should I call you Blanche?"