"Oh, my God." Blanche had to be blanching behind that mask as she leaned against the column for support. She trembled all over, and Gareth felt a sharp stab of guilt for intimidating her in this fashion. But she couldn't marry his brother after what transpired that night, and even if she didn't remember Gareth, he certainly remembered her, and he owed it to himself as well as Dane to remind her of an unpleasant fact—even if their initial encounter had been anything but unpleasant.

"You do remember. You know, at the time I was sorry we couldn't finish what we started, but now that—"

"What do you mean, we didn't finish?"

"Well, I thought perhaps I didn't. Maybe you did, for your part. But you certainly acted as if that weren't the case, especially since Forrestal had to catch us at that very moment." Gareth had heard of women who faked climaxing, but he'd never heard of one who faked not climaxing. Indeed, he thought most women cried yes when they climaxed. The woman standing before him now had shrieked no at Forrestal's interruption.

She slapped a hand to her bosom. "I don't want to hear another word about this."

"I don't blame you. But because of what happened that night, surely you can see that a marriage between you and my brother should be entirely out of the question. How can you even bear to look at me as if what happened never took place? If you marry him, how will you stand to look at me come Yuletide, when our families would doubtless gather at BradburyPark or Tyndall Abbey?"

Her eyes blazed through the holes in the mask. "Oh, I trust I will have no trouble looking at you then, my lord. I only hope I will regard you with greater delight than I do at this moment."

"That's because you still think you'll be the Duchess of Bradbury. But you won't. Mind you, I haven't told him a word about this. But you're going to tell him that you must cry off. It's your prerogative to do so without cause. Quite aside from our shared history, you're too old for him in any case."

"How—" Her hand flew out and slapped him hard across the face, "—dare you!" She pushed him aside and stormed back to his brother's supper-box, where Lord Frampton, of all people, now sat in Gareth's chair, drinking the wine and eating the food his brother had ordered for him. Perhaps Dane had convinced their uncle to accept his betrothal, even if he couldn't persuade his brother. Gareth had left the dinner party not long after the ladies last night and made his own way home, wanting no part of the argument that must have ensued. He wondered now if he should have stayed and confessed the truth to Dane.

He saw no point in returning to the supper-box now. He glanced around sheepishly at the gawking bystanders, then strode off toward the Lover's Walk, where it was nice and dark, and he wouldn't be seen by anyone. He wished he could bring Miss Benedict here sometime.

When he returned a short while later, his brother's supper-box was empty, but he did catch a glimpse of Regis Hurley trying to talk to a swaying, half-sprung Lord Kingsley, who might have toppled to the ground if not for the two giggling doxies propping him up on both sides.

Sighing and shaking his head, Gareth decided he might as well return home and face the music, which was certain to include more fireworks than what he now saw lighting up the sky over Vauxhall Gardens.

In which case, the orchestra must be playing Handel's Royal Fireworks suite.

He returned to Bradbury House in Park Lane, but Dane had not yet returned. Of course, he would probably take Lady Milner home first. Most likely she was giving him an earful about his younger brother this very moment—or was she tearfully informing Dane that she couldn't marry him, after all?

Gareth went into the library, poured himself a brandy, and sat down next to the fireplace to await the outcome.

He must have fallen asleep in the chair, because next thing he knew, daylight forced his eyes open as a maidservant banged open the shutters over the windows. She turned and gasped upon seeing him slouched in the chair, before scurrying out of the library.

Gareth stretched before standing up, but he still felt stiff all over as he limped out of the library and trudged up the staircase. His brother must have gone straight to bed instead of coming to the library for his usual nightcap.

Only when Gareth reached his brother's closed bedchamber door did it occur to him that he might have brought Lady Milner home with him, in which case they were in bed together this very moment.

And if, indeed, that was the case, then she must not have cried off last night. The scheming harridan was still determined to marry her way up, this time to a duke. But even that wouldn't be enough for her. Knowing Lady Milner, she wouldn't stop until she managed to land one of the royal dukes.

In the meantime, maybe she had to convince herself that she wasn't too old for Bradbury, as Gareth had coldly pointed out to her beneath the Rotunda last night. She certainly wasn't too old for any of the royal dukes, none of whom saw any point in marrying at all, deeming the royal succession more than secure thanks to a mere slip of a girl known to the world as Princess Charlotte of Wales.

Not that Gareth had any objection to Princess Charlotte becoming Queen of England one day. He thought he'd rather see her on the throne than any of her ne'er-do-well uncles, or for that matter, her father the Regent.

Gareth shuffled down the hallway to his own bedchamber, where he collapsed across his bed and slept for an indeterminate number of hours, after which he washed and dressed and generally made himself presentable before going downstairs.

His brother was nowhere in sight. He and Lady Milner must have gone out already. Perhaps now Dane was taking her back home, though Gareth vaguely wondered if that wasn't a bad idea in broad daylight.

Or were they still in bed together upstairs?

He wandered into the dining room and tugged on the bell pull. The butler, Osbert, appeared moments later.

"Ah, my lord, you're awake!"

"And I'd like some breakfast, even though it's the afternoon already."

"As you like, my lord."

"Has the duke awakened yet? Or did he rise earlier and go out already?"

Osbert stared at Gareth as if to ask, What duke?

Gareth proceeded to answer the unasked question. "The Duke of Bradbury. My brother?"

"I beg your pardon, my lord. Of course I know that's who you meant. But I thought you knew."

Another brief staring contest ensued, but Osbert failed to read the words, Knew what? in Gareth's facial expression.

Gareth blinked. "Knew what?"

Osbert now looked as if the answer to that should have been obvious.

"Is he ill?" asked Gareth.

"No, my lord."

"Well, is he dead?" Bloody hell. Lady Milner hadn't even married Dane yet, and already he'd cocked up his toes, just like all of her previous husbands. Perhaps, in her zeal to prove to herself and Dane that she wasn't too old for him, she'd actually killed him while performing some insanely wild, sexual acrobatics. But in that case, wouldn't Gareth have heard a great deal of crashing and banging and screaming from his brother's bedchamber?

Alas, instead of answering yes or no, Osbert replied, "I thought His Grace might have told you, my lord."

"Obviously, he didn't."

"He left instructions that this house was to remain open as long you were here."

"In other words, he's left London, but not for the ancestral pile?"

"Yes, my lord. Naturally all of us assumed that you knew."

"Did he happen to state his destination?"

"FramptonCastle, near the border."

Of course. The Marquess of Frampton, after all, was Dane and Gareth's uncle. Gareth's brother usually traveled to FramptonCastle at this time of year for the grouse. By now they were well past the Glorious Twelfth of August that marked the start of grouse season.

"My apologies, Osbert. I should have known all along about that. It must have slipped my mind, I have so many things on it. Do bring me some breakfast now."

The butler bowed and quit the dining room to do Gareth's bidding.

Gareth wasn't about to ask Osbert if perchance Lady Milner was accompanying the duke. It didn't seem logistically possible, given that he'd seen her at VauxhallGardens barely twelve hours ago. If she were to accompany Dane, then surely she would have been at home last night, packing for the long journey.

Unless Miss Benedict did all the packing. Gareth certainly didn't see her anywhere last night. But on no occasion when he'd seen her had she or her mother breathed a peep about going to FramptonCastle. They were waiting in London for Lord Tyndall and his new wife to return from their wedding trip.

That could only mean Dane was traveling alone, if not with Lord Frampton. Gareth heaved a sigh of relief and smiled to himself. His brother and Lady Milner were now separated—and after Gareth's confrontation with her last night, he felt confident that she must have cried off the betrothal already.

Even better, he felt free to pay his addresses to Miss Benedict. He couldn't deny that he'd been attracted to her from the very moment Dane introduced them at her brother's wedding. And he sensed the feeling was mutual. Why else would she have invited him to kiss her? He'd enjoyed the kiss and so had she. Who knew what else they might enjoy together? Gareth intended to find out.

Life was good.

He feasted on his breakfast, and was just draining his teacup when Osbert returned with a small silver salver balanced on one hand. "My lord, a message for you from Tyndall House. The servant said he was instructed to wait for a reply."

Gareth swiped the message off the salver. This had to be from Lady Milner concerning their encounter last night. Already he could picture the words she must have written. Your Lordship will be pleased to know that after our meeting at VauxhallGardens last night, I made the decision to detach myself from the Duke of Bradbury. He will be traveling to FramptonCastle without me. I trust this will make you happy, and that I may depend upon your silence regarding the night of our first encounter.

Or something like that. He broke the seal, unfolded it, and...

Lord Gareth,

I have not seen my mother since she left last night to spend the evening at VauxhallGardens with the Duke of Bradbury. If you happen to see her there, please tell her I am eloping with the Earl of Kingsley.

"WHAT?" Gareth shouted, as the butler reeled back a few steps.

But if she is not there, and neither is the duke, then they must have already eloped themselves, in which case I will see them in Gretna Green.

Gareth shook his head. Surely his brother would never elope to Scotland? He was a duke, for pity's sake. Dukes didn't elope. Yet that didn't alarm him half as much as Miss Benedict's threat—for that's how he interpreted it—to elope with the Earl of Kingsley.

The same Earl of Kingsley he'd seen at VauxhallGardens last night, foxed and flanked by a pair of paphians.

Miss Benedict could do so much better than that.

He continued reading.

Whereas if only His Grace is there, then he must be informed that she has gone missing, unless he is the one responsible for her disappearance. If you know anything, please let me know at once.

The message was signed Evangeline Benedict in an elegant hand unlike the body, all of which was blotchy and appeared to have been hastily scrawled.

Gareth rose to his feet. "Find that servant, Osbert. I will reply in person."

He had two marriages to stop now. He wasn't about to let Evangeline Benedict marry Kingsley, no matter how desperate she was.