Oh, but it was. Hadn't Evie been at Madame Delphine's Cyprian ball the very same night as Lady Ruth? As Gareth? Regis Hurley had even suggested as much upon seeing the otherwise innocuous letter she'd written to Kingsley, pretending to accept his marriage proposal. He'd thought the damned thing was in code.

Nausea churned in Gareth's stomach at the realization that at some point that evening—maybe before he spotted Lady Ruth, or even after he met Evie, who fled when Lord Forrestal came in—Evie, or Eris, the Greek goddess of chaos and what a fitting sobriquet that was!—must have received this sealed document from Ruth. Yet why hadn't Evie passed it on to Madame Delphine, or whoever her own contact was?

Because by then, the war was already over, and she saw no need. Still, it was highly sensitive information she had in her possession—information that could still endanger British agents who remained abroad.

He shook his head in disbelief. Evie was no spy—at least not this kind of spy. It wasn't possible. No, she was the kind of spy who peered through the hawthorns at a naked man swimming in a lake.

Yet she was rather indignant only moments ago when he jokingly accused her of spying. He assumed she was feigning the indignation.

Or was she?

Why was she really at Madame Delphine's that night? She said Lady Flora had taken her there. Flora was Ruth's sister. Could it have been the other way around, and Evie was the one who insisted on going there instead of Lady Whitbourne's? Had Flora been the innocent dupe, a beard for Evie?

Gareth racked his brain for some other explanation—any kind of explanation that might exonerate the woman he'd just made love to. The woman he loved and wanted to marry.

The same woman who might have betrayed him, just as Lady Ruth had. He sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the sealed document.

Minutes ago he'd laughingly told Evie that he couldn't move, because he was so drained from making glorious love to her.

Now he couldn't move because he was paralyzed with shock at her apparent betrayal. His heart thundered, and his eyes burned.

How could he confront her with this—and in front of her brother and sister-in-law, and their hosts? Of course, she would deny everything. She might even accuse him of prying into her personal correspondence. Of not trusting her. Her brother might even call out Gareth for impugning his sister's honor—if not her virtue.

Either way, he had to take this document to Lord Owen Lovell immediately. His former superior lived in a country house in Gloucestershire, almost a hundred miles away. He'd have to leave at once. He could ride his mount to the village and take the next mail coach that way—depending on the wait.

Here he'd planned to join Evie downstairs and request a private audience with her brother, to ask Lord Tyndall for her hand. Now he wondered if he ever would. He wouldn't know until he saw Lord Owen.

He slipped the document into his pocket and practically galloped downstairs, sorely tempted to hasten his descent by sliding down the long, polished banister. But after what happened at Kingsley Hall last month—the collapse of the rickety banister that resulted in the death of Lord Kingsley's older brother—Gareth was now wary of such a childish albeit dangerous pursuit.

By the time he reached the bottom of the staircase, he'd managed to conjure a plausible tale to explain why he had to suddenly leave AshdownPark. He hated having to lie. Betrayal didn't come as easily to him as it did to other people.

He bounded into the drawing room. "I'm sorry to be so late for tea. I've been out walking all day." He almost couldn't bear to look at Evie now, though he knew he should, so he did. She sat on the sofa, cup and saucer in hand, looking as crestfallen as if she already knew he'd have to leave. As if she knew he must have found out about her.

Maybe she wasn't that good a spy, after all, leaving classified material out in the open for anyone to find, even if it was just as well that Gareth was the one to find it.

Her voice toneless but tremulous, she said, "My lord, I don't know if you've ever met my cousin, Mr. Gerald Benedict, and his wife, Lady Flora. Cousin Gerald, may I make known to you Lord Gareth Armstrong."

A thin, blond man rose from a nearby chair and favored Gareth with a curt nod. Gareth returned the gesture, and bowed to Lady Flora who sat on the sofa next to Evie. "Where are...?" He stopped short. He was about to ask after Lord and Lady Tyndall, but if he meant to make everyone believe he'd been out walking all day, then how was he supposed to know they were here? But all he saw, aside from Evie and her cousins, were Lord and Lady Ashdown. He grinned sheepishly. "Oh, there you are! I daresay my wits have melted after too much time in the sun." Or even in Evie's bed.

Mr. Benedict said, "I'm afraid Cousin Evie was expecting her brother and his new wife."

"That's my fault," piped up Lady Ashdown. "She was napping and I told her more guests had arrived, people she knew, but I wouldn't tell her who because I wanted it to be a surprise."

"I was surprised, all right," said Evie, sounding as if she weren't so much surprised as disappointed. "But I'm always pleased to see my cousins, too." Yet she still sounded more disappointed than pleased.

Gareth, however, had to concede that he was relieved the guests were not Lord and Lady Tyndall, after all. He wouldn't be trapped in the awkward position of having to avoid taking Lord Tyndall aside to request Evie's hand when she was fully expecting him to do so.

He couldn't help blowing out a sigh of relief, though the others would likely assume he was still trying to catch his breath after his long, long walk. He had to admit to himself that unlike Evie, he was more pleased than disappointed about this particular turn of events.

But he wasn't pleased about anything else.

"Won't you sit down already and have some tea?" Lady Ashdown gestured to an empty chair near Mr. Benedict's.

"That's another reason I'm so out of breath," Gareth said. "I'm afraid I must leave AshdownPark at once." He couldn't even look at Evie as he said that, and he despised himself for it.

Lord Ashdown stood up. "What? Now?"

"This minute, I'm afraid. Upon returning from my walk, one of your servants gave me an express that must have arrived while I was out. It seems Lord Ethan inadvertently left some important papers behind, and since he and I worked together during the war, he trusts only me to bring the papers to him. And so I must leave at once."

"How could he have left important papers behind?" This from Evie. Gareth had no choice but to glance her way. She looked as if he'd just stabbed her in the heart, and she couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that after all that happened between them, that he would betray her.

As she had betrayed him?

But he also knew, from the anger flashing in her eyes, that she didn't believe a word of his Banbury tale. If the others were skeptical, they certainly didn't show it. Or say as much.

He met her furious gaze. "Miss Benedict, everyone forgets something important at one time or another. Even the most responsible person. It's not always careless fools. Sometimes it's the person you'd least suspect. More often than not, as it happens. Now I must go." He couldn't bear to look another moment at her panic-stricken face.

Instead of going back upstairs to pack his things, he headed straight outdoors to the stable. This was too important. And he didn't want Lord Ashdown or Evie—especially Evie—following him to his bedchamber with questions he couldn't answer. Moreover, leaving his clothes behind would indicate that he had every intention of returning.

Yet even as he trotted out of the stable on horseback, he spotted Evie running in his direction, her raven hair flying loose from its already haphazard pinnings. Her brown eyes blazed up at him. "What is this about? I don't believe Lord Ethan left anything important behind. No one believes that. After you left, everyone started speculating on the real reason you're suddenly leaving. They only know you can't be leaving for the reasons they say. It's because of me, isn't it?"

Gareth clutched the reins, staring down at her as his heart twisted, for in a way, it was because of her. "You should have remained in the drawing room. If they didn't know the real reason I must leave—"

"Then it's true!"

He couldn't, nay, wouldn't deny it. "As I was saying, if they didn't know before, they likely know now, if you suddenly found it necessary to leave them in the drawing room."

She clenched her fists, her arms locked straight against her sides. "I pleaded a headache and said I still wasn't feeling well after spending most of the day in bed." She suddenly gasped and averted her gaze, as if she realized, too late, the degree of truth in that.

"They know," he said, "and even as we speak, they're leaping to every false assumption they can think of. Just as members of the ton always do."

She backed away from his horse, trembling all over. "Then you'd best leave at once, before Mr. Benedict calls you out."

Under less ominous circumstances, Gareth might have laughed at that. "He won't."

"You're right. He won't. He'll just compare me to my mother."

"The resemblance is uncanny, I must say," Gareth said grimly. "And not just because I mistook you for her. At this very moment, she's up north breaking my brother's heart. And you're standing right here breaking mine."

"Over what?" she nearly shrieked. "What did I do?"

"This letter to Eris I found on your writing desk," he said, pulling it out of his pocket and waving it. "The link between Madame Delphine and Lady Ruth. Eris is the code name of their intermediary for selling British secrets to the French. Maybe that's why you were at Madame Delphine's that night. Pray, where did you get this and what were you planning to do with it?"

"Oh, my...God." She looked incredulous. Horrified. "If this is how you're going to act, then I won't even bother trying to explain it to you."

"I didn't think you would. And I don't know what to say to you now, except you might wish to consider leaving England altogether—and I don't mean to Scotland or Wales, or even Ireland, for that matter."

"I have a better idea," she snapped, as tears glittered in her eyes, further wringing his heart. "Why don't you leave? Now! And go straight to—to Hades!"

He picked up the reins. "Be assured I'm already there." He chirruped to the horse and galloped away.