"It's fortunate you have a talent for dice and cards."
"One of the more useful skills I picked up at Eton, " Daregate said negligently.
He leapt up into the carriage as it drew to a halt in front of the two men.
Julian followed Daregate and settled on the seat across from his friend. "Very
well, it cost me enough. Let us examine precisely what I have got for my fifteen
hundred pounds."
"According to Eggers, who I must tell you, is usually quite knowledgeable in
matters such as this, there are at least three or four men left who still wear
the black rings," Daregate said thoughtfully.
"But we only managed to get two names out of him. Utteridge and Varley." Julian
reflected on the man to whom he had just lost his money. The more Eggers had
won, the more he had been willing to gossip to Daregate and Julian. "I wonder if
one of them was the one who gave the ring to Sophy's friend. Utteridge, I
believe, spent time at the Abbey. And so did Varley, I'm almost certain."
Julian's hand clenched at his side as he forced himself to recall Elizabeth's
seemingly endless list of conquests.
Daregate pretended to ignore the implications and stuck to the subject at hand.
"We have a starting point, at least. Either Utteridge or Varley could be the man
who gave your wife's friend the ring."
Damn. I do not like this, Daregate. One thing is for certain, Sophy must never
again wear that ring. I shall have to see to it that it is destroyed
immediately." And that action, he reflected with an inner wince, was going to
cause more trouble between himself and Sophy. She was obviously very attached to
the black ring.
On that point, I agree wholeheartedly. She must not wear it now that we have
ascertained its meaning. But she does not know just what the ring signifies,
Ravenwood. To her it is merely a keepsake. Are you going to tell her the truth?"
Julian shook his head grimly. "That the original wearer belonged to a secret
club whose members placed bets on who could cuckold the highest ranking members
of the ton? Not bloody likely. She already has a sufficiently low opinion of men
in general."
"Does she really?" Daregate asked with amusement. '"Then you and your lady are
well matched, aren't you, Ravenwood? Your opinion of women is not particularly
high. Serves you right to be married to a woman who returns the compliment."
"Enough, Daregate. I have more important matters to attend to tonight than
sparring with a man whose opinions on women do not differ greatly from my own.
In any event, Sophy is different from the common run of females."
Daregate looked at him, smiling slightly in the shadows. "Yes, I know. I was
beginning to wonder if you realized that feet, yourself. Guard her well,
Ravenwood. There are wolves in our world who would take great delight in
savaging her."
"No one knows that better than I." Julian stared out the window of the carriage.
"Where do you wish to be set down?"
Daregate shrugged. "Brook's I suppose. I am in the mood for a little civilized
drinking after that hell we just left. Where are you going?"
"To find Sophy. She is attending Lady Dallimore's rout tonight."
Daregate grinned. "And no doubt reigning supreme. Your lady is quickly becoming
the rage. Walk down Bond Street or into any drawing room these days and you will
find that half the young females in the vicinity will be in a charming state of
disarray. Ribbons dangling, hats askew, shawls trailing on the floor. It is all
quite delightful but no one can carry it off the way Sophy does."
Julian smiled to himself. "That is because she does not have to work at it. The
style comes quite naturally to her."
Fifteen minutes later Julian glided through the crush that filled Lady
Dallimore's ballroom, searching for Sophy. Daregate was right, he realized with
mild amusement. Most of the young women in the room appeared to have something
wrong with their attire. Hair ornaments were stuck into curls at precarious
angles, ribbons trailed to the floor, and scarves fluttered in a deceptively
haphazard manner. He almost crushed underfoot a fan that was dangling from a
long string attached to its owner's wrist.
"Hello, Ravenwood, looking for your Countess?"
Julian glanced over his shoulder and recognized a middle-aged Baron with whom he
occasionally discussed the war news. "Evening, Tharp. As it happens, I am
looking for Lady Ravenwood. Any sign of her?"
"Signs of her all over the place, my boy. Just take a look." The portly Baron
waved a hand to indicate the crowded ballroom. "Impossible to make a move
without stepping on a ribbon or scarf or some such frippery. Had a chat with
your lady, myself, a bit earlier. Gave me a recipe for a cordial she says will
relieve my digestive problems. Don't mind tellin' you, you're damn lucky to be
married to that one. She'll see to it you live to a ripe old age. Probably give
you a dozen sons into the bargain."
Julian's mouth tightened at that last remark. He was not at all certain Sophy
would give him those sons willingly. He remembered well that she had not wanted
to be rushed into childbed. "Where did you see her last, Tharp?"
"Dancing with Utteridge, I believe." Tharp's good-natured brow creased in an
abrupt frown. "Come to think of it, that ain't a particularly good situation,
lad. You know what Utteridge is. An out-and-out rake. If I were you, I'd put a
stop to that association at once."
Julian felt a cold feeling in the region of his stomach. How in hell had
Utteridge arranged to meet Sophy? More importantly, why had he done so? "I will
see to the matter at once. Thank you, Tharp."
"Pleasure.' The baron's expression brightened. "Thank your Countess again for
that cordial recipe, will you? Anxious to give it a try. Lord knows I'm tired of
subsisting on potatoes and bread. Want to be able to sink my teeth into a nice
joint of beef again."
"I'll tell her." Julian shifted direction, glancing around the room for
Utteridge. He did not see the man but he did catch sight of Sophy. She was just
leaving to go out into the gardens. Waycott was preparing to follow a short
distance behind her.
One day soon, Julian promised himself, he really would have to do something
about Waycott.
The gardens were magnificent. Sophy had heard they were Lord Dallimore's pride.
Under any other circumstances she would have enjoyed the sight of them by
moonlight. It was obvious that much care had been given to the carefully clipped
hedges, terraces, and flower beds.
But tonight the elaborately designed greenery was making her pursuit of Lord
Utteridge difficult. Every time she rounded a tall hedge, she found herself in
another dead end. As she got farther from the house it became increasingly more
difficult to peer into the shadows. Twice she stumbled into couples who had
obviously left the ballroom seeking privacy.
How far could Utteridge wander, she asked herself in gathering irritation. The
gardens were not so vast that he could lose himself in them. Then she began to
wonder why he had chosen to take an extended excursion in the first place.
The answer to that occurred to her almost immediately. A man of Utteridge's
character would no doubt use the privacy of the gardens for an assignation.
Perhaps even now some hapless young woman was listening to his smooth
blandishments and thinking herself in love. If he was the man who had seduced
Amelia, Sophy told herself resolutely, she would do her best to see to it that
he never married Cordelia Biddle or any other innocent heiress.
She plucked up her skirts, preparing to circle a small statue of Pan prancing in
the middle of a flower bed.
"It's not wise to wander around out here alone," Waycott said from the shadows.
"A woman could become quite lost in these gardens."
Sophy gasped and swung around to find the viscount staring at her from a short
distance away. Her initial fright gave way to anger. "Really, my lord, must you
sneak up on people?"
"I am beginning to think it is the only way I will ever be able to talk to you
in private." Waycott took a couple of steps forward, his pale hair was almost
silver in the moonlight. The contrast with the black clothes he favored made him
look vaguely unreal.
"I do not think we have anything to talk about that requires privacy," Sophy
said, her fingers tightening around her fan. She did not like being alone with
Waycott. Julian's warnings about him were already ringing loudly in her head.
"You are wrong, Sophy. We have much to discuss. I want you to know the truth
about Ravenwood and about Elizabeth. It is past time you learned the facts."
"I already know as much as I need to know," Sophy said evenly.
Waycott shook his head, his eyes glinting in the shadows. "No one knows the full
truth, least of all you. If you had known it, you would never have married him.
You are too sweet and gentle to have willingly given yourself to a monster like
Ravenwood."
"I must ask you to stop this at once, Lord Waycott."
"God help me, I cannot stop." Waycott's voice suddenly turned ragged. "Do you
not think I would if I could? If only it were that easy. I cannot stop thinking
about it. About her. About everything. It haunts me, Sophy. It eats me alive. I
could have saved her but she would not let me."
For the first time Sophy began to realize that whatever Waycott's feelings had
been toward Elizabeth, they had not been superficial or fleeting. The man was
clearly suffering a great anguish. Her natural sympathetic instincts were
instantly aroused. She took a step forward to touch his arm.
"Hush," she whispered. "You must not blame yourself. Elizabeth was very
high-strung, easily overwrought. Even those of us who lived in the countryside
around Ravenwood knew that much about her. Whatever happened, it is finished.
You must not agitate yourself over it any longer."
"He ruined her," Waycott said, his voice a mere thread of sound. "He made her
what she became. Elizabeth did not want to marry him, you know. She was forced
into the alliance by her family. All her parents could think about was the
Ravenwood title and fortune. They had no regard for her sensibilities. They did
not begin to comprehend her delicate nature."
"Please, my lord, you must not go on like this."
"He killed her." Waycott's voice grew stronger. "In the beginning he did it
slowly, through a series of little cruelties. Then he began to grow more harsh
with her. She told me he beat her several times with his riding crop—beat her as
if she were a horse."
Sophy shook her head quickly, thinking of how frequently she, herself, had
provoked Julian's wrath. He had never once used violence to retaliate. "No, I
cannot believe that."
"It's true. You did not know her in the beginning. You did not see how she
changed after she married him. He was always trying to cage her spirit and drown
her inner fire. She fought back the only way she could by defying him. But she
grew wild in her efforts to be free."
"Some say she was more than wild," Sophy said softly. "Some say she was mad. And
if it is true, it is very sad."
"He made her that way."
"No. You cannot blame her condition on Ravenwood. Madness such as that is in the
blood, my lord."
"No," Waycott said again, savagely. "Her death is on Ravenwood's hands. She
would be alive today if it were not for him. He deserves to pay for his crime."
"That is utter nonsense, my lord," Sophy said coldly. "Elizabeth's death was an
accident. You must not make such accusations. Not to me or anyone else. You know
as well as I do that such statements can cause great trouble."
Waycott shook his head as if to clear it of some thick fog. His eyes seemed to
become a shade less brilliant. He ran his fingers through his pale hair. "Listen
to me. I am a fool to ramble on like this in front of you."
Sophy's heart went out to him as she realized what lay behind the wild
accusations. "You must have loved her very much my lord."
"Too much. More than life, itself." Waycott sounded very weary now.
"I am sorry, my lord. More sorry than I can say."
The Viscount's smile was bleak. "You are kind, Sophy. Too kind, perhaps. I begin
to believe you truly do understand. I do not deserve your gentleness."
"No, Waycott, you most assuredly do not." Julian's voice sliced like a blade
through the darkness as he emerged from the shadows. He reached out and removed
Sophy's hand from the other man's sleeve. The diamond bracelet gleamed on her
wrist as he tucked it possessively under his arm.
"Julian, please," Sophy said, alarmed by his mood.
He ignored her, his attention on the Viscount. "My wife has a weakness for those
she believes to be in pain. I will not have anyone taking advantage of that
weakness. Most especially not you, Waycott. Do you comprehend my meaning?"
"Completely. Good night, madam. And thank you." Waycott bowed gracefully to
Sophy and strode off into the darkness of the gardens.
Sophy sighed. "Really, Julian. There was no need to cause a scene."
Julian swore under his breath as he led her swiftly back along the path toward