"If a Hellion is responsible, he'd better hope for infernal help." The duke smiled. "Even so, I'll back you to win."

"Of course," Lucien said lightly. "As leader of the Fallen Angels, I have first claim on all diabolical aid."

Rafe laughed, and they relaxed into a companionable silence. As he idly watched the flames, the duke asked, "Did you ever wonder how many pounds of cheese we toasted over fires like this one in our school days?"

Lucien chuckled. "I can't say that I have, but now that you've raised the question, I won't be able to sleep for trying to calculate how much."

Suddenly serious, Rafe asked, "Is it tiring to always have to know the answer?"

"Very," Lucien said tersely, his smile fading.

After a long silence the duke said quietly, "No one man can save the world, no matter how hard he works."

"That doesn't mean one shouldn't try, Rafael." Lucien gave his friend a wry glance. "The trouble with old friends is that they know too much."

"True," Rafe said peaceably. "That's also the advantage."

"Here's to friendship." Lucien raised his glass, then took a deep swallow of brandy. It was ironic that he and his three closest friends from Eton had acquired the nickname of Fallen Angels when they had descended on London after leaving Oxford; except for Lucien himself, they were the most honorable of men. When tragedy had shattered Lucien's childhood, what saved him was the blithe good nature of Nicholas, the calm acceptance of Rafe, the unswerving loyalty of Michael. If it hadn't been for them, loneliness and grief would have consumed him.

He knew how incredibly fortunate he was in his friends. It was no one's fault that even deep friendship could not repair the damage to a soul that had been torn in half.

As he drained his glass, he remembered the incident in the hall. "I had to separate Roderick Harford from one of your chambermaids, a girl named Kitty. He wanted to expand her duties in a way that didn't appeal to her."