Then Presteyne left with a wall-rattling slam of the door. Rafe was glad to see the back of him; though an expert in all forms of gentlemanly sport, brawling with a furious husband of military bearing was not high on Rafe's list of pleasures.

Unfortunately the scene was not yet over, for Lady Jocelyn folded onto a satin chair and began to weep. Rafe regarded her with exasperation. He preferred to conduct his affairs lightly, with mutual pleasure and no recriminations, and would never have touched Lady Jocelyn if she hadn't told him that her marriage was in name only. Clearly the lady had lied. He remarked, "Your husband doesn't seem to share your belief that the marriage is one of convenience."

She lifted her head and regarded Rafe blankly, as if she had forgotten that he was there.

Irritated, he asked, "What kind of game are you playing? Your husband doesn't seem the sort of man to be manipulated with jealousy. He may leave you, or he may wring your neck, but he won't play that kind of lover's game."

"I wasn't playing a game," she said unevenly. "I was trying to discover what was in my heart. Only now do I know how I feel about David, when it is too late."

Rafe's irritation faded in the face of her youth and vulnerability. He had once been equally young and confused, and the sight of her misery was a vivid reminder of how disastrous love could be. "I'm beginning to suspect that under your highly polished surface beats a romantic heart," he said dryly. "If that's true, go after your husband and throw your charming self at his feet with abject apologies. You should be able to bring him around, at least this once. A man will forgive the woman he loves a great deal. Just don't let him find you in anyone else's arms. I doubt he would forgive you a second time."

Her eyes widened. Then, in a voice on the edge of hysterical laughter, she said, "Your sang-froid is legendary, but even so, the reports do you less than justice. If the devil himself walked in, I think you would ask him if he played whist."