As if in answer, the spokesman declared with an oratorical flourish to the cluster of people crowded round the bed, “If required, you will testify in court as to exactly what you have seen here tonight-to whit… a clear-cut case of moral turpitude and venery! Thank you, that will be all,” he crisply added, dismissing the motley crew with a wave of his hand.

His eyes like ice, Lennox surveyed the female under him. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said with soft malevolence. Obviously he’d been gulled for someone’s monetary gain.

“Nor need we be,” the lady cooly replied. “You may go now. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Lennox didn’t move other than to turn his head toward the only other man remaining in the room. “Get out or I’ll shoot you where you stand.” He always carried a pistol-a habit from India.

Isolde Perceval, Countess of Wraxell in her own right, lying prone beneath the very large man, nodded at her barrister. Not that he was likely to put his life at risk for her, but should he be considering anything foolish, she rather thought she would prefer to deal with this hired actor herself.

As Mr. Malmsey shut the door behind him and quiet prevailed, Isolde gazed up at the man who’d come to rest between her legs with a casualness that bespoke a certain acquaintance with dalliance. “I thought Malmsey explained what was required of you,” she said. “But if you’d like an additional payment, kindly get off me and I’ll be happy to fetch my purse and pay you whatever you wish.”

Oz’s brows rose. “Is this some farce?”

“Far from it. With your cooperation, of course. As Mr. Malmsey no doubt pointed out, your silence is required.”

Silence about what? Through a minor alcoholic haze, Oz speculated on how he’d landed in this bizarre scenario. “What room number is this?”

“Thirteen.”

Then where was Nell? Still waiting somewhere. Merde. “Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” His expression was grim. “If you wish my silence, I suggest you comply.”