I had lost a wager with her at that fateful billiards game, but I had dutifully enclosed the note with a letter to her when I'd received my autumn pay packet. I'd made certain to pay that debt, not only for honor’s sake, but because I definitely did not want to be beholden to Lady Breckenridge.

She knew this. The glitter in her eyes told me so.

I bowed. "I beg your pardon. I will rectify the omission immediately."

Her smile deepened, as though she'd wagered with herself whether I would go along with her pretense or tell her to go to the devil.

We watched each other for a few minutes more, then, losing interest in our non-conversation, Lady Breckenridge abruptly inclined her head and said, "Good evening, Captain," and sashayed her way to the door.

The musky scent of her perfume lingered after she'd gone. I straightened the figurines on the shelf, wondering again what to make of Lady Breckenridge. Her blunt observations were every bit as pointed as those of Lady Aline Carrington, but Lady Breckenridge's eyes often held a spark of malice, while Lady Aline was kindness itself.

I had learned through Lady Aline that Lady Breckenridge came from a very wealthy and powerful family; likely she'd married Viscount Breckenridge at her family's behest. There had certainly been no love lost between Lord and Lady Breckenridge; in the brief time I'd observed them, they’d never even exchanged words.

I sank down with some relief to the Turkish sofa to wait for Grenville, and amused myself with a volume of his Description de L'Egypte. Grenville was the proud owner of these large folios of magnificent engravings put together by Napoleon’s scientific expedition to Egypt nearly eighteen years before. The emperor had been mad for Egypt, and so had dragged artists, scientists, draftsmen, and architects with him to the Nile to measure and record every antiquity in the country. We'd heard intriguing stories of artists drawing while bullets rained down around them and of them using soldiers' backs as drafting boards.