I had slept without my nightshirt in hopes she'd come, and when Lady Breckenridge slid her warm, bare body over mine, I forgot about Denis and Easton, the sneers of the gentlemen in the dining room, and the wreck of my father's house. For a brief and wonderful while, all was right with my world.

Donata did not stay, and I woke early and alone. While I knew that most people in her circle were aware that Lady Breckenridge and I sometimes shared a bed, it would never do to be seen practicing our sins. Appearance is all, in my set, she'd say. A ridiculous thing, but there it is.

Before she went, I asked her to accompany me to my father's house, and she agreed we would go there in the afternoon. Donata habitually stayed in bed until after one, so with Bartholomew's assistance, I rose, dressed, and breakfasted, then borrowed a horse and rode off on my own.

I went back to Easton's house. I'd helped the man escape Denis's rather brutal form of justice, and I wanted to know why.

When I reached the house, I found the butler outside, arguing with and gesticulating to a beefy man. The large man was familiar to me-one of the pugilists who worked for James Denis, and who usually stood guard in Denis's study, watching visitors with a cautious eye.

The man saw me and gestured for me to follow him inside. I dismounted and handed the reins to the butler, who was quivering in terror.

I walked inside the house and stopped in astonishment. At least half a dozen of Denis's men swarmed the hall and the downstairs rooms, pulling up carpets, tearing off paneling, and breaking holes in Brigadier Easton's walls.

Chapter Three

"What the devil?" My voice rose above the noise of the demolition. Two of the men looked up, saw me, and went back to work. The others paid no attention.

The pugilist who'd led me inside was large, a little taller than my six or so feet, and I put him at least eighteen stone. He'd once held me back when I'd made to lunge across Denis's desk, so I knew he was incredibly strong.