Following him, she found herself immersed in a room with dark wood, reds and royal blues. She hadn’t paid attention to the furnishings the previous morning. It was a very manly room, no hint of a feminine touch anywhere. A sleek, ginger feline was curled in the nook of the sofa, head tucked under its arm. It glanced up and assessed her. James stroked it absentmindedly as he passed. It continued to stare at her.

She approached cautiously, and the cat did not seem to have any intention of moving. She extended her hand for the cat to sniff. Its nose twitched delicately at her fingertips and licked her finger pad. Calliope lightly stroked its chin. Satisfied, the cat stretched back into the corner and closed its eyes.

She looked up to find James observing the display with a small smile. "Gideon is a good judge of character. It is unusual for someone to receive a token of his affection so quickly."

She glanced at the sleeping furball and was about to comment when Templeton entered. "My lord, this note was just delivered. Would you like tea served?"

James nodded and took the note. Templeton strode out of the room.

James scanned the note. A satisfied expression crossed his features.

"How do you feel about attending a house party this weekend?"

She looked up in surprise. "House party?"

"Yes, Pettigrew is hosting one at his estate just outside of London. Since he’s on our list, it would give us the perfect opportunity to have a look through his… things."

Her eyebrows lifted. "His things?"

"You are starting to sound like a parrot, Miss Minton. I am sure that Ternberry and Roth will also be in attendance. It is quite a good opportunity. "

His parrot comment struck a discordant note and she said a bit tartly, "And what if Stephen’s house is broken into and the object we are so desperate to find is taken?"

A glint of amusement lit his eyes. "We can only hope someone does try to break into Stephen’s house. Several of my acquaintances will stay in the townhouse while you are gone."

"Oh, and how long will we be at Pettigrew’s?"

His shoulders moved in a lazy gesture. "Through the weekend."

A delicate shiver caught her.

He retrieved two pieces of parchment and wrote two notes. Templeton appeared a moment later with tea.

"See that these are delivered," James told the butler, who nodded and departed with the notes.

Calliope unsuccessfully tried to stifle another yawn.

"Maybe we should cut the evening short tonight. My driver will see you safely home. Everything will be ready when you arrive. There will be sufficient time for us to plan our strategy on the journey to Pettigrew’s."

Calliope rose to leave and he grasped her right hand and pulled her forward. Their eyes held. His forefinger stroked her palm.

"I will pick you up tomorrow. " He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist. "Sleep well, my dear."

She hurried out of the room like the Fates were nipping at her heels.


James stared at the entryway ceiling after she left. He usually avoided looking at it whenever possible. The pain had dulled over the years but he could still feel the emptiness that remained.

He remembered the glow on his mother’s face when the ceiling had been finished. She had been so thrilled with the way it had turned out. His father had given the painter more money than initially negotiated. Any amount of money was worth his marchioness’s delight.

His vibrant mother passed away a scant two months later. The doctor had said she contracted a lung disease. James knew then, at the age of twelve, that her illness was a result of the chill she had developed on their last outing. If only he had not requested that last picnic, she might still be alive.

His father had agreed. The day his mother was locked in the family crypt was the last day his father had spoken to him. In whispered tones James overheard the servants saying he looked too much like his dear mother for his father to stomach. And just at the age when James had needed his father the most, he was completely out of reach.

Unreciprocated love was a bitter thing.

James recalled the last evening he had allowed himself to cry. He had been in bed when he’d heard his father screaming in anger. James had come running, only to duck as a spray of glass crested the top of the staircase. He had cowered at the railing, peering through the uprights, hidden from his father’s view. But James had a clear view of the tableau.

The gathered servants had scattered in all directions. His father had gone into a frenzy, threatening to tear the ceiling down. He had hurled two more crystal goblets at it, but no damage was done. He had then crumpled to the floor and cried for what seemed like hours. Unbeknownst to the older man, only a stone’s throw away, his young son had cried with him. Cried for his father and for himself.

His father drank enough to forget his enraged promises concerning the ceiling, but James had not forgotten. He couldn’t recall ever seeing his father sober again. His father’s gambling exploits became legendary and he was rarely in residence at the London townhouse.

The marquess finally joined his beloved wife a year later, leaving his only offspring with a ruined empire and the assured knowledge he would never fall in love. Never succumb to weakness.

James broodingly stared at the half-full glass of scotch in his hand. He abruptly placed it on the Queen Anne table and left the room.


* * *

Deirdre and Robert walked into Calliope’s sitting room an hour after she returned to the townhouse. Robert looked determined. He was undoubtedly there to discuss her dealings with Angelford and had decided to bring reinforcements.

"When did you acquire such a burly staff?" Deirdre queried.

Two of Angelford’s footmen had ridden home with Calliope and were now installed in her household. They looked more like pugilists than servants. "They are temporary replacements for Stephen’s footmen. Charlie contracted pneumonia and Fred twisted his ankle. I believe the new men are relatives."

She pulled out a portmanteau and started packing, trying to avoid their sharp eyes.

"Where are you off to?" Robert demanded.

"I am attending a house party at Lord Pettigrew’s estate."

Calliope looked over in time to see Deirdre’s brows shoot skyward. Deirdre and Robert exchanged a glance. "House party?"

Calliope fastened a determined look on her face. "Yes. I have never been to one, and this is a wonderful opportunity."

Robert looked at her disapprovingly. "I will talk to Stephen. He’s gone too far this time. You cannot go."

Calliope lifted her chin. "I can and I will."

She pulled a day dress out of her closet. "Furthermore, I’m not going with Stephen because he’s away on business. I’m going with the Marquess of Angelford."

She heard Deirdre gasp and Robert exclaim, "What?"

Calliope didn’t meet their eyes. "Stephen gave me permission to be escorted by the marquess. He is perfectly harmless." Calliope choked the last out with some difficulty.

Robert touched her arm, forcing her to look at him. "To say that Angelford is perfectly harmless is paramount to saying a lion is a tabby cat. You don’t know what he’s capable of, Calliope. He behaves politely in society, but I have it on good authority that he’s not one to toy with. Besides, I thought you couldn’t stand Angelford. Remember all those caricatures y0u’ve drawn of him? The insults, the cuts, your displeasure at his behavior?"

She met his eyes firmly. "I told you, I’m going to a house party to observe. It’s an opportunity to do my job better. That is all, Robert, nothing more. I have nothing to worry about from Angelford. Now, if you two will excuse me, I need to pack."

She caught the hurt expression in Robert’s eyes and the bewildered look in Dee ’s. Guilt clenched at her gut, and she struggled with her conscience. Deceiving her friends went against her principles, but there was nothing she could do about it at the moment. Stephen’s life might be in jeopardy and she had to carry on with the plan.

She softened her eyes and put her hand over Robert’s. "Stephen will be back soon and everything will return to normal. Please, believe me. Just trust my judgment in this."

Confusion warred in his face and he turned and exited the room without another word.

Deirdre remained a minute longer, her expression registering hurt and concern. " Cal?"

The deeper question was implicit.

There was an uncomfortable pause and Calliope was at a loss for words. She dashed a hand through her hair. " Dee, I can’t tell you now. Just trust me, please?" She looked up at Deirdre pleadingly, but her sister continued to look concerned.

"Be careful Cal. See that you don’t get burned."

Deirdre shook her head and followed Robert out of the house.

Calliope walked to the window and watched her friends leave. She hated shutting them out.

Deirdre’s assessment was correct, as usual. The fire was feeling a bit too warm.


Robert spotted the man in the smokiest section of the tavern. The ramshackle building was located in one of the worst parts of London. He didn’t enjoy meeting here. Calliope’s face flashed in his mind. It was to her that he owed the pleasure of the night’s surroundings. He was still simmering over the conversation hours before. He longed to go back and shake some sense into her.

Robert sat across from the man. "Do you have it?"

The man shook his head. "No."

Damn. He had heard Stephen say that it would be there. Now it was too late to ask for more information. "Does she have it?"

"Pretty sure."

"Do you think she will give it to me?"