Julian groaned and massaged his eyes as his temper began to cool. Perhaps he owed his wife the benefit of a doubt. It was true she had tried to coax him into vowing his love for her but it was equally true that she had a valid reason for fearing a passion that was not labeled love.

In Sophy's limited experience the only alternative to love was the sort of cruel, heartless seduction that had gotten her sister pregnant. Sophy would naturally want some assurance she was not being subjected to the latter. She would want to believe she was loved so she would not have to fear following in her sister's footsteps.

But she was a married woman sharing a bed with her lawful husband, Julian reminded himself angrily. She had no reason to fear being abandoned in her sister's condition. Hell, he wanted an heir—needed one. The last thing he was likely to do was cast her off if she got herself pregnant with his child.

Sophy had both the protection of the law and the Earl of Ravenwood's personal vow to protect and care for her. To go about in terror of her sister's fate was to indulge in a great deal of feminine nonsense and Julian decided he would not tolerate it. He must make her see there was no parallel between her sister's fate and her own.

Because he definitely did not want to spend many more nights alone in his own bed.

Julian did not know how long he lay there plotting how best to teach his wife the lesson he wanted her to learn but at some point he finally dozed off. His sleep was restless, however, and hours later the sound of Sophy's door closing softly in the hall jarred him from a light slumber.

He stirred, wondering if it was already time to rise. But when he opened one eye and glared balefully at the window he could tell it was still dark behind the curtains.

Nobody, not even Sophy, rose to ride at dawn in London. Julian turned over and told himself to go back to sleep. But some instinct kept him from dozing off again. He wondered who had opened Sophy's door at this ungodly hour.

Finally, unable to withstand the curiosity that was growing quickly within him, Julian climbed out of bed and went to the connecting door. He opened it quietly.

It took him a few seconds to realize that Sophy's bed was empty. Even as he was reaching that conclusion he heard the faint rattle of carriage wheels in the street outside the window. As he listened, the vehicle came to a halt.

A jolt of irrational but violent fear went through him.

Julian leapt for the window, tearing aside the curtains just in time to see a familiar slender figure dressed in a pair of men's breeches and a shirt jump into the closed carriage. Sophy's tawny hair was bound up in a severe coil under a veiled hat. She was carrying a wooden case in one hand. The driver, a slim, red-haired lad dressed in black, clucked to the horses and the carriage moved swiftly away down the street.

"Damn you, Sophy." Julian's fingers clenched so fiercely into the curtains that he nearly ripped them from the rod. "God damn you to hell, you bitch."

I love you. Do you love me, Julian?

Sweet, lying bitch. "You're mine," he hissed through his teeth. "You are mine and I will see you in hell before I let you go to another."

Julian dropped the curtains and raced into his own room, snatching up a shirt and pulling on a pair of breeches. He grabbed his boots and ran out into the hall. At the foot of the staircase he paused long enough to pull on the tight leather riding boots and then he started for the servants' entrance. He would have to get a horse from the stables and he would have to hurry if he was not to lose sight of the carriage.

At the last moment he swung around and dashed back toward the library. He would need a weapon. He intended to kill whoever had taken Sophy away. And after that he would consider well what to do with his lying, deceitful wife. If she thought he would tolerate from her what he had tolerated from Elizabeth she was in for a great revelation.

The pistols were gone from the wall.

Julian barely had time to register that fact when he heard the sound of a horse's hooves in the street. He ran for the front door, throwing it open just as a woman dressed in black and wearing a black veil started to alight from a tall, gray gelding. He saw that she had ridden astride, not sidesaddle.

"Oh, thank God, " the woman said, clearly startled at the sight of him in the doorway. "I was afraid I would have to awaken the entire household to get to you. Much better this way. Perhaps a scandal can be avoided after all. They have gone to Leighton Field."

"Leighton Field?" That made no sense. Only cattle and duelists had any use for Leighton Field.

"Do hurry, for heaven's sake. You can take my horse. As you can see, I am not using a lady's saddle."

Julian did not hesitate. He seized the gray's bridle and vaulted into the saddle. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded of the woman in the veil. "His wife?"

"No, you do not understand, but you will soon enough. Just hurry."

"Go into the house," Julian ordered as the gray danced under him. "You can wait inside. If one of the staff finds you there, say nothing except that I have invited you to be there."

Julian put the big horse into a gallop without waiting for a response. Why in God's name would Sophy and her lover run off to Leighton Field, Julian wondered furiously. But he soon stopped asking himself that question and began trying to figure out which male of the ton had sealed his own doom by taking Sophy away that morning.

Leighton Field was cold and damp in the dim, predawn light. A cluster of sullen trees, their heavy branches drooping moisture, crouched beneath a still-dark sky. Mist rose from the ground and hung, thick and gray, at knee level. Anne's small, closed carriage, the yellow curricle a short distance away, and the horses all looked as if they were floating in midair.

When Sophy stepped out into the mist, her legs disappeared beneath her into the fog. She looked at Anne, who was securing the carriage horse. The masculine disguise was astonishingly clever. If she had not known who it was, Sophy would have been certain the smudge-faced, red-haired figure was a young man.

"Sophy, are you sure you want to go through with this?" Anne asked anxiously as she came forward.

Sophy turned to gaze at the curricle stopped a few yards away. The veiled figure dressed in black had not yet alighted from the other vehicle. Charlotte Featherstone appeared to be alone. "I do not have any choice, Anne."

"I wonder where Jane is? She said that if you were determined to be a fool, she would feel obliged to witness it."

"Perhaps she changed her mind."

Anne shook her head. "Not like her."

"Well," Sophy said, straightening her shoulders, "we had best get on with it. It will be dawn soon. I understand this sort of thing is always done at dawn. She started toward the mist-bound curricle.

The lone figure in the curricle stirred as Sophy approached. Charlotte Featherstone, dressed in a handsome black riding habit, stepped down. Although the courtesan was veiled, Sophy could see her hair had been carefully coiffed for the occasion and that Charlotte was wearing a pair of dazzling pearl earrings. One glance at the other woman's fashionable attire made Sophy feel gauche. It was obvious the Grand Featherstone knew all there was to know about style. She even dressed perfectly for a duel at dawn.

Anne went forward to secure the curricle horse.

"Do you know, madam," Charlotte said, lifting her veil to smile coolly at Sophy, "I do not believe any man is worth the discomfort of rising at such an early hour."

"Then why did you bother?" Sophy retorted. Feeling challenged, she, too, lifted her veil.

"I am not sure," Charlotte admitted. "But it is not because of the Earl of Ravenwood, charming though he was to me at one time. Perhaps it is the novelty of the whole thing."

"I can well imagine that after your rather adventurous career, novelties are now few and far between."

Charlotte's eyes fixed steadily on Sophy's face. Her voice lost much of its mocking quality and grew serious. "I can assure you that having a Countess find me an opponent worthy of an honorable challenge is, indeed, a rare event. One might say a unique event. You must realize, of course, that no woman from your level of Society has ever spoken to me, let alone accorded me such respect."

Sophy's head tilted slightly as she studied her opponent. "You may be assured that I have great respect for you, Miss Featherstone. I have read your Memoirs and I think I can guess something of what it must have cost you to rise to your present position."

"Can you really?" Charlotte murmured. "How very imaginative of you."

Sophy flushed, momentarily embarrassed at the thought of how naive she must seem to this sophisticated woman of the world. "Forgive me," she apologized quietly, "I am certain that I cannot begin to understand what you have been through in your life. But that does not mean I cannot respect the fact that you have made your own way in the world and have done so on your own terms."

"I see. And because of this boundless respect you hold for me, you propose to put a bullet through my heart this morning?"

Sophy's mouth tightened. "I can understand why you chose to write the Memoirs. I can even understand your offering past lovers the opportunity to buy their way out of print. But when you selected my husband as your next victim, you went too far. I will not have those love letters in print for all the world to see and mock."