"I will," Ralph declared somewhat thickly with a sneering attempt at a smile. "I'll lead the Hawkesmoor to the pit, never you fear."

Ranulf regarded his young brother with a degree of scorn. "In your condition, man, I doubt you'd be able to see your way to Perry's Copse."

Ralph flushed angrily. "I spend more time on the estate than you do, brother. I could find my way to anywhere blindfold."

Roland laughed, not troubling to hide his contempt for this boast. "If it were Ariel, I'd agree," he said. "The only time you ever ride around the estate with your eyes open, Ralph, is when you're in search of a bitch to service you."

Ranulf laughed as coarsely as his brother. "True enough, but grant you, Roland, that the lad goes as often on such an errand as any rutting stallion in a field of mares." His laughter was abruptly cut off as his eyes went to the stairs.

Ariel came running lightly down to the hall. She was wearing her old green riding habit, but Doris had taken a flatiron to it, and her white shirt was crisply laundered, her boots polished.

"Good morning, my brothers." She curtsied, every line of her body radiating mockery, as she greeted the three lords of Ravenspeare. "You passed a restful night, I trust."

"Where are your dogs?" Ranulf demanded. "You're not usually without those damn hounds at your heels."

Ariel's eyes flashed, then she said coolly, "Oh, they're in the stables with Edgar. You gave order last night that they should be kept away from you, so I thought it best if they didn't join the hunt. You wouldn't look kindly upon them if they interfered with the deerhounds, I daresay?" She tilted her head to one side as if in question.

Ranulf himself had lured the dogs to the poisoned carcass. He had left them sniffing and drooling around the meat. It was not possible that they were healthy, shut up in the stables. What the devil had gone wrong?

Tight-lipped, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the hall into the courtyard where the hunt was waiting to set out. He comforted himself with the reflection that the hounds were an insignificant problem so long as that drunken sot Ralph had done his work properly. If he had done, the earl of Hawkesmoor would not emerge alive from Perry's Copse this day, once he was lured within its tight dark confines.

"That is most satisfactory news, Mrs. Masham." Queen Anne nodded at her new favorite. "Such a lovely wedding it must have been." She slurped greedily at a bowl of oysters stewed in ale, disdaining the spoon, her fat little fingers curled around the silver bowl as she lifted it to her mouth. Juice dripped down her chin.

Mrs. Masham folded the letter from which she'd been reading an account of the wedding of the earl of Hawkesmoor and Lady Ariel Ravenspeare. She offered the queen a linen napkin. Her Majesty ignored the offering.

"Lady Dacre is a most reliable correspondent; remind me to present her with a little trifle of my appreciation when she returns to London." Anne examined a mounded blanc-manger of capon and rice. She nibbled one of the garnishing almonds as she dug her spoon into the dish. "This seems quite flavorful." With her mouth full she drank deeply of the fortified wine in her crystal goblet and reached her fingers into a dish of peasecods. She sucked the delicate peas from the pods, beads of sweat settling into the folds of her wobbling chins.

Sarah, duchess of Marlborough, turned her head away with a grimace of distaste. Although she had been dismissed from her post as Lady of the Bedchamber in favor of Mrs. Masham, the queen had not yet dismissed her from attendance. Deprived of the power that had made that close personal attendance tolerable, Sarah found it hard to disguise her physical revulsion for her sovereign.

"What kind of reward did you have in mind, Your Majesty?" she asked. "A lace handkerchief, perhaps? A fan?" Her voice dripped malice. Queen Anne was renowned for her stinginess. But the malice was lost on the queen, who considered the suggestions as she continued to suck peas from their butter-soaked pods.

"A handkerchief is a good idea," she pronounced, turning her attention to a dish of honey and almond sweetmeats. "Select one from my armoire, Mrs. Masham. One of last year's. But make sure the lace is not torn." She crammed a sticky mouthful between her glistening lips and was for a few moments silent as her mostly toothless gums wrestled with the sweet. She took another swig from her goblet to help the process.

Sarah removed Her Majesty's dirty salver and replaced it with a clean one, handing the dirty one to a very junior lady-in-waiting. "Perhaps a wedding gift for the new countess of Hawkesmoor would be in order, madam," she suggested in sugared accents.

The queen looked up haughtily. "I was under the impression that I had already gifted the bride." Her Majesty was no longer eager to accept suggestions from the duchess of Marlborough.

"A betrothal gift, madam." Sarah's curtsy was ironic but only her victorious rival could guess how deep ran the duchess's rage at her loss of power. "A gown and a string of topaz. Very generous, of course," she added, "but something to mark the wedding itself would be so much in keeping with Your Majesty's benevolence." She curtsied again. "If such a gift were to arrive during the celebrations-there are two hundred guests, I believe-Your Majesty's kindness and consideration would be so very marked."

Sarah waited, watching closely as the queen considered this while she gestured to have her goblet refilled. It would be a small enough exercise of influence, but any return to her old sphere was a triumph over Mrs. Masham. Sarah knew precisely how the queen's mind was working. A small gesture in front of a large audience would achieve maximum effect with minimum effort.

"Well, perhaps," Anne said eventually. "We will consider it."

Sarah hid her smile.

Chapter Eleven

The morning hunt was largely without sport, and Ariel rode a little apart from the main body of riders. She was looking for any sign that her brothers had mischief afoot, but she saw only their irritation at the lack of quarry. If they did have any lethal plans for their guest, it seemed it wouldn't happen until after the midday picnic.

"Why would you ride alone, bud?" Oliver trotted across to her. He smiled and it was the smile that in the past had always turned her limbs to water. Now she saw how superficial it was, how his eyes remained somehow flat and untouched by warmth, how his smiling mouth had a calculating twist to it.

"I prefer my own company."

"You've become excessively unfriendly," Oliver grumbled, but still with that smile that he believed would always melt her.

"I'm a married woman now." Ariel was determined to keep herself in check. She would answer him as coolly and politely as the Hawkesmoor did, ignoring all his barbed and suggestive comments.

"Ah, bud, you cut me to the quick," he lamented, reaching over to lay a hand on hers. "How could you forget so soon the pleasure we have taken in each other? Those wonderful nights… I remember so vividly the time when you waited for me in the moonlight, dressed as a boy because I had said-"

"Your reminiscences don't interest me, Oliver," she interrupted, feeling her cheeks grow hot as she remembered that night all too clearly.

"Oh, but they do, bud. Do you think I can't read your face? Do you think I don't know how to read your desire?"

Ariel wrenched her horse around and cantered blindly away from the temptation to tell him just what she was really thinking. She remembered her desire for Oliver now only as an exercise in humiliation. He had been a clumsy, inconsiderate lover with a lewd tongue and a need to dominate. The knowledge of her own willingness to participate in his games now made her stomach curl in distaste. But she hadn't known any better. How could she have, seeing what she had seen under her brother's roof, hearing what she had heard every day of her life? But now Hawkesmoor had forced her to look at things differently.

Quite suddenly tears started in her eyes as she raced away from the hunting party, feeling the wind rushing against her face, making her ears ache, drying the salt tears as they ran down her cheeks. She never cried. It was a sign of weakness she never allowed herself. So what was happening to her now? Surely it couldn't be that she minded the Hawkesmoor's criticisms? Why should she care what a Hawkesmoor thought of her?

But she did. She wanted the good opinion of that man with his calm bearing, his humorous mouth, his disfigured countenance, his innate gentleness hidden beneath the powerful physicality of his large scarred frame.

And the realization made her so angry and bewildered, she had ridden out of sight of the hunting party before she was calm enough to draw breath and take stock.

Simon, watching her galloping into the distance, resisted the urge to follow her. He wondered what Oliver Becket had said to her. Judging by Becket's sullen expression as he returned to the cavalcade, the conversation hadn't gone according to plan.

When they reached the site of the picnic, Ariel was already there. She had dismounted and was checking on the preparations as calmly as if nothing had disturbed her all day. Long tables were set up beneath the trees, charcoal braziers augmented the heat thrown off by the massive fires over which suckling pigs were roasting. The aroma of roast pork and the spicy fragrance of mulled wine filled the crisp, cold air.

"That was a damned waste of a morning," Ralph declared, snatching up a tankard of mulled wine from a table.