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fiction, Sophie still thought she would want to know about a mistress.
    There was nothing to be gained by not understanding the place she would have in her husband's life. If he meant to regularly commit adultery, it was something worth coming to terms with, no matter that it might cause her some distress in doing so. On the other hand, if she did not love her husband, a mistress might serve her very well, keeping her husband occupied while she was engaged in the activities that gave her pleasure.
    Eastlyn regarded Lady Sophia's perfectly cast features with some consternation. Her expression was now one of absolute serenity, yet East had the distinct impression she was no longer aware of him in any substantive way. It was just as she had said earlier: he was unable to fix her attention.
    Devil a bit, but it bothered him. It was not an admission he particularly wanted to make, and having made it, not one that he wanted to dwell on overlong. In what way could it possibly matter that Lady Sophia Colley was as uninterested in him as he was in her? Surely that was the best of all circumstances. Everything was made so much simpler by her easy acceptance of their situation. She did not blame him for any part of it, though she must suspect it was someone he knew who gave the rumor its sharp teeth. She was not in anticipation of a real offer of marriage, or even a sham engagement to satisfy the rumor mill until one of them was in a position to make a dignified exit. He would have insisted that she be the one to cry off, of course, and lay the blame for their dissolution at his feet. His reputation would not suffer unduly. Lady Sophia would not be so fortunate if she were cast as the one doing the injuring.
    It was all moot. There would be no engagement, in truth or in fiction, and that was certainly as it should be. Eastlyn did not welcome the prospect of carrying out his work while observing all the tedious conventions that an affianced couple must needs endure. There might be less pleasurable ways to pass part of one's life, but they didn't come immediately to East's mind.
    That was why it surprised him when he said, "You know, Lady Sophia, in some quarters I am considered a desirable partner."
    She did not so much as blink. "At cards, you mean."
    "At marriage."
    "But you play cards."
    "Well... Yes, I do." Eastlyn wondered at her point, for it seemed to be completely at odds with his.
    "And you make wagers."
    "Yes."
    "You drink to excess."
    "I may start soon."
    Her mouth flattened rather primly.
    "Very well," East said, entertained by her disapproving mien, and not proof against it either. "I admit to being foxed on occasion."
    "You have called men out."
    His amusement vanished. "One man."
    Sophie gave no indication that she was in any way intimidated. "You shot him."
    "Yes."
    "And killed him."
    "That was the purpose of shooting him, yes."
    There was a brief pause as Sophie considered the necessity of her next words. She had not conceived that she might have cause to say these things to Eastlyn, but the remembrance of things past had shaken her. Mayhap the marquess did not deserve such a setdown, yet Sophie felt compelled as if by some force outside herself to deliver it. "And there you have it," she began with a gentle matter-of-factness. "By your own admission you are a gambler, a drunkard, and a murderer. With so much to recommend you, it is little wonder you are sought by mothers in want of a husband for their daughters. These qualities have a certain cache among the ton, do they not? Gaming indicates a willingness to risk, drinking to excess, a surfeit of confident recklessness, and—"
    "And murder?" he asked.
    While Sophie suspected he was out of all patience with her, she went on as if there had been no interruption. "Murder suggests a resolve to act. In your particular case, a regard for principles and the necessity of upholding them."
    Eastlyn pretended to weigh her words carefully. "It is your estimation, then, that I am