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the husband’s name yet again, and he had to smile at the looks of surprise and doubt on his friends’ faces. “His eldest brother’s child. Widow of the late, unlamented Edward Channing of Coulthurst.” And why saying the man’s name left a bad taste in his mouth, he had no idea.
    “Damn,” muttered Gifford, scowling in the direction the Vaughns had gone. “There was a man who should never have married anyone, let alone a woman as young and pretty as that one.”
    “Why not?” Hartley was aware of some information tickling at the edges of his mind, something he should have recalled when he had heard the name of Channing of Coulthurst, but that information was still proving elusive.
    “Not one for the ladies. Never was. Never had been. Not sure he ever could be, although not certain of the why of that. No sign that he favored men or anything else, either.”
    “Such a waste.”
    “Quite so. Your current prey appears to have turned the tables and is now pursuing you, my friend,” whispered Aldus as he watched Claudette extract herself from one man only to be halted in her renewed advance on Hartley by yet another. “She now makes your job easy.”
    “Suspiciously so,” said Hartley. “Duty bids me stay and let her ensnare me, but every instinct I have is urging me to follow those Vaughns.”
    “Then follow them. Your instincts are usually right. I have heard that the Vaughns are an odd lot, but that they are honorable and that one can always trust the word of a Vaughn. We will wait here and keep the fair Claudette from following you, if needed.”
    That was comforting, Hartley thought as he made his way out to the gardens. He was curious about how Aldus would know such things about the reclusive Vaughns, however. In truth, Aldus and Gifford often astonished him with the vast amount of knowledge they had concerning the members of society. He had no doubt that, if they had not already known his secrets, they would soon have ferreted them out. If the pair ever decided to turn their hands to blackmail, they would become very rich men.
    After searching his cousin’s garden for several moments, Hartley began to fear that the Vaughns had fled the ball. He followed the sound of the fountain and finally saw the pair. The light from the moon and the torches encircling the area around the fountain clearly illuminated the couple. Lord Uppington was seated on a stone bench, his elbows on his knees, and his head held in his hands. Lady Channing sat by his side, lightly rubbing his shoulders. He felt his shoulders warm at the thought of her doing the same to him and quickly shook the thought out of his head.
    When Lord Uppington slowly sat up straight, Hartley frowned. The man looked truly ill, and Hartley wondered if Claudette had anything to do with Vaughn’s shaken condition. Although he could think of nothing the woman could have said or done in a crowded ballroom to leave the man so overset, Hartley could not ignore the fact that Lord Uppington had been with the woman when he took this strange turn. Lingering in the shelter of the shadows, Hartley hoped the couple would say something that would absolve him from turning his back on his duty and walking away from Claudette, if only for a little while.
     
    “Here. Drink,” ordered Alethea, handing Iago some wine. “You look like death warmed over.”
    “An apt description,” Iago murmured and then sipped at the drink. “You did not have to bring so much drink. I think this one will serve.”
    “The rest is for me. One look at your face, and I thought I would need it.”
    Alethea was pleased to see him smile at her small jest. Seeing Iago so unsettled had alarmed her. He had been able to see into the shadows all his life and was, more or less, accustomed to sights she suspected would make her swoon. For Iago to flee, to look so sick and shaken, he had to have seen something truly horrifying. She was not sure she wanted to know what it was, but then told herself