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revealing. Instead, he strolled casually into the anteroom where the musicians played.

There he found Mr. Bach, the queen's latest protege. Rothgar had commissioned some music from him, and also arranged the copying of his collection of keyboard music written by his father. That music had great elegance and clarity, and he asked Bach to play a piece of it during the evening.

He was in great need of clarity.

"Of course, my lord," Bach said, continuing to conduct the small orchestra. "The queen is graciously appreciative of my father's music, too."

"How does the Diana piece progress?" Rothgar asked, an idea stirring. Before going north, he had commissioned Bach to write music for the Rousseau cantata. "I am holding a masqued ball on Monday, and have it in mind to make it into a true one in the old style."

"To stage a masque, my lord?"

"Exactly."

The man's eyes brightened with interest. "The music is done, my lord, and performers could be found at the King's Theater."

Rothgar settled the details then moved on, wondering if he'd regret that impulse. Ordering music for the Diana cantata had been a whim, intended only as a teasing gift to an intriguing lady. Now it would make her the focus of his ball.

She would be the focus anyway, with the court knowing she was available for marriage. A reminder of the powers and folly of love seemed in order. For both her and himself.

When he judged the moment right, he allowed himself to follow the pull he'd resisted, the pull toward the countess. Her chestnut hair glinted in the candlelight and even beneath her powder, her skin glowed like a pearl. Despite corset and hoops he could see the curve of her lovely body and painfully, he longed to gather her into his arms.

Just that. To hold her.

What a strange path they had followed to be so intimate without ever enjoying simple embraces.

He forced such thoughts away and approached, noting Lord Randolph Somerton hovering beside her.

Like a vulture over a juicy meal.

An ill-dressed vulture. Somerton should not wear violet.

Devil take it. It would be the final idiocy to descend to petty, spiteful jealousy.

Somerton was blond and handsome in a broad-shouldered, strong-boned way, and popular with ladies. Any number of young hopefuls had tried to catch his eye, but it was well known that he needed an heiress. As a duke's son, he should be able to find one, but he'd not seemed to apply himself until now.

Diana's wealth and power must be too tempting to let slip away, particularly as rumor said his father was tired of his gaming debts. At the moment, however, no one would guess that he was an idle wastrel.

D'Eon was also of the group, but with his lively hands and wide smile, he seemed as harmless as a lovebird.

Masques indeed, with everyone playing a part.

The countess did not pretend to be unaware of him, wise woman, and turned as he approached, with a nicely judged cool smile. "Lord Rothgar, how lovely to see you again so soon."

He kissed her hand, assessing, seeing no sign of desperation. "London being London, dear lady, we are likely to intercept quite often." He greeted the others and was immediately asked by one young lady about the attack on the road.

"Do satisfy Miss Hestrop's curiosity, my lord," Diana said, fluttering her gold lace fan as if nervous. "I have done my best, but alas, I was too overset to notice anything except the awful noise."

"You admirably refrained from shrieking or clutching my pistol arm, Lady Arradale. I am sure I owe you my life."

Half-hidden by her fan, she gave him a brief, scathing look, and he abandoned unwise teasing to tell the story yet again.

"How terrifying, Lord Rothgar!" exclaimed the young lady. "I fear to travel at all!"

"I'm sure it was an isolated incident, Miss Hestrop."

"And you fought the villains off single-handed? How brave."

"Hardly that - "

"Mon dieu, my lord!" exclaimed D'Eon. "You are too modest. Three enemies slain, and you with only two pistols. Come now, you must tell us how you achieved this magic."

"Luck," Rothgar said, but detecting a suspicious edge to D'Eon's comments. "Which might amount to the same thing as magic."

"Luck is delightful in all aspects of life, my lord. But please, explain this good fortune."

"My outrider fired once, and alas, died himself as a result. My first shot took the other assailant inside the coach. My second accounted for the other two by a freak, but in far too gruesome a manner to describe