Devilish Page 0,113

with a descendant of Ironhand, too, all things were possible. She would find a way.

Lord Randolph was at Lucifer's losing at hazard when the Frenchman joined the table. A Monsieur Dionne, with an old-fashioned beard and no particular distinction as far as he could see, but a gentleman with money to lose.

However, it was himself who continued to lose. Damned dice. He had no idea what his tally was, but his father would cut up stiff about it again.

No he wouldn't, he thought with a private smile, because any day now flighty Lady Arradale would make up her mind, and she'd as good as said he was her choice.

Idiot woman with her chatter of eastern potentates. That was no problem, however. He'd keep her at home and pregnant, and she'd be no trouble. If she was, she'd soon learn better.

All that lovely money. Shame he couldn't have the title, too...

"My lord?" It was the Frenchman offering him the box.

He shook, and missed the mark again, devil take it.

"Luck is a wanton bitch, is she not, my lord?" said Dionne, offering his snuff box.

Lord Randolph took a pinch and found it excellent quality. Perhaps Dionne, despite appearances, was good for a temporary loan.

The man smiled at him. "Not that you need to worry about these minor losses. All London says you are likely to win the hand of a wealthy lady."

"It is as good as settled," he agreed, preening.

"My felicitations, my lord." Dionne turned to watch the play. "Though I have heard some speculation that the lady will go to the great marquess."

Lord Randolph felt a chill on his neck. "Rothgar? Nonsense. Everyone knows he will not marry. His mother was a raving lunatic."

The Frenchman shrugged. "Men change their minds. I understand Lady Arradale is a very rich woman, and a beauty besides."

"Dammit - " But Lord Randolph collected himself. "Mere gossip," he said coolly, rolling the dice again, losing again. "And if he harbors hopes, he is bound to be disappointed. The lady as good as promised me her hand this very day. It is to be announced on Tuesday."

Dionne seemed genuinely delighted for him. "That is excellent news, my lord." He raised his glass of wine. "I toast your good fortune."

Lord Randolph returned the toast and the congratulations of the men around the table, but inside he was pricked by doubt.

Rothgar? The woman didn't even like him. She'd commented on how chilly he'd been during the journey south, how he'd spent all his time on papers, hardly even speaking to her.

All the same, he was a man of power. What would happen if he decided to have her anyway?

An hour later, de Couriac slipped back into the French embassy, the warm glow of the perfect plan burning inside. Never mind D'Eon. He would have it all.

He had come to London with orders from the foreign minister to achieve two things - the death of the Marquess of Rothgar, and the disgrace of the Chevalier D'Eon. His plan would achieve both, and also avenge his poor Susette.

Yes, suffering for the countess, and then death for the marquess. He would need some help. He began to consider who in the embassy would be most useful, and most willing to keep their mouths shut.

Chapter 26

As Diana had expected, Sunday provided no opportunity for intimate conversations. She went to chapel with the royal household, and attended the less formal Drawing Room that followed. Bey was there but it was impossible to do more than exchange a few commonplace remarks. Lord Randolph was inclined to hover possessively, but she deliberately behaved coolly to him.

She did manage to slip in something to Bey about Brand being impatient for a decision, and that by the morning after the masquerade, everything would have changed. At that, however, others around began to demand details of the theme and decorations for the event, which he teasingly refused to give.

It became clear that he was involved in the planning, which surprised her. But then, perhaps not. He was Daedalus, and enjoyed automata and machines. A complex entertainment could be like a machine, manipulating those who attended.

How on earth, though, did he find time? Did he sleep at all?

Had he slept at all that night in Bay Green?

Was it her imagination that he looked tired?

If she had the care of him, he would sleep. Long hours of peaceful sleep within the compass of her care.

Diana returned to the Queen's House even more determined. Time was short, and she must cease