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accounts, the Peninsular War had been a grueling campaign—atrocities committed daily, spies lurking everywhere, provisions constantly running short. A man who had been through that four-year ordeal might well find it hard to stomach Lady Tarleton s fairy-tale vision of military life. Especially if he were in a pensive mood to begin with, as Geoffrey seemed to be.
    Lady Tarleton was too caught up in her storytelling to pay him any heed. Not so Lady Fontclair: she watched his departure with troubled eyes, and Julian was not surprised when, a little while later, she left the room herself. Going to look for the colonel, was Julian’s guess.
    He realized too late that he had let his attention stray from Lady Tarleton. When she said, “Would you like to see it?” he had no idea what she was talking about. But he said, “Very much,” and left the drawing room with her, prepared to be shown almost anything.
    *
    They crossed from the new wing back to the main house—the Elizabethan core of Bellegarde. Candlelight from the hallway sconces gleamed along the gilded wood panelling and threw into relief the cornice mouldings of roses, oak leaves, and clusters of grapes. Lady Tarleton led Julian down a long corridor, past an anachronistic
    billiard room and a small study, to a door at the end of the hallway. He opened it for her, and they went inside.
    The room was full of weapons—swords, pistols, crossbows, maces. Many were cherished antiques, displayed in cabinets or hung on walls, but others were modern guns and knives that must be in everyday use. There was armour, too, for both men and horses, and pennons, powder flasks, and spurs.
    Geoffrey Fontclair was sitting at a table in the center of the room. Lady Fontclair stood behind him, her arms around his shoulders. “It’s wicked and wrong,” she was saying to him gently. “Promise me you will never think of it again.”
    Geoffrey caught sight of Lady Tarleton and Julian in the doorway. He started violently and clutched at the head of his walking stick. Lady Fontclair looked surprised, too, but seeing his confusion, she mastered her own. She laid her hands on his shoulders for a moment, and Julian could sense her steadying influence flowing to him through her fingers.
    She came around the table, smiling. “You’ve brought Mr. Kestrel to see the gun room—how nice.”
    “Of course, I hadn’t expected to find you and my brother having a private conversation here.”
    “It’s not so very private,” said Lady Fontclair. “And we hadn’t a great deal more to say, so you mustn’t be concerned about interrupting us.”
    “I’m not in the least concerned!” Lady Tarleton snapped.
    The colonel came to his feet with an effort. “Got a bit of a headache,” he muttered. “I think I’ll get along to bed.”
    “Of course,” said Lady Fontclair. “Shall I say good night to the others for you?”
    “That’s good of you. Thanks.”
    She turned to Julian with her merry, sweet smile. “Mr. Kestrel, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve deserted my post in the drawing room for too long. I won’t say good night, since I’m sure I’ll see you again before we all retire for the evening. Catherine, until later.”
    Lady Tarleton made a scornful sound through her nostrils. Geoffrey mumbled good night to her, without meeting her eyes. She did not speak to him at all.
    The colonel and Lady Fontclair went out, walking arm in arm very gracefully in spite of Geoffrey's lameness. Lady Tarleton gazed after them, her lips twisting into a sneer. “Touching, isn't it,*’ she said, “how fond they are of one another?”
    Julian changed the subject hastily. “This is a marvellous collection.”
    “Yes it is, isn’t it? You must forgive me, Mr. Kestrel. That charming little tableau we just witnessed quite made me forget why I brought you here.”
    What she wanted to show him, it turned out, was the original of the sword in the portrait of Sir Roland Fontclair. With Julian’s help, she