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Nivelles. Do you have an opinion?” He laid the chart on a table, jabbing at the three crossroads with a stubby forefinger.
    Marcus examined the chart. “Ligny,” he said definitely. “It’s the weakest point in our line. There’s a hole where Blücher’s forces and ours don’t meet.”
    “Blücher’s ordered men up from Namur to reinforcehis troops at Ligny,” the duke said. “We’ll concentrate our army on the front from Brussels to Nivelles.”
    “Supposing the French swing round to the north toward Quatre Bras,” Marcus pointed out, tracing the line with a fingertip. “He’ll separate the two forces and force us to fight on two fronts.”
    Wellington frowned, stroking his chin. “Can you join me in conference this afternoon?” He rolled up the chart.
    “At your service, Duke.” Marcus bowed.
    His own plans ought to seem less urgent in the face of the present emergency, but for some reason they weren’t. He would see Judith tonight, of course, at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, but he was in a fever of impatience, almost as if he were still a green youth pursuing the object of hot and flagrant fantasy. Reasoning that he could be of little use until the afternoon’s conference, he decided to continue his search.
    He ran her to earth at the lodgings of one of Wellington’s aides-de-camp. It seemed as if half Brussels were gathered there, chattering and exclaiming over the news that, incredibly, Napoleon had taken Wellington by surprise and was even now preparing for an attack on the city.
    “But the duke has all well in hand,” a bewhiskered colonel reassured a twittering, panicked lady in an Angoulême bonnet. “He’ll concentrate his troops on the Nivelles road to meet any attack on the city.”
    “I’m sure there’s nothing to concern us, dear ma’am,” came the dulcet tones of Miss Davenport. She was standing by the window and a shaft of sunlight ignited the rich copper hair braided in a demure coronet around her head. She was in flowing muslins, a wisp of lace doing duty as a hat, and Carrington regarded her for a minute in appreciative silence. There was somethingwonderfully tantalizing about the contrast between her demurely elegant dress and the wicked gleam in the gold-brown eyes as she surveyed the room and its alarmed inhabitants with the faintest tinge of derision. A jolt of anticipatory excitement surprised him. He didn’t think he’d felt such powerful lust since his youth.
    He crossed the room toward her. “Your sangfroid is estimable, ma’am. Don’t you feel the slightest tremor at the thought of the ogre?”
    “Not in the least, sir.” Idly she twirled her closed parasol on the floor. “I trust you’ve recovered from your losses last night. They were rather heavy, I believe.”
    “Are you referring to my losses to your brother, or to his sister, ma’am?” His eyes narrowed as he flipped open his snuff box and took a delicate pinch.
    “I was not aware of any winnings, sir.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Only of the need to keep up my point.”
    “I’m hoping to persuade you to lower that point.” He replaced the enameled snuff box in the deep pocket of his coat. “I have a proposal to make, Miss Davenport. May I call upon you this afternoon?”
    “Unfortunately, my aunt, who lives with us, is indisposed and visitors quite put her out of curl. The sound of the door knocker is enough to throw her into strong hysterics,” she said with a bland smile.
    “What a masterly fibber you are, Miss Davenport,” he observed amiably. “I won’t ask why you see a need to keep your direction a close secret.”
    “How gentlemanly of you, Lord Carrington.”
    “Yes, isn’t it? But perhaps I could induce you to call upon me.”
    “Now, that, my lord, is not a gentlemanly suggestion.”
    “I was, of course, assuming your aunt would escort you as chaperone,” he murmured.
    An appreciative twinkle appeared in her eyes. This was much more amusing than