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really!”
    Thea let squabble and exclamations swirl. She was immensely relieved on Dare’s behalf, of course, but what did this mean for her?
    â€œWhere is Lord Darien?” she asked, trying for a pleased, composed tone. “I’d like to thank him.”
    â€œHave to wait,” Cully replied. “Said his piece, then left.”
    â€œLeft?”
    â€œRum, really. Arrived late, told his story to Dare and a few others, then disappeared. But you never know what to expect from Canem Cave. The House of Lords is in for a shake if he ever bothers to attend. Come on. Dare and his friends are celebrating over supper.”
    Thea went to join the jubilant party at one of the outside supper tables set in the lantern-lit gardens. When she saw Dare’s unshadowed happiness, she was truly thankful and, yes, willing to pay the price if she had to. But as she accepted a glass of champagne for a triumphant toast, she buzzed with panic.
    Lord Arden made a joke about the Cave name and there being nothing to beware of tonight. Someone else mentioned Mad Marcus Cave, the murderous one. Another said, “The Vile Viscount himself.”
    She’d promised to link herself to a Cave, to a name that caused shudders, horror, and an expectation of violence. He’d left, but she took no comfort from that. He’d be back, terrifyingly terrific, dark and demonic, to demand his price.
    She felt like some character in a folktale—Rapunzel, perhaps?—who made a foolish bargain and then could not escape her promise.
    As everyone drank another toast, a breeze rustled through the trees and touched her naked back. It was as if it whispered, “Beware, lady, beware.”

Chapter 6
    I n a lifetime of crowded army living Darien had found that a well-run gaming hell was the ideal place for a man to be left alone with his thoughts, as long as he played and didn’t win too much.
    He walked briskly toward a hell called Grigg’s, careless of light evening shoes not meant for this work. Mayfair seemed a never-ending parade of tall, narrow houses, packed neatly together in terraces. A strange preference with so many stairs for family and servants. Yet each was a place of comfort, a place of refuge, where people slept easily at night, protected from others by brick walls, locked doors, and bars on the ground-floor windows.
    He had such a house now, Cave House, which had been in his family for generations. A tall, narrow collection of empty rooms. He had bricks, locks, and bars, but he felt far from safe there.
    Empty rooms should provide peace and quiet, but there were other kinds of noise. Though he had no personal memories of the place, and though all trace of dark deeds had been long since scoured, whitewashed, and painted away, the silent house deafened him.
    The nighttime noises were the worst, which was another reason to delay his return there. He sometimes woke to grunts, groans, and occasional screams, in a locked house shared only with a few servants. If any house deserved to be haunted, Cave House was it, but the thought of meeting any remnant of his brother, Mad Marcus Cave, made even him quake.
    Given a choice, he’d never enter the house again, but he’d made it part of his plan. His living there was supposed to declare to the world that the past was past and that the new Lord Darien had nothing to be ashamed of. He laughed into the dark. His neck still crawled from being stared at and he could remember hearing: “Mad Dog Cave. What’s he doing here?”
    He’d wanted to turn and bite whoever had said that.
    Even without words, the subtle avoidance of him had been unignorable. It hadn’t been meant to be ignored. It had been meant to drive him away.
    He’d seen Van in one room, but by that time he’d known better than to drag a friend into the mess. Later, perhaps, as a reward for victory. For now, clearly a Cave was a Cave, no matter his character and reputation, and