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stood, waiting for the man that was so intent on speaking with him to arrive at his side.
    "Wessex," the huge man acknowledged, peering into his eyes as if he might find the answers he sought.
    "Glenbroke," Aidan said, nodding a courteous welcome to the duke. "I don’t suppose there is any chance of your telling my sister that you spoke with me and that I am enjoying the ball immensely?"
    Gilbert de Clare clasped his hands behind his back and looked over the heads of the twirling couples on the crowded dance floor. "Not likely, I’m afraid. I have never been able to lie convincingly to my wife, and I fear her wrath far more than I fear yours."
    Aidan chuckled, exposing his dimples. "She does have a temper, does she not?"
    "Ruthless, she has threatened to quit my bed if I did not seek you out." The duke’s luminescent eyes held amusement mingled with a deeper affection that Aidan could not help but envy.
    "Oh, the little hellcat does know where to hit a man."
    Aidan joined his brother-in-law in watching the decorative couples dance past mountains of flowers and food, food he would have killed for on the peninsula.
    The duke leaned toward him as the two men stood shoulder to shoulder. "How are you, Aidan?" Gilbert asked, his voice quiet.
    Aidan could feel his jaw clenching as he attempted to sound serene. "I am well, Gilbert."
    The Duke of Glenbroke was not deceived, and his eyes narrowed with concern. "It is this for which you have been fighting, Aidan. Our way of life," the man said astutely, understanding the bent of his thoughts.
    "I realize that, Your Grace. However, one cannot help but wonder if our ‘way of life’ is worth the cost. And despite Sarah’s desire to see me enjoy myself tonight, I cannot seem to muster any enthusiasm after witnessing my friends’ limbs being hacked away from their bodies."
    The duke remained silent, for there was nothing one could say.
    Aidan turned his head, pushing his memories aside. "Sorry, old man. No need for both of us to be miserable."
    Gilbert smiled and gave Aidan’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "It’s alright, old boy. But I must warn you, your sister has decided that you should marry."
    He groaned. "Bloody Hell."
    "She thinks if you marry and begin a family it will lessen the pain of the destruction you witnessed at Albuera. I believe she has even picked your bride."
    Aidan’s eyes flew to his brother-in-law’s. "My bride?"
    The duke laughed. "Yes, and I must say I wholeheartedly agree with her selection."
    "Dear God, even my own kind has turned against me. You traitorous bastard," he teased. "Very well, who is this paragon of the fairer sex?"
    "Oh, no." The duke held up both hands. "Perish the thought that I should ruin all your sister’s clandestine plans for seeing you happily wed." Gilbert smirked, "You shall just have to attend dinner Saturday next in accordance with Sarah’s matrimonial schedule."
    Aidan took another sip of champagne, mumbling, "Perhaps the French were not all that bad?"
    "Eight o’clock sharp, and do not even consider…"
    But Aidan was not listening. His eyes rested on a woman standing on the far side of the ballroom. He could not see her face clearly for she stood at an angle, but something about her …
    He tensed as the golden haired women turned to receive a note from a footman. He watched her read the missive and then discreetly slip the communiqué into the bodice of her lavender ball gown.
    "Aidan?"
    He realized the duke had called his name several times, but he had not heard him. He continued watching the woman as she looked about then retreated into the recesses of Lord Reynolds’s home.
    Rage shot through him like a flash of lightening. He shoved his glass at Gilbert, splashing champagne all over the duke’s exquisitely cut evening jacket.
    "Wessex!"
    He ignore the cry as he pushed his way through the crush, focusing intently on the retreating figure elegantly clad in a shimmering silk gown.
    Aidan followed with caution,