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collection of dashing female friends work frightfully hard to ape the men’s clubs, you know. Is it true?”
    “Is what true?” Harry scowled at the younger man. Peter Sheldrake was suffering from a serious case of ennui. It was not an uncommon problem among the men of the
ton
, especially those who, like Peter, had spent the past few years on the continent playing Napoléon’s dangerous war games.
    “Don’t fence with me, Graystone. Are you going to ask Sir Thomas’s permission to pay court to his daughter?” Peter repeated patiently. “Come, now, Harry. Give me a hint so that I can take advantage of the situation. You know me, I like a good wager as well as the next man.” He paused to grin briefly again. “Or lady, for that matter.”
    Harry considered the matter. “Do you think Claudia Ballinger would make a suitable countess?”
    “Good God, no, man. We’re talking about the Angel. She is a model of propriety. A paragon. To be perfectly blunt, she is too much like you. The pair of you will only reinforce each other’s worst traits. You will both find yourselves bored to the teeth within a month of the wedding. Ask Sally, if you do not believe me. She happens to agree.”
    Harry raised his brows. “Unlike you, Peter, I do not require constant adventure. And I most certainly do not want an adventurous sort of wife.”
    “Now, that is where you are going wrong in your analysis of the situation. I have given this considerable thought and I believe a lively, adventurous wife is precisely what you do need.” Peter got to his feet with a restless movement and went to stand at the window.
    The fading sunlight gleamed on Peter’s artfully styled blond curls and emphasized his handsome profile. He was, as usual, dressed in the first style of fashion. His elegantly tied cravat and crisply pleated shirt were a perfect complement to his faultlessly cut coat and snug trousers.
    “It is you who craves action and excitement, Sheldrake,” Harry observed quietly. “You have been bored since you returned to London. You spend too much time on your clothes, you have begun to drink too much, and you gamble too heavily.”
    “While you bury yourself in your study of a lot of old Greeks and Romans. Come, now, Harry, be honest. Admit you, too, miss the life we lived on the continent.”
    “Not in the least. I happen to be quite fond of my old Greeks and Romans. In any event, Napoléon is finally out of the way at last and I have duties and responsibilities here in England now.”
    “Yes, I know. You must see to your estates and titles, honor your responsibilities. You must get married and produce an heir.” Peter gulped down a long swallow of his wine.
    “I am not the only one who must see to his responsibilities,” Harry said meaningfully.
    Peter ignored that. “For God’s sake, man, you were one of Wellington’s key intelligence officers. You controlled dozens of agents such as myself who collected the information you wanted. You developed the ciphers that broke several of the most important secret codes the French had. You risked your neck and mine to get the maps that were needed for some of the most crucial battles in the Peninsula. Do not tell me you don’t miss all that excitement.”
    “I much prefer deciphering Latin and Greek to poringover military dispatches written in sympathetic ink and secret codes. I assure you I find the histories of Tacitus far more stimulating than pondering the workings of the minds of certain French agents.”
    “But think of the thrill, the danger you lived with on a daily basis for the past several years. Think of the deadly games you played with your opposite number, the one we called Spider. How could you not miss all that?”
    Harry shrugged. “My only regret regarding Spider was that we never succeeded in unmasking him and bringing him to justice. As for the excitement, I never sought it out in the first place. The tasks I assumed were more or less thrust upon