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said.
    “Go,” she said. “ Now. ”
    He went.
    M ere moments earlier, Longmore had been primed for murder.
    Now he had all he could do not to laugh.
    There Sophy was, in her demure housemaid’s dress, the wide-eyed, stupid look fading when she lost her patience and called him an ox.
    Then the darling had grabbed his arm, trying to manhandle him. That was one of the funniest things he’d seen in a long time.
    Leave this to us , she’d said.
    Not likely, he thought. But if it pleased her to think so, he was happy to please.
    In this agreeable state of mind he sought out his mother and sister. Finding them wasn’t difficult. All he needed to do was walk in the direction of the scream.
    Only one scream before Lady Warford collected her dignity and swooned.
    He arranged as graceful a departure as possible for his mother and sister. He acted all manly and protective, exactly as he’d been told to do.
    He’d deal with Adderley later, he promised himself.
    And then . . .
    Why, Sophy, of course.
    Warford House
    Saturday afternoon
     
    “C lara, how could you!” Lady Warford cried, not for the first time. “That bankrupt !”
    She lay on the chaise longue of her sitting room, a tray laden with restoratives on the table at her elbow.
    Clara had far greater need for restoratives than her mother did. She wished she were a man, and could solve her problems the way men did, by getting drunk and fighting and gaming and whoring.
    But she was a lady. She sat straight in her chair and said, “What sort of question is that, Mama? Do you think I humiliated myself on purpose?”
    “You did what you ought not to have done on purpose,” Mama said. “Of that I have not the slightest doubt.”
    It hadn’t seemed so very wicked at the time. Clara and Lord Adderley had been waltzing, and she’d felt dizzy. Too much champagne, perhaps. Or perhaps he’d steered her into too many turns. Or both. He’d suggested fresh air. And it was a thrill to slip out onto the terrace unnoticed. Then he’d said things, such sweet things, and he’d seemed so passionately in love with her.
    And then . . .
    Had she been alone at present, she would have covered her face and wept.
    But that’s what Mama always did. She wept and screamed and fainted.
    Clara sat straighter, hands folded, and wished she could climb out of the window and go far, far away.
    The door opened and Harry came in.
    She wanted to leap up and run at him the way she used to do when they were children and she was frightened or brokenhearted about this or that: A robin’s nest on the ground and the eggs broken. A sick puppy. An injured horse put down.
    But they weren’t children, and Mama was already using all the hysteria in the room. Harry had enough to cope with.
    “There you are, at last!” Mama cried. “You must fight Adderley, Harry. You must kill him.”
    “That’s a bit sticky,” he said. “I saw Father as I came in. He told me the blackguard’s offered for Clara.” He walked to Mama and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. He straightened and said, “I should have killed him when I had the chance. But Clara got in the way.”
    What choice had she? She’d been afraid Harry would kill Adderley—a man who hadn’t tried to fight back. It would be murder, and Harry would hang or have to run away and live in another country forever—all because she’d been silly.
    It seemed more than likely she’d ruined her own life. She wasn’t about to destroy her brother’s as well.
    “Mama, if Harry kills Lord Adderley, my reputation will be ruined forever,” Clara said steadily. “The only way to mend this is marriage. Lord Adderley’s offered and I’ve accepted and that is that.”
    Harry looked at her. “Is it?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Since Mama is too upset to stir, and I’m sure she isn’t ready to go out in public, in any event, I wish you would take me to buy my bride clothes.”
    “Bride clothes!” Mama cried. “You think entirely too much about