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a moment, as a slow smile curved his mouth. He’d had a hunch that Mademoiselle St. Gerard would enjoy meeting his new companion. And it obviously would serve to further ensnare Lilith Benton if he held the key to both her brother’s salvation and to his ruination. Antonia could do a fine job of ruination. He’d seen it before. “Perhaps I’ll bring him by for you later.”
    She smiled and sipped her brandy. “Thank you, Jack.”
    “My pleasure.” He began scanning the headlines of the paper he held. It was from nearly six years ago, in late May 1815, and the country—or London, at least—had been obsessed with Bonaparte and whether he would strike north from Paris and meet Wellington, or head west across the Channel and invade England itself. Jack wondered how many people knew just how close Bonaparte had actually come to doing the latter. Not many—or not many who were still alive, anyway.
    “Something intéressant ?” Antonia queried.
    “Not really.” He flipped the page. “Ah, here we go. ‘Elizabeth, Lady Hamble, beloved daughter of blah blah blah, died of influenza on May 14, 1815, at the age of thirty and five’.” He sat back. “Hm.”
    “What, ‘hm’?” Antonia asked. “It says nothing.”
    “It says everything,” Jack answered. “‘Beloved daughter.’ Nothing about beloved wife or beloved mother. Her parents placed the notice.” He snapped the paper with his fingers. “Nothing about ‘she will be missed’ or whatever contributions she’d made to her title or society or her embroidery circle.”
    Antonia chuckled. “What contributions have you made, my lord marquis?” She stood and glided over to his chair, sliding her warm arm along his shoulders. “What would your death notice say?”
    “‘Jonathan Auguste Faraday, the Marquis of Dansbury, is dead. Thank God.’” He refolded the paper and dropped it back onto its pile. “ Merci , Antonia.” Jack finished off his glass of port, glanced down at his pocket watch, and stood.
    “Aren’t you going to tell me why you wanted to see this death notice?”
    He shouldn’t, because although he looked upon Antonia with some affection, there was a reason she collected people’s pasts in newspapers, letters, and whatever else she could get her hands on. She’d never attempted to use anything against him, but then, he’d always made certain there wasn’t much to find, beyond the general ill manners and aversion he displayed to all his fellows. “Just a point of interest.”
    “I see,” Antonia said to his back as he headed for the door. “And does this point of interest have anything to do with a certain Ice Queen?”
    Jack stopped. Given that Ernest Landon knew of his game, most of the more disreputable ton no doubt hada fair idea what he was up to. Jack wished, though, that Antonia wasn’t quite so astute. “And where might you have heard that, my dear?”
    She rose to join him in the doorway. “Simply because you have stopped seeing Camilla doesn’t mean I have.” Antonia smiled and ran a finger along the line of his jaw. “You are very angry at this girl, yes?”
    “No. I am…irritated.” And after seeing her again yesterday, even more intent on getting Lilith Benton into his bed. Ice Queen or not, she was stunning. But he had no intention of letting Antonia know that his lusts ran toward that vein. “But I am taking steps to remedy the emotion.”
    “I have no doubt you are.” She smiled again. “Poor girl, I don’t know whether to pity her or envy her. She hasn’t a chance.”
    “That’s the idea.”
    Antonia followed him as he collected his hat and greatcoat. “I have learned one thing about Miss Benton which you might find of interest, my dear,” she offered.
    Jack shrugged into his caped overcoat, wishing the damned weather would warm up before it came time for winter again. “And what might that be?”
    “Her suitors.”
    Ah, the vultures . “Yes, there are several dozen, I believe.”
    “Did you