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experience, but at least the man had accepted the doctor’s explanation. What he wanted to know was how Wainright had been injured.
    “An embarrassing accident,” murmured Bridgeport, allowing chagrin onto his face. “We were practicing together last week when the button loosened on my foil. Unfortunately, neither of us noticed until I scored a hit on Lord Wainright’s shoulder that bit into the flesh.”
    The runner did not believe the story, decided Mark, but since both Albright and Carrington had told the same tale, he had to be content. A hysterical valet’s words would never outweigh three lords. Yet the lie bothered him.
    Worse, the furor did not die down.
    “I don’t know where the rumors originate,” complained Richard a week later. “It may just be irresponsible speculation among the younger lads, but Reggie told me an appalling story last night.”
    He and Mark were ensconced in a corner of the reading room at White’s where they could talk without being overheard. Both maintained the faces of gentlemen without a care in the world who were exchanging the most trivial of on-dits .
    “What was that?”
    “You deliberately killed Wainright by tipping your sword in poison – though how anyone can believe that, I do not understand, for rumor admits they were your swords, making the choice of weapons his. No one can possibly accept that you would risk tipping both. Anyway, your motive is presumably Lady Wainright. You fleeced Wainright of his fortune and now mean to make off with his wife.”
    Fury was blazing in Bridgeport’s eyes, though his face remained bored. “There must be more behind this than a hysterical valet,” he growled. “I know the man has repeated his charges all over town, but how can anyone believe him over the doctor?”
    “There is something deeper going on,” agreed Carrington with a frown. “The fleecing story was making the rounds even before the duel.”
    “The man never lost a shilling to me,” insisted Mark. “I cannot even recall having played against him. You know how rarely I visit the tables.”
    “I have no doubt he was fleeced though,” said Richard. “It is the only way to account for his hatred. Perhaps a Captain Sharp convinced him that he was hand-in-glove with you. You know that you’ve a reputation for luck, for never losing a personal confrontation, and for uncanny judgment. The least hint that you are backing a particular side in any contest involving skill can change the odds. An unscrupulous person might claim you had asked him to anonymously place a wager on a long shot, offering to place a similar bet for the pigeon. If he had previously set the fellow up with a couple of sure winners, he would be in a position to abscond with a fortune when the long-odds big bet lost. Even worse, he might have deliberately implicated you. There was considerable wagering on your bout with Jackson last month. Our hypothetical sharp might have claimed that you would refrain from landing a blow. If Wainright bet heavily against you, he would have lost when you planted that facer.”
    Mark shivered. “Who could be that desperate? Such a scheme is bound to become public.”
    “I don’t know, but there is worse,” warned Richard. “Lady Wainright is ignoring all convention and returning to town. If you ignore her, people will say you are merely biding your time to mislead the gossips. If you speak with her, you will confirm all the rumors.”
    “Damnation!”
    “If there is a malevolent force working, it might be best to leave for a while,” suggested Richard, finally arriving at the point he had been striving for since the conversation began.
    “You want me to run away?” demanded Mark, so shocked that his face slipped into incredulity.
    “Not exactly, but I have a very bad feeling about this. There is more here than meets the eye. Frankly, I think someone is out for your blood, not just your reputation.”
    Mark frowned. Over the years he had developed a