He shook his head. "Just here," he said, tapping the side of his chin lightly. "There's nine shillings in it for me. I am quite willing to share my winnings."

  This did nothing to clarify the situation for Miss Parr. Her dresser's voice had risen shrilly as another man was shooed from the room. "Oh, please, Mrs. Garrety," she said after a long exhale. "Put a shiv between their ribs if you must but remove the last of them quietly. I cannot bear more caterwauling."

  South's brows lifted. In the hallway the rest of the Compass Club fell silent. The last two admirers slipped out. And Mrs. Garrety's jaw clamped shut.

  India Parr raised her glance to South. Her lips moved around words he could barely make out as she murmured to herself, reviewing their conversation as if she were reaching for her lines. "Now, where were we...? Servant... heckler... voice... ears... grave insult..." She caught herself, and her expression became considering. "Yes, grave insult. Very well, though you may wish you had delivered one, you know."

  Rearing back, she plowed South's jaw with her weighted fist.

  The blow actually moved him off his feet. He shifted right, caught himself, and cupped the left side of his face in his palm. He felt a warm trickle of blood against his hand. His slow smile was a trifle disjointed as he worked the kinks out of his jaw. "I forgot about the earrings," he said.

  India's expression was without remorse. "I thought you might have." She glanced over his shoulder toward the hall. His friends were gaping at her. Over the top of the armload of clothes she still held tight to her bosom, Mrs. Garrety was also openmouthed. "Will that be all, my lord? Or do you seek another boon?"

  South's humor asserted itself. "One boon is all these bones can stand." He pulled out a handkerchief and touched it to the corner of his mouth. Even when she saw the evidence of his blood, she remained unapologetic. "You know," he said, "about our laughter during your performance. I feel compelled to point out that the play was a comedy."

  "It wasn't that amusing."

  He allowed her words to sink in, let her critique serve in place of one that he might have offered, then said rather drolly, "You cannot expect that I will always save you, Miss Parr."

  On his way out he dropped five shillings—the better part of his winnings—on top of the dresser's stack of clothes.

  * * *

  Only South did not retire to his town home straightaway. His friends did not pry when he merely said he was about the colonel's business. They had all been about the colonel's business at one time or another. Sometimes they were all engaged at once, though rarely toward the same end. It was better that way. Soldier. Sailor. Tinker. Spy. It was bound to become complicated if they were tripping over one another. East was apt to shoot someone, and Marchman always had the knife. North's affairs were apt to be tangled, and for proof of that one had to look no further than his recent marriage of convenience to Lady Elizabeth Penrose.

  Deuced inconvenient, South thought, though he liked the lady well enough and had a hand in bringing the thing about. It was another of the colonel's schemes in which South had had to assume a variety of roles but was not privy to the whole of it. So he had played all his parts with industry and inspiration, though nothing like what the colonel usually required of him. No, during this summer recently past he had been Cupid, companion, and, on more than one occasion, fool. Whatever served the meeting of those two he had done, and if it did not end well and happily for North and Lady Elizabeth, he would force the colonel to explain himself. South was certain he deserved that much from the man.

  Although it was late when South arrived, he was shown directly to the colonel's sitting room above stairs. The colonel had been carried there some hours earlier by two servants and cared for by his valet. Now he sat in a wheeled chair beside the hearth. A lamp burned on a table beside him and cast his thin face into harsh relief. A plaid rug covered his legs. His lap held an open book and he was running a single finger down one page as South entered. Neither man spoke until the colonel had finished reading and marked his place.

  "You'll want a drink, I expect," John Blackwood said, setting the book aside. He looked South over in much the same way he read: quickly, thoroughly, with an eye to what was on the surface and what was between the lines. "In the sideboard as always. Scotch for me. There is a story that explains the swollen cheek and lip, I collect."

  Matthew Forrester felt the stirrings of an old memory, one that did not often come to him. This evening's play had something to do with it, he was sure. There had been the odd moment when he had been reminded of Hambrick Hall days. Something the characters did or said pulled him back to that time; the farce of the courtroom scene was an obvious reminder. He hadn't been alone in those memories, because it was at the root of all the outrageous laughter and ill manners on display this evening in Eastlyn's box. None of them had been as foxed as they wanted to be, so there was no blaming it on drink and a thick head.

  But if he had been thinking about the Society of Bishops and their silly tribunal earlier, he thought now about the first time he had seen John Blackwood. There had been that glimpse in his father's study of the pose struck just so, the one that he had adopted to such good effect for the Bishops. Insolent. Mildly challenging. Daring.

  It was a posture Colonel Blackwood could no longer affect. His wasting illness had weakened the muscles of his legs, made his balance uncertain, and slowed his reflexes. This evening his hands were steady. That was not always the case. He was still a handsome man with his shock of black hair. True, it was thinning slightly at the crown and seeded with gray, but it was not what one noticed about the colonel at first glance. It was the eyes that captured attention at the outset and made one stand one's ground, not out of any sense of bravery, but because it seemed quite impossible to move until permission was granted.

  From behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles those dark-brown eyes watched South now. Insolent. Mildly challenging. Daring South to express even a hint of pity for him. Time and illness could not change that. It made the viscount smile to realize how wrong he had been.

  "Scotch, eh?" South said. "What does your doctor say?"

  "He doesn't advise me in regard to my libations, and I don't call him a charlatan. We find that to be a satisfactory arrangement."

  South chuckled, then winced. He touched his fingers to his lip, wondering if the small cut would scar. He opened the sideboard, withdrew a decanter of Scotch, and poured two tumblers, not stinting for either of them. Returning to where the colonel sat, he handed him one of the tumblers, took a moment to stoke the fire, then eased his long, athletic frame into the wing chair opposite him.

  "I went to Drury Lane this evening," he said.

  "Alone?"

  "No. North needed a diversion. The dowager countess is showing her daughter-in-law off again."

  The deep creases around Blackwood's mouth eased a bit His smile was gentle. "Elizabeth." He said her name fondly. She was a blood relation, the daughter of his dear first cousin, long gone. "She deserves to be shown off, not relegated to the country or playing handmaiden and companion to Lord and Lady Battenburn. Is she well?"

  "Better than well." South chose to remain quiet about the Baron and Baroness of Battenburn. Let Northam extricate his wife from their influence. There were some things a husband should be required to manage on his own.

  Blackwood nodded and returned to their business. "So you and Northam went."

  "Eastlyn also. It's his box. And Marchman, of course."

  "No, you couldn't very well leave West behind," the colonel said wryly. "I trust you managed some discretion."

  Staring at the contents of his glass, South cleared his throat. "I rather suppose that depends on one's definition."

  The colonel's eyes narrowed. "My definition is widely accepted as standard: demonstrating good judgment; prudent. Above all that you were circumspect, not attracting notice."

  "Ah," South said, one dark brow kicking up as he raised his glass. "Well, there you have me. Afraid I attracted some notice."

  Blackwood merely stared at him before he finally surrendered a sigh. "You might as well tell me the whole of it now. I find the application of thumbscrews so tedious these days."

  Grinning, then wincing anew, South launched into his tale of his evening at the theatre, sparing himself nothing in the telling of it. His recitation was no more flattering to his character than the actual events had been. Since there was no point in taking refuge his embarrassment at having allowed things to get so completely out of hand, South simply acknowledged it, apologized, and went on. At the conclusion, he was still stretched negligently in the wing chair but with the tumbler of Scotch pressed lightly against his cheek and the corner of his lip. It was a small concession to his injury at the hands of Miss India Parr.

  The colonel was quiet for a long time. "I suppose," he said finally, taking a moment to finish his drink, "that it could have gone worse. Though it's difficult to see how at first blush."

  "I might have fallen from East's box and broken my neck."

  "That would have been better, South. Not worse." The colonel waved aside any more of his protege's attempts to be helpful. "You made her acquaintance. That is something at least. She will have no difficulty remembering you. Was there anyone left in the dressing room to witness your introduction save her dresser and the Compass Club?"

  "There were loiterers in the hall. If they didn't glimpse it, they heard it. Berwin was among the last to be ejected. I believe he saw me exit, and I don't think he was alone. Grissom was there, I think. I made no attempt to hide my injury."

  "Good. Because you can count on your friends not to repeat the incident."

  "I know, but I think I can safely rely on Berwin and Grissom to spread the news of my comeuppance. It will soon be public record that I have alienated the affections of Miss Parr, which, indeed, I have."

  "That is your own doing. I did not suggest that."

  "It was a moment's inspiration."

  Colonel Blackwood withheld comment. He would let South work out how to right the matter. The younger man invariably did. "I should like to hear your assessment of Miss Parr. Refrain, please, from pointing out that she delivers a considerable wallop. I see the evidence of that for myself."

  "It was the earbobs," he said, pointing to the corner of his mouth. "I quite forgot she had them in her fist. Though I cannot say the same for her."

  The colonel ignored that. "Your assessment."

  "She is quite magnificent on stage. Dedicated to her craft, I think, judging by the way she took us to task for our disruption. I believed at first that she stepped in and out of character with uncanny ease, but I wonder at that now. While she was entirely confident behind the footlamps, I suspect she is much less so in other circumstances. In her own dressing room, for instance, surrounded by admirers, I found her to be less certain of her ground." South raised himself a few inches by pushing up on the arms of the chair with his elbows. "An impression, nothing more, I assure you. It flies in the face of the confident blow she delivered, but I find I cannot entirely dismiss the notion that, left to her own devices, she is eminently vulnerable."

  Blackwood frowned. It was not precisely what he wanted to hear, though he was uncertain of what Southerton could have said that would have satisfied him. "Could she be our murderer?"

  South shrugged. "I couldn't say. Is she capable? I can think of no way to answer that except by asking who among us is not?"

  "How would you assess the risk to yourself if I ask you to continue?"

  "I certainly would go on more cautiously than I began." He frowned slightly. "Are you thinking of asking me to stop now? I assure you, nothing of note has been accomplished."

  "I need to consider this further."

  South's frown deepened. It was unlike the colonel not to have made a well-considered decision at the outset. The fact that he was reexamining caused South to wonder what he had said that was giving his mentor pause. "Is it that I referred to her vulnerability?" he asked frankly. "What does that signify?"

  Rather than answer the question, Blackwood said, "Let it rest. I find I am in need of the same. I will send for you in a few days' time. I think an evening at the theatre is in order for me. Pray do not show your face there until you have heard from me. And mind your friends stay away. Northam has much to do that has nothing in common with this bit of business, and Eastlyn and West have their own affairs to consider."

  Southerton gave voice to none of the questions that occurred to him. The affairs of East and West were certainly the colonel's doing. Of North's current assignment he knew only a modest amount. That worthy had been tapped to find one rogue among the ton known familiarly to all as the Gentleman Thief. Northam's recent marriage had complicated the investigation, but South had no real concern that his friend would not be successful. The colonel demanded it. The members of the Compass Club therefore never delivered anything less.

  South stood slowly, stretched. He tossed back the last of his drink and relieved Blackwood of the tumbler in his outstretched hand. He placed both glasses on the sideboard. "In a few days, then," he said, carefully neutral.

  "Yes." The colonel waited until South had reached the door before he spoke again. "It was done well, Southerton."

  "Thank you, sir." South considered later that the colonel had only been so effusive with his praise to prompt a reaction. He hadn't disappointed, either. He had practically gaped, which in turn caused him to wince and clap his hand to the side of his face. The colonel had most definitely chuckled. The man had a decidedly twisted sense of humor.

  * * *

  India Parr examined her face in the mirror for remaining traces of the paint and powder. The application had been done with a particularly heavy hand for this evening's performance, and removing it had proved to be difficult. She was not inclined to spend more time on the matter. She wanted to remove herself from the theatre, away to her home, and crawl between the cool sheets of her bed. Perhaps lick her wounds.

  True, there were no visible scars from tonight's altercation, but her loss of control left her feeling wounded and out of sorts. Behind her she heard Mrs. Garrety gently clucking her tongue as the dresser arranged clothes in the armoire.

  "Leave it," India said. "Leave all of it."

  "It's no good being cross with me, dearie. I'm not the one you're angry at."

  India eyes refocused on her reflection. She conceded the truth of what had just been said. "No, you're not."

  "I've never seen the like before," the older woman continued as she straightened and fussed over the clothes and costumes. "You were... were..."

  India sighed as words failed Mrs. Garrety. "I've never been so provoked. It's the sort of thing I could expect in the beginning. In the less reputable theatres. And always from the students crowding the back who thought it a good joke to pull the actors from the play and make them part of their own little dramas. It was surprisingly easy to resist then. They were obvious in their intent." She swiveled on her stool, turning away from the mirror. "I think I won their respect because I never gave in."

  "I know ye did, dearie. I was there. Remember?"

  A slight crease appeared between India's brows. She raised a hand and rubbed at it absently. "Yes, you were, weren't you?"

  "Hmm." Mrs. Garrety closed the armoire. "Done here. Now, let's have a look at you." She studied her employer's pale face. "What's toward? Is it a megrim? Shall I prepare something?"

  "No," India said quickly, letting her hand fall away. Then more softly, with less force behind the words, she said, "No, thank you. It's nothing save reaction to the end of a very tedious day."

  The dresser studied India a moment longer. "As you wish. Let me finish removing the paint from your face."

  India acquiesced without any show of the reluctance she felt. What she truly wanted was the thing she couldn't have: solitude. She gave herself up to her dresser's ministrations, lifting her face and turning her head from side to side as docilely as a lamb. One of Mrs. Garrety's strong, warm hands closed over the slim stem of her throat but held it as gently as if it were a delicate crystal vase. The other hand made short work of the remnants of the stage powder and paint.

  "There," she said upon completion. "'Ave a look, dearie. It's your lovely face you'll be seeing. Not the French trollop's."

  India turned and spared a glance for her mirror. "Do you think the critics will take notice of what happened tonight?"

  Mrs. Garrety waved that concern aside. "I think you gave as good as you got. They were gentlemen behaving as louts. Well into their cups, I'd wager. For all their foolery, ye never lost your true audience." With an efficiency honed by experience, she began helping India out of her costume. The ribbons and stays did not tangle tonight. The separate pieces of the gown, bodice and skirt, then the undergarments, all fell away without a tug-of-war. The dresser whisked them to one side, draping them over a chair to be pressed later while India removed the whalebone panniers that had given her gown its classic silhouette. "'Tis a pity, perhaps, that more didn't see you take his lordship to task right here."

  India glanced at her dresser in some surprise and saw Mrs. Garrety was watching her, something shrewd in her regard. "You were particularly single-minded in your efforts to remove everyone tonight."

  "Yes, well, I saw him and his friends coming this way," she said crisply. "I couldn't predict what a scene it might be. I should 'ave known you'd hold your own. Didn't expect ye'd land him a facer, though. That was a picture, I tell ye. I'm thinking now that more should have enjoyed it."

  India said nothing, choosing not to reveal that Viscount Southerton had asked for the facer. She was not certain what to make of it. Perhaps it was part and parcel of some ridiculous wager made with his friends. Then again... In any event, she did not care to entertain Mrs. Garrety's opinion on the matter. "I'll finish myself," she said. "Will you ask Doobin to flag a cab?"