Page 2 of Only Scandal Will Do

Tommy grinned. “Saw your aunt at the Mayfield’s gala on Monday. She mentioned you landed last week. Thought I’d give you a day or two to settle in.”

Duncan shook his head. “Leave it to Aunt Phoebe. But what invitation are you talking about, Tom? My aunt’s masquerade?”

“God, no!” Tommy grimaced. “The one to Madam Vestry’s latest auction.” His smile widened to a leer. “The madam hit upon a fresh idea for an auction. Tableaux.”

“She’s auctioning off tableaux? Of what? Why?”

Tommy’s bright blue eyes glittered with excitement. “Tableaux of your deepest desires or darkest fantasies. Haven’t you ever imagined having a fantasy come true? A slave to your master? A pirate with a captured maid? A Roman soldier and a vestal virgin?” The young man chuckled. “I doubt you’ll find a virgin there tonight, although I understand some of these girls are new.”

Those images conjured a wide smile, but Duncan shook his head. Perhaps if things had been different. “What time’s the auction?”

“Due to start at nine, as usual. Didn’t you get the invitation?”

“I received it, although I didn’t open it.” Avoiding the astonished face before him, he

glanced at the mantle clock. “It’s gone eight now. I can take you to Madame Vestry’s on the way to my aunt’s.”

“You’re really not going? I would have believed you’d be keener on this, after the long voyage.”

“Oh, I’m keen enough, but I can’t be seen at Amorina’s. You know that.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Duncan?”

“Left it in Italy.” He stared intently at the fire for a moment. “You heard about my cousin, Roger Ferrers?”

“Killed in a hold-up out on the Guildford road. Sorry, Duncan.” Tommy’s gaze now also focused on the dancing flames. “That’s what brought you back?”

“Yes.” He frowned at the memory. “My aunt wrote, telling me it was my duty to return, marry and produce an heir. Which is true.” He scowled. “Easier said than done, though.” After the series of scandals that rocked him last year, it might be a cold day in hell before he could convince a woman to walk down the aisle with him. “I envy you your two brothers.” Duncan rose, downing the rest of the cognac. Though his favorite, the brandy’s usual warm, nutty flavor seemed harsh tonight.

“You wouldn’t if you were a third son,” Tommy replied. “Having to make your own way isn’t as attractive as you might think.”

“Perhaps its charm would pall after a while.” Duncan laughed, dispelling the bleak mood, and left to don the black domino costume he’d brought from Italy. The cloak, hood and glittering gold half-mask fashioned like a lion’s head concealed him entirely. He’d remain anonymous at the masquerade tonight. Settling the voluminous folds over a wine red coat and breeches, he entered the drawing room and stopped at the dismayed expression on his friend’s face.

“Are you wearing that to the auction?” Tommy asked.

“I’m not going to Madame Vestry’s.”

“Oh, you’re not becoming a Martin Marplot are you?” the young man whined. “What good is it to have you back if you’re going to spoil everybody’s fun?”

“I hardly found it fun to be accused of owning half-interest in my mistress’s brothel,” Duncan spat through clenched teeth. Then he relaxed. “I need a wife and I would wager I’ll have a better chance finding her at my aunt’s masquerade than at the auction.”

“Just come with me for a while,” Tommy pleaded. “Look over the tableaux and think

what you’ll be missing.” He frowned, pulling his earnest face into a comic mask. “’Sblood,

Duncan, you’re twenty-six years old. You’re entitled to one last scrape at least.”

After all this time, he did deserve a night of carousing, by God. “Damned if I won’t. But

I’ll still wear this.” He gestured to his unusual attire. “I’d rather not announce my presence at Madam Vestry’s. I suspect I won’t be the only one stopping by the auction before heading to my aunt’s party.”

* * * *

The nightmare ride bumped to a halt at last. Katarina had a moment to be grateful for the stillness before the door crashed open and a kidnapper seized her ankles. She struggled to wrench them away, but her abductor resolutely dragged her from the carriage and slung her over the other kidnapper’s shoulder. From this precarious position, she twisted about, gaining a brief glimpse of a short, dark-haired woman, who opened the door of a gray clapboard building.

A curt nod, then the woman lit their way with a single yellow candle down a shadowy corridor. Opening a door at the far end, she lifted the brass candlestick high to examine Katarina’s outfit, then cocked her head. The woman’s features were stark in the harsh light: ghostly white skin, delicate dark brows puckering over a petite nose, and a dark red mouth, pursed to speak. Uncommon beauty coupled with cruel detachment. Turning away, she called,

“Marco! Change into the Roman costume now!”