Fury rose like bitter bile. It took all Rose’s self control not to fling the empty blue bottle at the mirror.

“Helena will destroy us all!” she accused, swinging round to face her brother.

Charles averted his face from his furious sister and took a reluctant step towards his wife, gracefully draped upon the bed.

Even in her poppy-induced coma the unconscious young woman managed to look exquisite, the gold counterpane setting off her low-cut Pomona Green gown – with calculated artfulness, no doubt, Rose thought, her anger only increasing as she registered Helena’s serene expression.

 “I diluted it - just as you told me.” His tone was defensive. But afraid, too. “Helena promised she’d stop once I took her to England. It must have been a mistake.”

“Just as it’ll be a mistake to allow her near Lord Rampton this evening.” Rose bent to feel the pulse at Helena’s throat, her temper not improved by its strength. “She’s dangerous, Charles, and I for one don’t trust her,” she went on, interrupting Charles’s inevitable protest. “Unless we play our hand carefully we’ll not even have a roof over our heads. We know nothing of our host.”

“Helena must take responsibility for her own actions-isn’t that what you’ve always said?” Charles glanced miserably from his beautiful wife to stare out of the window with its view of St Paul’s - a meager consolation for living in such cramped, temporary accommodation.

 “If anyone can, Helena will be able to twist Rampton around her little finger.” He sighed, his tone resigned rather than admiring.

“I doubt very much -” Rose countered - “that Lord Rampton will be open to manipulation tonight. He’s owed a sizeable sum. All he’s interested in is your reassurance it will be honored.”

“Helena could persuade him to give us more time.”

Rose reconsidered the sharp rejoinder that sprang to her lips. Charles was as much a victim of Helena’s egocentric and manipulative nature as she and Arabella, their young sister. She might accuse her brother of weakness and indecision but she could never lay a charge of disloyalty. Seven years of marriage to the West Indies’ most notorious beauty had not dimmed his love for Helena, even if it had tested his patience and, Rose suspected, his sanity.

She lay her hand on his sleeve, the blue fabric worn, the tailoring no longer fashionable, and spoke more gently. “You know the only way we can honor Helena’s debt is by giving Lord Rampton the deeds to the plantation.”

Charles did not turn but Rose saw the desolation in his pale blue eyes as he trained his gaze on the distant church spire.

“Let me go with you tonight, Charles.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She had to go in Helena’s place. For all their sakes. She realized that now. Charles was weak, an easy target for the demands of a dissatisfied wife and a forceful older sister. But he could be mulish if he felt his consequence was being called into question. Rose had to be careful. “We must get the measure of this Lord Rampton. Discover his weaknesses.” She sighed, dropping her hand and trailing over to rest against the window sill.

“Rampton will think it deuced odd if I bring my sister not my wife when our meeting is on account of Helena’s lost wager to this man, Babbage.” He swallowed and Rose could see what it cost him to voice the danger that threatened them all on account of his wife’s deception. “I know you want to help but-”

“-But nothing, Charles!” Losing patience, Rose grasped her brother’s shoulder and dragged him round to meet her eye. “Are you suggesting that bringing your unmarried sister would make you look more of a weakling than bringing the wife whose gaming mania you couldn’t control?” This was too important, Rose decided, to tiptoe around her brother’s delicate sensibilities. “Listen to me, Charles! Rampton has never met Helena and she was in masquerade when she lost to Babbage. Let me go as Helena. How’s Lord Rampton to know the difference when it’s just for one evening?”

Rose watched Charles battle to retain his dignity.

“No, Rose,” he said, finally. He ran his fingers through his thin, blond hair.  “I’m responsible for Helena’s debts and I’m responsible for your welfare. It would not be right to expose you to this . . . well, we don’t know what kind of man Lord Rampton is. Ruthless. Calculating. Those are just some of the descriptions bandied about my Club. I admit it’s because of Helena we’re in danger of losing the plantation. But you had nothing to do with -” He paused and looked pained- “the sordid business that night.”

“With due respect, Charles,” Rose cut in, “I’m as much a victim of Helena’s dangerous vices and I think I can claim some credit for the fact we still have a plantation!” She changed tack suddenly, smiling as she reached up to touch his cheek. “Please agree, Charles,” she said, softly. “I shan’t embarrass you, I promise. I’ll simply be there as Lady Chesterfield instead of Miss Chesterfield. It’s not such a terribly wicked lie.”

             ***

“You’ll be a poor reflection on your supposed husband if you attend Lord Rampton’s dinner dressed like that!”

Edith, who had looked after the family for as long as Rose could remember, raked her charge with disapproving eyes before bundling Rose upstairs and pressing her down before her dressing table.

Rose frowned at her reflection, fingering her drab grey velvet gown, uncertainly. “It’s the best I have-”

“And has been since you developed a chest and were out of short clothes. Arabella! What do you think of your sister’s gown?”

Arabella, who had just entered the tiny room she shared with her sister, settled herself on Rose’s bed and giggled. “I think Rose is very brave to go out this evening pretending to be Helena, but I think she’d be even braver if she wore one of Helena’s gowns.”

Edith merely grunted as she went about her task with deft fingers, smoothing Rose’s glossy chestnut hair back from her high forehead and coaxing curls from a fashionably high top knot.

“Do you plan on going about in fine company this season, after all, Rose?” asked Arabella. “Will you be a debutante, or are you too old? I thought you said the Season was a lot of old nonsense and you wouldn’t be caught dead at anyone’s ‘drawing room’?”

“Your sister only says such things because there’s no money for the fine clothes needed to launch both of you, my girl. And does she look twenty-six with those fine eyes and glowing skin? She’ll always be a beauty.”  Edith looked severely at her younger charge. “Just bear in mind what a lucky girl you are, Miss Arabella. And how much you have your sister to thank for that.”

Arabella colored at the rebuke. “Would you like me to find you something of Helena’s?” she asked Rose.

“I couldn’t possibly!”

“I’ll find her most modest gown, I promise. You’re exactly the same height and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind since you’re going on her behalf.”

Rose looked grim and bit her lip.

An image of Helena with her languid self possession and love of finery flashed through her mind and for a moment the enormity of what she was about to do threatened to engulf her. Could she carry it off? Compared with the worldly Helena she was a green girl, an unsophisticated Colonial. Cleverer than Helena, certainly. But without Helena’s beauty and self possession was she not as good as throwing herself to the lions and making fools of them all in the process?

She took a deep breath and cast all doubts from her mind. It was the only way. She had a role to play, and play it she would. To perfection.

Twisting her head, she cast Arabella a wry look. “You’re right, dearest. Find me something … not too revealing. But don’t tell Charles. Dear Lord,” she muttered, putting her hand to her chest and stroking the comforting drab grey velvet. She couldn’t remember if she had a cleavage worth showing, or not.

                     ***

Ashley Delacroix, Viscount Rampton eyed his dinner guest appreciatively across the vast mahogany table. Babbage had not lied when he’d called Lady Chesterfield a beauty.

Had he lied, though, when he swore that in her arms he’d revealed nothing he ought not?

It was too dangerous to take him on his word which was why Adrian Babbage, with more than twenty years’ distinguished service to his country had been put out to grass and Rampton was sitting opposite the lovely Lady Chesterfield, wondering whether her innocent cornflower blue eyes and ingenuous air were the guise of a cunning deceiver.

“To a pleasant evening and the satisfactory completion of our business.”

An ill-matched pair, decided Rampton as he raised his wine glass to toast his guests.

The husband was clearly a nervous character – as well he might be if his wife’s antics of the previous week were indicative of her usual predilections.

He frowned at Lady Chesterfield. Easy on the eye, clearly intelligent. A veritable enigma.

 Babbage had described her as an ‘exotic’ beauty. To Rampton’s experienced eye she seemed more of an English Rose, although perhaps Babbage had been referring to the young lady’s unusually sun-kissed complexion and taste in attire, for the gown that barely clothed her this evening was considerably less modestly cut than the type of evening gown most English women favored. Not that Rampton was complaining. It was always a pleasure to dine with a beautiful woman, especially one not too shy to display her ample charms to best advantage.

“I trust you’ve found your visit to this country . . . diverting, Lady Chesterfield,” he now said, conversationally. “My friend, Adrian Babbage - whom you will no doubt recall,” he added, his smile sly, “tells me you were born and bred in the West Indies and that this is your first visit to England. You must still be adjusting to the climate.”

Lady Chesterfield looked at him, coolly. “I daresay I’ll not be here long enough to get used to it, Lord Rampton. Once this unsavory business has been attended to, and Arabella, my sister-in-law, has been properly fired off, we’ll return home. Won’t we . . . er, darling?”

Rampton smiled as Lord Chesterfield stammered a response. Clearly the beautiful Lady Chesterfield was not as self possessed as she would wish to appear, judging by the way she clenched the stem of her wine glass, and her attempts at putting on a show of matrimonial harmony.

Rampton indicated for the footman to pour more wine while he considered. With a husband as apparently uninspiring as the pale young man before him, his investigations might establish nothing more than the fact that Lady Chesterfield was simply a bored, pleasure-seeking young wife desperate for diversion. Even if she had become privy to Babbage’s secrets there was a strong likelihood she had neither the wit nor the understanding to use the information.

The jolt of desire occasioned by the lady’s sudden, lazy, suggestive smile came as a shock.

With a suspect as attractive as Lady Chesterfield, considered Ramtpon, his investigations were hardly going to be onerous. Her colluding look also suggested any particular attentions on his part would fall on fertile soil.

“Forgive my lapse of manners, Lord Rampton.” She lowered her eyes, coyly, but the glance she leveled at him was ripe with promise. “You will understand that I am naturally nervous at the repercussions of my . . . recent indiscretion.”

                     ***

If only Rose could slump and hide as much of herself as possible beneath the table. Even hide under the table!

Her defense, then, was to hold herself proudly, a challenging glint in her eye, and pretend to be Helena. Self conscious though she felt in Helena’s outrageously daring, diaphanous silver and white evening gown, she knew she had to act in character to carry this off. Any attempts at being coy or modest would only look contrived and draw further attention to what she wished, heartily, was not quite so obviously on show, although the faint breeze which caressed her bare skin was a constant reminder. Edith had assured her that although she looked every inch the seductress, she was not, actually, indecent. It was small consolation.

Rose also wished Charles had remained silent rather than blurting out, “My . . . er wife, is most unworldly, My Lord, and had no idea what she was doing. This man, Babbage, was clearly a scoundrel.”

“An unworldly ingenue, eh?” Lord Rampton’s smile made her squirm with embarrassment. Who knew what Helena had really got up to that night, and what Mr Babbage had reported to Lord Rampton when he had passed on his debt?

She forced her smile to remain cool. Though Lord Rampton’s gaze lingered on her bare shoulders with a brazenness only forgivable on account of the supposed reputation which must have preceded her, Rose managed to feign unconcern. She had no choice. Judging by the assessing look in his eye and the faint smile that played about his lips, she had no doubt the moment she looked away his gaze would travel down to her cleavage. She felt the heat there already; felt it travel slowly upwards to suffuse her cheeks.

Though piqued by his arrogance she fought to steady her breathing. Her skin tingled.

Dropping her eyes beneath Lord Rampton’s admiring gaze Rose encountered her reflection in the highly polished silver epergne that formed the table centerpiece. A pair of intelligent, bright blue eyes stared back at her from an oval face crowned by naturally luxuriant chestnut curls.

Heightened expectation coursed through her. Edith had worked wonders with her appearance. She hadn’t realized she could look so good.

For the first time she wondered if a life of subsistence was the only future? With the kind of confidence that now buoyed her she felt capable of anything.

Then she remembered that the size of the debt owed this man would surely suck the lifeblood out of even their marginal existence. What was she doing dreaming of gilded futures when it was not too extreme to say a life in debtor’s prison or the workhouse was a more likely destiny?

The sudden silence and their host’s expectant manner gave Rose pause. Lord Rampton, she realized, was waiting for her to attend to the subject which had brought them to his dinner table.

She took a deep, sustaining breath and tried to appear at ease. “I realize, Lord Rampton, you are owed rather a lot of money. Mr Babbage, however, indicated that …”

She struggled to regain her composure as Rampton quirked an eyebrow and smiled lazily in the ensuring silence.

“What did Mr Babbage say he was prepared to be, Lady Chesterfield?”

His words sounded smooth . . . dangerous. Rose shivered.

“Patient, Lord Rampton.”

“Ah, but there we differ, Lady Chesterfield. You see, Mr Babbage is a very patient man. At least, he is where beautiful women are concerned.” Rampton took a sip of his wine, clearly savoring it, and the moment. “I, on the other hand, am not.”

With every ounce of effort Rose forced herself to relax. She toyed with her glass before glancing at him over the rim, flirtation in her tone as she murmured, “Mr Babbage is a gentleman.”

Lord Rampton indicated to the footman who hovered by the ornate, intricately carved sideboard to clear their plates. “Whereas I am not?”

Rose curved her lips into what she hoped was a suitably seductive and amused pout. “I am forced to reserve judgment, Lord Rampton. “ She felt the blood tingling near the surface of her skin as she met his attentive blue eyes. “Time alone will tell.”

                     ***

“You missed a rum do at Baroness Esterhazy’s this evening, Rampton!”

Hesitating on the threshold to the library, Rampton turned, narrowing his eyes in greeting. It was hard to tell if his brother were foxed or not. The young man was possessed of a naturally ebullient nature undampened, generally, by the even the most severe set-down.

He waited as Felix was relieved of his outwear by Whibble before preceding his brother into the library.

“I had dinner guests.”

“Important dinner guests for you to have refused the Baroness’s invitation.”

“I turned down three equally enticing invitations, I assure you, Felix.” Rampton went to the sideboard and poured several tumblers of brandy. “Did the Baroness enjoy her evening?”

“Well, she did her best to appear unconcerned by your absence.” Felix waited while his brother poured them both a drink. “But I wasn’t fooled for a minute. Of course, at the first opportunity she holed me up in a dark corner to ask what you were doing this evening.” Felix took the tumbler half full of amber liquid his brother offered him, then settled himself on the leather sofa, stretching his long legs towards the fire. “Said she’d only feel safe wearing her diamonds if you were there.”

“Indeed?” Rampton took a thoughtful sip of his brandy as he leant against the mantelpiece.

 “Come now, Rampton, don’t assume that disinterested tone with me. You know more than you’re letting on. Besides, three months ago you were wild for the Baroness. I’d have thought you’d have jumped at the opportunity to defend both her and her diamonds from whoever this brazen thief is who’s terrorizing the top end of London.”

When Rampton said nothing, merely digested this in silence, Felix gave a gurgle of irritation. “Anyway, I told her I had not the least idea what you were up to this evening but that I was there in your stead and hoped she could regard me with similar affection.” Shrugging, he added on a philosophical note, “She was unmoved. Even flattery, far in excess of its merits, made no difference. And then the Baron arrived, all husbandly solicitation, so that was the end of that.” He drained his tumbler. “Such a shame you always fall for the married ones.”

“My dear boy, you cannot pretend to be so naïve!” Rampton gave a short laugh. This was a topic he wished to discuss as much as he did the recent spate of diamond thefts. “I’d be a fool to do otherwise.”

“You can’t shrug off your matrimonial duty too much longer, surely?”

“I endured a tedious evening at Almacks last night, in case you had forgotten.” Almacks was bursting with debutantes at this time of year. Rampton did not add that he derived greater sport from the more comely chaperones than their gauche young charges, fresh from the school room.

“Making up to the married ones, I’ve no doubt,” his brother said, shrewdly. “You need a wife, not a mistress, Rampton.”

“Ramshackle I would be indeed to saddle myself - and the rest of the family - with an unsuitable bride. I long ago learned that duty and pleasure are two very different matters.” Rampton adopted a far more light-hearted tone than he felt. “And matrimony, you would do well to remember the next time you find yourself in thrall to the latest goddess, does not fall within the latter category. Until some worthy contender for my affections drops from the sky I intend to take my pleasure while I can. Now then,” he said, draining his glass then yawning, “I’m off to bed. Unlike some, I no longer have the advantage of youth.”

Felix, lounging with one arm behind his head, pulled a face as he watched his brother rise. “God forbid, I’d better make the most of the few good years left to me. I daresay looking at you is like looking at myself in a mirror in five year’s time, all craggy and going grey–” He grinned– “but without the boyish charm. Little consolation that the women seem to find a viscount in his dotage a more enticing prospect than his younger, far handsomer brother.”

Ashley snorted as he headed for the door. “I think my pocket book accounts for that.”

 Felix conceded the point with a reflective nod then, frowning, asked, “Or perhaps it is the intrigue associated with your reputation.”

“As a rake?” Rampton feigned ignorance.

“Don’t be exasperating.” Felix slanted his brother a narrowed look as Rampton turned. “Since the night Lord Denning was so spectacularly apprehended and later hanged for treason I’ve had my suspicions. Won’t you trust me?” he begged after a silence.

Rampton laughed, an amused expression masking his initial telling stillness. “You’re foxed, little brother, if you can dream up such fanciful notions.” He turned the door handle but Felix detained him, his voice low.

“Rampton, I’ve never been in your confidence. As your younger brother I wouldn’t expect to be-” He gritted his teeth then said in a rush, “Have you not, however, considered the advantages? You’re the serious one in the family while I’m just. . . well, the lightweight, really. Yet people tell me things. Things they might not otherwise divulge. I know you think me foxed half the time, and bacon-brained the other, but I do have my serious side. I could help you. . . if you would let me.”

With difficulty, Ashley managed to retain the bored and unconcerned façade as he turned back to his brother. Only the greatest self control enabled him to twist his mouth into an amused smile.

“I really have not the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Felix,” he said. “Now if you will excuse me.”

“I hear Babbage has blown off his ear while trying to damage himself considerably more than that. Word is he’s lost his heart – and now, apparently, his ear – to a West Indian snake charmer.” Felix gave an exaggerated yawn. “’Night, Rampton.”

Rampton walked slowly back into the room, went to the sideboard and carefully poured himself another drink.

“I thought you were on your way to bed?”

“Babbage is a friend of mine, as you well know.” Rampton spoke quietly and deliberately, his face grim as he looked squarely at his brother leaning against the heavy oak sideboard. “This, obviously, is recent news.”

Felix pretended unconcern. “The Baroness told me,” he said blithely. “Said he was in his cups when they found him bloodied and torn at Carmody Samuel’s earlier this evening. I, for one, don’t hold with the West Indian snake charmer theory. I think it’s his pride rather than his heart that’s suffered the mortal wounding.” After a long pause he added, “And I suspect you know rather more about that than you’re letting on.”

“Does anyone else hold with your interesting theory?”

“Not yet.” Felix stretched and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “As you won’t discuss it with me I thought I might canvass this and other interesting theories with Badger when I next see him,” he said airily.

“How long have you suspected?” Rampton spoke softly and his brother had to lean forward to hear him, his impudent smile dying as he saw Rampton’s expression. “Have you spoken of this with anyone else?”

“No, on my life I have not, Rampton.” All signs of levity had fallen away. Felix sat up straight. “I was just goading you. Clutching at straws. I had no idea, really, until. . . well, dash it, Rampton, I saw part of a letter you’d written to Sir Anthony.” At his brother’s raised eyebrows he explained, “It was when I came into your room the other day asking if you had a any Spanish Bran and you turned your back for a moment to fetch it for me.”

Rampton gave a short, self deprecatory laugh. “Perhaps you are the more accomplished sleuth in the family.” After a considering pause he added, “You’re right abut the Indian snake charmer.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “My job, at present, is to ascertain whether an apparently amorous encounter between Babbage and this engaging little beauty – whom I could imagine would be quite successful in charming a spitting cobra into nibbling out of her hand – has led to the leaking of sensitive information.”

“So that’s why Babbage is about to take a tour of duty to inspect several of our less desirable Colonial outposts?”

Rampton nodded, straightening up in preparation of leaving.

“And this sensitive information? Has it anything to do with diamonds?”

Rampton chuckled. “A marvelous smokescreen, Felix. That’s what we suspect, at least, which is why the Baroness need not fear for her jewels.” At Felix’s puzzled frown he went on, “My theory is that the diamonds are not the real target.” He paused, mulling over whether to say more. Too little information was a dangerous thing and he’d had no choice but to take Felix into his confidence. But too much might be feeding him more than was wise.

“State secrets?” Felix’s eyes were wide, reflecting the thoughts chasing through his head. “Lord Mowbray. . . Sir Ralph. . . Lord Bowling,” he intoned, frowning. A flash of insight lit his face. “It was their wives who lost their jewels but each of these men, now I think on it, has the capacity to be involved in something havey-cavey. While the baron is. . .” He raised his eyes to the ceiling to indicate his disdain, “nothing but a beetle head.”

“Lords Mowbray and Bowling and Sir Ralph are men of the highest integrity. It’s the men who are targeting them – the men who are erroneously after their jewels - who must be found.”

“Sir Ralph is a spy?”

“I insinuated nothing regarding the nature of these men’s activities,” Rampton said sharply. “I must be absolutely assured of your discretion if I’m prepared to divulge anything more to you. I cannot jeopardize the operation on account of you barking up the wrong tree.”

Felix looked abashed. He sighed and said, recovering his spirit, “So you are on a mission to discover the identity of the man or men involved in this operation. Dash it, Rampton, I don’t know where you’d start.”

Rampton held his glass to the light. “Their identities are known to me and I believe that their next bold undertaking will see me apprehend them with compelling evidence to send them to Newgate and worse.”

He chuckled at Felix’s gasp then went on, “I’ll forestall your next predictable question, Felix, for you may indeed have your uses in ferreting out information since you are associated with both of them.”

“I am?”

“Lord Yarrowby and Obediah­ Pike.”

“Good Lord! Yarrowby? I know you have an axe to grind with Yarrowby but -”

He stopped short at his brother’s fulminating look. Embarrassed, he muttered, “Beg pardon. Of course you have your evidence. I was just taken by surprise.”

Rampton relaxed, then sighed. “It’s entirely within character that Yarrowby would be involved in this cross-channel business.”

“Yes, of course,” Felix muttered again. Taking a sip of brandy, he rolled it round his tongue, his spirits reviving. “Very onerous business having to ascertain how much the – er – charming West Indian snake charmer knows about this and what danger she poses,” he said, frowning.

“Very.” Rampton’s tone was dry. “She also happens to be related, by marriage, to the rather mysterious and exceedingly unattractive Mr Pike which is another reason to keep an eye on her. If Babbage has let the cat out of the bag, who knows where her sympathies lie?”

“Is she married?”

“She is.”

“How very fortunate.” Felix flashed him an ingenuous smile. “Without the danger of matrimony dangling like a noose around your neck, you’re free to mix business with pleasure.”

“Felix,” said his brother, an admiring light in his eye as he set down his glass and headed once more for the door, “you have shown yourself uncommonly perceptive this evening.”