1. 1 September, 1826

St.James London

Celeste was dead and the fault was his. Derek had never doubted that for a moment. His old school friend, Col, had, as a Bow Street Runner, caught the man whose hand had wielded the knife, the man who was hanged for her murder. But Derek knew the truth.

He"d loved Celeste, protected her, kept her in the sort of luxury other mistresses envied, but in the end he had failed her. His protection had become obsession. His jealousy had driven her to distraction. And his questions about her past had ended their affair in his words he could never take back and her decision that cost his beautiful Celeste her life.

"You have no right to pry into my past, Derek. I am not your wife, nor will I ever be. How dare you set that sniffing dog Bow Street Runner friend of yours on me."

"Do you deny a strange man has been visiting you in the house I provide you? What is he to you? If you cannot tell me, perhaps it is time we part company."

She stared at him, her eyes shimmering pools of deepest blue. "Perhaps you are right. I cannot live like this, Derek. Perhaps it is time for me to take care of myself."

He had slammed out of the house planning to return in a day or two when she"d come to her senses. When those two days passed he returned to an empty house, the servants dismissed, her clothes and jewels gone, and no sign as to where she had fled. He"d set Col on her trail at once. Three weeks later he"d sat in this very spot and received word of her death.

Derek poured himself a glass of the brandy, raised it high, and then drained the contents to the dregs. "Wherever you are, my love, I hope you are finally happy." He shook his head. "Finally free." He contemplated leaving, his yearly ritual done, but then he wondered, where should be go? Home to Grosvenor Square? Perhaps to one of the many balls and other entertainments to which he had received invitations.

Perhaps to visit one of his mistresses? Not Adrienne. Customarily he visited her on Friday nights, but he"d already sent his regrets and a rather large box of marzipan to her. None of the others would be expecting him tonight. Not that he expected any of them would refuse him. When a man had managed to collect five mistresses and had succeeded in keeping each woman unaware of the others, he did have choices.

However, in spite of having acquired his latest mistress only a week or so ago, Derek was tired of this part of his life, tired of the tenuous connection to his women. Women for whom he had genuine affection and concern, but no true soul-searing passion. He needed something more tonight, comfort perhaps, and each of mistresses had that to offer in abundance. But not tonight. Perhaps he would--

"My lord?" The same footman now stood at Derek"s table, a silver salver in his hand. For a moment he believed he"d fallen asleep and was deep in his worst nightmare. "A boy brought this to the door and asked that we put it into your hands only." The liveried servant nodded at the tray to indicate the sealed note placed in the middle of the ornate silver piece.

Derek took a deep breath and plucked the note from the tray. "Thank you," he murmured as he broke the seal and unfolded the note.

What the devil!

One of your ladies is a murderess.

I know who these women are and where they live.

Deliver the name of the woman I seek or I will obtain the information from them myself by any means necessary. The price of my silence on this matter is your note for one thousand pounds. Leave the note, with the bearer name blank, with the tavern keeper at the Spaniard"s Inn by Friday next.

Dick Turpin

Dick Turpin? Was this a jest? On tonight of all nights? None of his friends had this macabre sort of wit. He glanced at the note once more. At least now he had somewhere to go this evening. There was only one person who might be able to answer the dozens of questions now clamoring in his brain. She"d married recently, a duke no less, but Derek would wager his best phaeton and horses exactly where he"d find her. And he needed to find Captain El Goodrum, now the Duchess of Chelmsford, immediately.

No womanof Derek"s acquaintance possessed the sort of natural beauty that was not marred even remotely by the fearsome scar across one side of her face. Captain El Goodrum, Perseus Whitcombe"s new duchess, was such a woman. With flaming hair and porcelain skin, her scar made her, impossible as a man might surmise, even more striking with an eerie air certain to set most men off their game. Derek considered this quirk helpful as he sat on the other side of her distinctive desk and waited for her to say something, anything. He was seldom off his game, but any meeting with the notorious lady pirate necessitated one stay utterly alert or risk being obliterated. Metaphorically speaking.

He"d made his way through the crowded club downstairs and was surprised when he was admitted to her office after only a few minutes wait. Perhaps he"d made a mistake in handing her the note he"d received as she"d been staring at it for an overlong time now. Though he"d arrived well after midnight, her office was brightly lit, and Derek knew her to be literate and fluid in at least a dozen languages.

"What does this have to do with me?" she asked once she finally looked up and met his gaze. An odd little smile played about her lips and Derek shifted in his chair to settle a flutter in his stomach.

"As every one of my mistresses came to me by your recommendation under your careful inspection," Derek said as he leaned forward. "I simply want to know which, if any of them, is a murderess."

"So you"re taking this note seriously?" She tapped the wrinkled slip of paper with a long slender finger.

"Why wouldn"t I?" Derek had never considered not taking the matter seriously. He suspected she had not either. She was testing him. Why, he had not the faintest idea. A door opened somewhere behind him, but he did not bother to look over his shoulder.

"The matter is your choice, of course. Just as it is my choice not to answer such a ridiculous question about the five women you have taken as mistress on my recommendation. Now, is there anything else?" She directed her attention behind Derek and waved someone forward. Derek had seen the man before both on board one of Captain El"s ships and in the club downstairs. She handed the note to the tall, broad, muscled man. He glanced at the note, raised an eyebrow, and handed the note back to his employer.

"I have no intention of allowing any harm to come to them. If one of them is in trouble, I"ll do what I must do to keep her safe. God knows I have the means. But I need to know."

"Why? Why do you need to know? I found five women who met your ridiculous list of qualifications and agreed to live by your equally odd rules. You never--"

"I find nothing odd in wanting a woman agreeable to my temperament."

"A woman? Perhaps. Five women?" Five women not too young and not too old." She held up one hand and ticked off his requirement: "Five experienced women of calm temperament with no desires or ideas about the affair leading to marriage. Women between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five with reasons not to want to be known or seen in good society as your mistress, able to keep to herself and not share the name of her protector with anyone, able to entertain herself on the days he does not visit her and desirous enough of what he can provide to keep his secrets and to follow the rules. Oh, and no Parisian women, which made the procurement of "experienced" women that much more difficult in this staid country." Finally, she made it to a far small finger on her right hand. "These poor women must be desirous enough for what you can provide to keep your secrets and follow the rules.

"When you asked that they have reasons to want to withdraw from society to remain anonymous, I never dreamed murder might be one of their reasons."

He gave out a weary huff. "Why do you devil me so?"

"You should have been more specific. I shall have to make a note to add an addendum to your list - "No murderesses, if you please!""

A man who, with his shaved head and arms like a blacksmith resembled a prize fighter, stood in the corner across from the woman who seemed determined to make Derek regret coming to see her. He had the audacity to give a snort of laughter and shake his head.

"Obadiah," she warned, though she was obviously trying not to laugh.

"I"ll remember that for next time," Derek said as he glared at this Obadiah.

"Next time? How many mistresses do you need?" The man shook his head, incredulity on his face.

"You could marry them off, Framlingwood," Captain El said with the sort of sincerity that made Derek shift in his chair once more. "They"d be safe with a good husband, perhaps a home in the country. Then they"d be someone else"s responsibility."

Derek shot to his feet. Obadiah took a step toward him. El waved the big man back.

"I thought you might want to know of the threat and perhaps help because of your connection to them. I can see I was mistaken."

"Sit down, my lord," El said with a sigh. "I will not speak to you of secrets that are not mine to tell. If you want to know more about these ladies you will have to ask them."

When Derek opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off with a simple look.

"I will, however, have Obadiah watch over the ladies" houses for a fortnight or so to see if anyone nefarious is skulking about and up to no good. As to the blackmail and the possible legal matters, I suggest you consult our mutual friend at Bow Street and perhaps our Mister Forsythe." She glanced at Obadiah who gave her a brief nod.

"Thank you," Derek said and ran a hand through his hair. "I will take your other suggestions under advisement." He looked to her pugilistic minion. "Please try to be as discreet as you can. I don"t want any of them to become frightened. I can give you their direction and--"

"I know where they live," Obadiah said solemnly. "Miss Godet is a former acquaintance of mine."

"That"s right." El"s smile turned positively gleeful, or at least gleeful for her. "Obadiah and Miss Godet are old friends."

The man looked as if he had swallowed a lemon. He nodded to each of them and left the room.

"I am certain this is all a hoax, Framlingwood. If I were you, I would worry more about having five mistresses living in five side-by-side houses and finding out about each other. One of them committing murder on your person is more likely than any outside threat."

"Oh, I have that well in hand, Your Grace." Derek stood, bowed, and headed for the door.

"Of course, you do."

El"s laughter taunted Derek all the way down the corridor. What the hell had he gotten himself into?