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“It’s only that I wanted to see you,” she said warily. There was a marked change in Tobias’s attitude toward her. And it frightened her. “You have canceled our engagements four times in the past two weeks.”

“Am I to be questioned like a servant?” Tobias said with a sigh. “I am sorry I came here now. I see it was a mistake.”

“I only meant to say that I missed you, that is all.” She stepped forward and looped her arms around his neck.

“Then why do you complain when I am here?” He took hold of her forearms and removed himself from her grip. “I have other business to attend to. I must leave now.”

Maggie’s stomach plummeted. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What ails you? It seems you have grown tired of me. Am I to just sit in here and wait for you forever?”

His face hardened into one she hardly recognized, but then he seemed to have a change of heart because he smiled and said, “Very well. If it’s an outing you want, then that’s what you’ll get. I shall return at eight this evening to pick you up.”

“Where are we going? The opera?”

“It will be a surprise,” he said, turning to leave.

“Well, how shall I dress for this surprise?”

He paused, running his eyes over her body. “Wear something becoming,” he said. Then he turned and left the dining room.

Maggie watched him go, and a feeling of trepidation lodged in her gut. This wasn’t the man she’d known for the past five years. But she pushed her intuition aside and forced a smile as Hattie reentered the dining room.

“His Lordship left rather quickly,” Hattie said.

“Never you mind, Hattie. He’ll be back this evening.” She took her maid by the hand and led her to the table. “Come, sit down, and have some tea with me before you take the breakfast plates and prepare my bath. I wish to apologize for my earlier behavior.” She poured Hattie a cup of tea and added two cubes of sugar and a dash of cream before handing it to her.

“It’s no matter,” the maid said, taking the cup. “My only wish is that you’ll be careful and take care.”

Maggie straightened her back in a false show of confidence and forced a smile. “Don’t worry, Hattie. All will be well.” He loves me yet. I’m certain of it.

Chapter Four

Jude Hammond, 6th Earl of Cadwell, hated London. He hated the noise, the smell, the priggishness, and the cruelty of it. But, being a lord, he was obliged to return to the vile city to attend Parliament during the dreaded Season, when going to the theatre, opera, or even walking in the royal parks became a competitive bloodbath in which the wealthy showcased their riches and tried to outdo one another with malignant spirit. Not to mention the ridiculous, endless string of farcical balls that took place, where men and women competed to see who could win the best prize. Love rarely played a part. His case had been the one exception. But that had been a long time ago. A bitter taste rose in his throat. He hated it all. But mostly, he hated the memories of the happy life he’d once lived there.

“That’s enough, Joseph!” he snapped at his valet, who was fastening his cravat. It felt as though the thing was choking him. “I shan’t wear a cravat tonight,” he said, pulling the white material from his neck.

“No cravat, my lord?” The valet blinked in disbelief.

“No cravat, Joseph,” he said firmly. “Don’t look so worried. I’m only going to the Lyon’s Den. Half the men will be so drunk, I’ll be lucky if they have trousers on.”

“Very well, my lord,” Joseph said, but Jude could hear the disappointment in his voice. The man had been with the family for years, serving his father before him, and he liked things done the way he thought they ought to be. Jude, on the other hand, was already somewhat of an outcast and so cared little for society’s false mores.

For that reason, the Lyon’s Den was the one place he liked to frequent during his stays in London. Although the gambling den was littered with members of the ton and the upper class, it was a place where they let their guards down, and the typical rules didn’t apply. The only rules one had to obey were those of the Black Widow of Whitehall. That meant not crossing her. If you participated in one of her games or signed any sort of agreement with her, whether or not you were in your right mind at the time, you had to honor your word. Dealing with the Black Widow was much like sitting down to a game of cards. You went in with open eyes, and you might very well end up gambling away your future. You might go in for a night of entertainment and find yourself returning home with a bride. That is why he steered clear of her games. He’d been married once before, and he never intended to go that route again.

Jude sat in a darkened corner of the gambling room, nursing a brandy. He’d just finished playing and winning several rounds of whist but had grown bored with the game. He never grew bored of observing the lords of the ton indulge in too much of the Black Widow’s fine brandy and make fools of themselves, however. He could happily sit and observe the goings on at the Lyon’s Den for hours.

He chuckled to himself as he watched a group of intoxicated men play a game in which they took turns laying their palms flat on the gaming table and stabbing each other between their spread fingers. It was supposed to be a game of dexterity, but it became a game of sheer foolhardiness when brandy was involved. It was only a matter of time before one of them ended with a knife lodged in a finger. And Jude wasn’t about to miss the fun. He sat back and continued to watch. Five seconds later, his prediction came true. A sharp squeal sounded as the knife pierced the drunken fool who currently had his palm pressed against the gaming table with his fingers splayed. He jumped up, clutching a bleeding finger, and the rest of the table burst into laughter. Jude laughed too. He didn’t think he could see anything more entertaining than this bunch of buffoons stabbing each other.

That is when something else—or rather someone else—caught his attention, and it changed his mood instantly. Lord Tidworth entered the room, looking as smug and vain as Narcissus himself. Jude’s squeezed the brandy glass in his hand. He despised the man. Just the sight of him made his blood boil.

The bastard had a young woman on his arm—one of his many mistresses, no doubt. Although, if he hadn’t known Tidworth, he would never have guessed her to be his mistress. She had a sweet, innocent look about her. And she seemed somewhat bewildered by her surroundings.

A crowd had gathered around the table of knife-playing men, and Tidworth approached them.

“What’s going on here?” he said, just as the knife nicked a new victim who had his fingers spread on the table. He let out a string of curses, which seemed to entertain everyone immensely, except the young woman, who flushed and appeared almost horrified.

“I should like to get in on this game,” Tidworth said loudly.

“Put your hand down then,” the knife wielder, whom Jude recognized as Lord Bramstock, said.