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Enough.

She drew a slow breath and swallowed what remained, then smoothed her hair and straightened her posture. The woman in the mirror returned her gaze, composed once more, her expression set, her pulse steadier.

Then she left the room and made her way back to the drawing room, toward the part she had chosen to play.

When she sat back at the table, Rodrick searched her face and his thumb caressed the back of her hand. "Feeling better?"

His voice was low, as if they had the luxury of privacy in the crowded room.

She gazed at his dark eyes, shadowed in the lamplight. No, she wasn't. Perhaps she never would, not after tomorrow.

"How long married?" Lady Trent asked, her glittering eyes settling on their hands without permission.

"Three years," Rodrick said.

"And still touching one another. Extraordinary. You are very much in love."

Her heart gave one violent beat and then seemed to pump too much blood through her at once.

"I would love her even more," Rodrick said into her eyes, "if she were not so mysterious."

Louise looked away. "What did I miss?"

"I just found out, darling, that Lord Trent has two invitations to the Duchess of Richmond's ball. And I was entreating him to give them away. I just told him of my Arabian stallion."

"Magnificent," Lord Trent said, looking at his wife. "Perhaps we could—"

"Nonsense," Lady Trent said. "We cannot carry an Arabian stallion back to London. We will be lucky if we can find a place for our luggage on the return crossing. Never saw a crush like this since the peace of Amiens back in 1801."

Rodrick absorbed this without visible disappointment. "I have something here much easier to carry."

He pushed a heavy purse into the center of the table.

"So you want the invitations badly then," Lady Trent said, pushing away her cards.

"My little wife does love a party," Rodrick said nonchalantly.

"The question is, how far are you willing to go to get them?"

Rodrick smiled, and his gaze flitted over her. "I'm told people are willing to kill for them."

Louise gasped.

Lady Trent didn't seem to listen. "Dying is so boring. I much prefer loving."

Rodrick crossed his arms. "I'm afraid I'm not following you."

"My husband is a connoisseur of horses. He knows a good horse by its action, its bone, its eye. He has never been wrong. I am a connoisseur of passion," Lady Trent drawled. "There is a room upstairs. Very discreet. It has been arranged for precisely this kind of occasion. You two lovebirds have one hour. If you convince me of your feelings, the tickets are yours."

***

"I cannot believe you said yes." Rodrick's voice sounded like thunder.

The bedroom had come out of a Versailles-inspired dream—gilt-framed mirrors, velvet drapes, candlelight flickering in chandeliers. The bed stood at the center like a throne, its silken coverlet stretched tight, waiting.

Rodrick prowled the Aubusson carpets like a panther. If Louise were not desperate, she would be afraid. As it was, they had five minutes to prepare.

"You said yourself that the Trents were our last chance of getting those tickets."