Hunt is deliberately trying to
confound me. We must ask ourselves why."
"I can think of only one way to discover the answer to that question, my dear."
"What is that?"
"You must accept his invitation, of course."
Madeline stared at her. "Have you gone mad? Go to a masked ball with Hunt? What a perfectly bizarre
notion."
Bernice gave her a knowing look. "You are dealing with a master of Vanza. You will have to handle him
with great cleverness and skill. Never fear, I have boundless faith in your abilities to get at the truth."
"Hmm."
"In any event, I do not see how it will do you the least bit of harm to go to a ball," Bernice added. "I
vow, you need some entertainment. You are starting to become as eccentric and reclusive and secretive
as any of the gentlemen of the Vanzagarian Society."
Chapter Six
I see Glenthorpe is in his altitudes a bit earlier than usual tonight." Lord Belstead cast a disapproving eye
toward the man slumped in a wing-back chair in front of the hearth. "Not yet ten o'clock and the man's
already foxed."
"Mayhap we should invite him to play a hand or two with us." Sledmere did not look up from his cards.
"Glenthorpe is a fool, especially when he's drunk. We could no doubt win a fair amount off him tonight."
"Too easy." Artemas examined his own hand. "Where's the sport in playing cards with a drunken fool?"
"I was not thinking of the sport involved," Sledmere said. "I was contemplating the profit."
Artemas put down his cards. "Speaking of which, allow me to tell you that I have just made a bit of
one."
Belstead glanced at the cards and snorted. "At my expense, it appears. You do have the devil's own
luck, sir."
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Across the room, Glenthorpe put down his empty glass and lurched to his feet. Watching him, Artemas
said, "I have pushed that luck as far as it will go this evening. If you will excuse me, I believe that I am
late to an appointment."
Belstead chuckled. "Who's the fair lady, Hunt? "
"Her name escapes me at the moment." Artemas rose from his chair. "No doubt it will come to mind at
the appropriate moment. Good evening, gentlemen."
Sledmere laughed. "Make certain you recall the correct name at the right instant, sir. For some odd
reason, females take offense if one gets the names mixed up."
"Thank you for the advice," Artemas said.
He left the card room and went into the hall to collect his greatcoat, hat, and gloves from the porter.
Glenthorpe was at the door. He staggered slightly and turned. "I say, Hunt, are you leaving?"
"Yes."
"Care to share a carriage?" Glenthorpe peered blearily through windows. "Difficult to find one on a night
like this, y'know. I vow, the bloody fog is so thick you could slice it with a knife."
"Why not?" Artemas put on his greatcoat and went through the door.
"Excellent." Glenthorpe's expression of relief was almost comical. He hurried to follow Artemas out into
the mist-shrouded street. "Safer to leave together, y'know. Night like this, there's bound to be footpads
and villains abroad."
"So they say." Artemas hailed a hackney.
The carriage clattered to a halt in front of the club steps. Glenthorpe vaulted awkwardly into it and sank
down on one of the seats. Artemas followed and closed the door.
"Never known so much fog in early summer," Glenthorpe muttered.
The hackney rattled off down the street.
Artemas contemplated Glenthorpe. The man did not notice the perusal. He was too busy watching the
dark street. He appeared anxious. There was a strained, nervous look about his eyes.
"It's none of my affair, of course." Artemas lounged deeper into the shadows of the corner. "But I can't
help noticing that you seem a trifle uneasy tonight, Glenthorpe. Is there something worrying you?"
Glenthorpe's eyes jerked from the view through the window to Artemas's face and then back again.
"Ever had the sense that someone was watching you, sir?"
"Watching