Free Wicked Widow by Amanda Quick Page A

said.
    “My reaction to this note of Hunt’s is not a case of delicate nerves. It is common sense.”-Madeline snapped the card against her palm. “Think of it: I inform the man that I wish to engage his services for a specified fee and he sends back an invitation to a fancy dress ball. What sort of answer is that?”
    “A most interesting one, if you ask me. Especially as it comes from a mature yet still agile gentleman.”
    “No.” Madeline eyed her grimly. “I fear that it is a very Vanza answer. 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.”

    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