Lord Libertine. Gail Ranstrom

sort of monster?”

      “A man who is tall, dark, charming and cunning. One who cajoled and cozened our sister into trusting him. A man who is a part of society and yet keeps his true nature secret. A rake and a rogue of the very worst kind.”

      “Barely human,” Gina agreed.

      Bella nodded and went back to the sideboard. “You have not told Mama and Lilly the details of Cora’s murder, have you?”

      Gina joined her and poured a very small dram of brandy for herself. “Never. That would surely be the end of Mama’s sanity.”

      They raised their glasses in unison and drank. Gina grimaced and her eyes watered, but she sighed deeply when the liquor settled. “There is one thing you have not considered in your search, Bella. The killer is all those things Cora said but, most important, though he hides his true character, it must reveal itself on occasion. His closest friends will be like-minded. Rakes, rogues and villains.”

      How had she overlooked that detail? She’d known enough to look in the ton, but she hadn’t narrowed her search to the very dregs of it. “So, to find him, I should kiss only rakes, rogues and scoundrels?” she mused. “Yes. They become apparent fairly quickly, and they tend to flock together. So in order to find him, I shall have to go where rogues and scoundrels go. G-gambling dens and other unsavory places.”

      “No! That is too dangerous. You mustn’t imperil yourself.” Gina’s widened eyes filled with tears.

      Bella sighed. “In the past week, I have forfeited something of my soul. But I have my promise to Cora to keep. If I do anything less, I will not be able to sleep at night. No, I intend to do whatever I must and I would advise you to keep out of my way.”

      Gina opened her mouth as if she would argue, then closed it again and shook her head.

      “Try to understand,” Bella pleaded. “The only other choice I have is to let our sister’s murderer go free.”

      “Oh, I understand,” Gina said, determined lines settling around her narrowed eyes. “I feel the need for justice, too, and I know the getting of it can be dangerous. I am only trying to think how to help you.”

      “I will not take you with me.”

      “I did not expect that you would. But I can help ensure that Mama and Lilly will not find out. I can keep them occupied.”

      “How? We are in mourning and will be for another six weeks. Social events are forbidden. They cannot call on neighbors or attend teas. We are trapped in this house until Mama is better and we can go home.”

      “Lilly is becoming restless. She needs outings. I think short walks and a trip to Hatchard’s bookstore for reading materials might be in order. She has been asking for another of Miss Austen’s books. And a little shopping for mourning apparel would be appropriate. Yes, and a healthy glass of undiluted wine with supper will keep her soundly asleep at night. We needn’t worry much about Mama, yet. She is barely coherent from the laudanum she is taking in the evening. She is bound to make an effort soon, and when she does, I shall be ready.”

      Amazed, Bella watched as Gina began pacing, tapping one finger against her right cheek in an attitude of thoughtfulness. “And we shall have to concoct some story about what keeps you out evenings, should they discover you gone. Companion to a dowager? Reading to a blind neighbor? Caring for an ill friend?”

      “Gina, you are truly diabolical.”

      “I know I cannot stop you, but I do not mean to lose another sister, Bella. You are about to enter a dragon’s den. And where you will be going, you will need all the help you can muster.”

      A little shiver shot through her at the fierce expression on her sister’s face. Just how far would Gina go to help her?

      Chapter Four

      The soft click of his brother’s library door closing behind him was somehow comforting to Andrew. Being in the house he’d grown up in made him feel a part of the family again.

      His brother looked up from his desk, gave him a slight smile and gestured to an overstuffed chair by a tea table.

      “Pour a cup of tea, Drew. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

      Tea? He glanced at the clock in one corner of the room, the swing of the heavy brass pendulum measuring the seconds. Two o’clock. He glanced at the decanters on the sideboard, then sighed, poured himself a stout cup of tea, laced it with sugar and sat to wait quietly.

      Lockwood scribbled a few lines, then pushed the paper aside, stood and stretched. “Good to see you, Drew,” he said as he poured his own tea and sat across from him. “I do not run into you as much anymore.”

      “You’d have to leave your house to do that, Lockwood. I gather this means you are still wallowing in wedded bliss?”

      Lockwood grinned. “Have you come to mock me? Or is there another reason?”

      “Wanted to know if you set Wycliffe on my heels.”

      “Ah, Wycliffe.” His brother lifted his teacup and regarded him with a speculative gleam in his eyes. “No, actually. He came to me, Drew, after he’d already made up his mind. He said he was going to ask you for some help and a bit of expertise in the less-savory side of society activities. Is it any wonder your name came to his mind?”

      The logic was inescapable. “I suppose not.”

      “And Wycliffe said he needs discretion. Though your behavior is somewhat less than discreet, I have never known you to discuss your women or your affairs with others. I agreed that you were the ideal candidate. Do you have some objection to helping the Home Office?”

      “I suppose not,” he said again, disliking his own churlish attitude. There was, in fact, not much he did like about himself these days.

      “Then what is the problem?”

      “I do not like having others depend upon me.”

      “Drew…” Lockwood began, putting his teacup aside. “It has been a long time since the war. Do you not think it is time to talk about it? I am your brother. No matter what it is, you can trust me.”

      Not with this. Never with this. “Who said it has anything to do with the war?”

      “You were changed when you came home.”

      “War is not an experience that leaves one untouched. If I recall, even you took a few years to put things in perspective.”

      “But you were in—”

      “I do not need you to remind me where and how I served. And I did not come here to talk about my service to the crown,” he interrupted. Blast! Why did Lockwood have to hound him on this? Did he think confession was good for the soul? Not in this case. Never in this case. Only Dash knew. And only because Dash had been there.

      “So you just came to complain about doing something constructive?”

      Andrew took his teacup to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of sherry. To hell with sobriety. “I came to ask if you set Wycliffe on me or if using me was his idea,” he reminded Lockwood. “And I need information. Do you recall a scandal that took place years ago? Before we were born? Something back in the 1760s?”

      “The Hellfire Club?” Lockwood’s eyebrows rose. “The scandal that almost brought the government down?”

      He nodded. “Were they Satanists?”

      “They were reprobates of the worst sort, Drew. Scoundrels and wastrels to a man. They liked to think of themselves as dedicated Satanists, but they were more interested in sexual licentiousness and excess than any real worship. The pity of it was that they were men of influence, not ignorant superstitious bumpkins.”

      “And what do you know of witchcraft, Lockwood?”

      “I know it’s balderdash. Casting