Instead he put his hand on her shoulder to stay her and whereas a moment before she’d longed for his touch, now she wasn’t ready for any chink in his mistrusting demeanor. He’d made clear that he believed that, if not guilty of murder, she was clearly capable of it. Her lies had paved the way for his loss of love, and what he’d seen in court today was too raw. She understood that.

She didn’t need his pity. “Just go. There’s nothing you can do for me now.”

“I can’t. Not like this, Phoebe. Whatever happens tomorrow, you don’t deserve to die.” His voice cracked.

“Even though you think I’m guilty?”

He shook his head, unable to speak.

“But you don’t believe me entirely innocent?”

“You committed adultery with Wentworth.”

Phoebe shook her head slowly at the pain in his eyes. He pressed his lips together. “While your husband was dying, you were…making love to another man. To Wentworth.”

“I’d hardly call it ‘making love’ though I’m happy to accept a charge of adultery. Not murder.”

“Why, Phoebe? Why Wentworth?”

“Don’t think about it if it troubles you so much,” she muttered, turning her back on him and moving into the center of the small sitting room.

He stepped in front of her.

“What would induce a good woman to go against all her principles of honor? Even after everything I heard today, I can’t help loving you. And now you’re going to die for your sins, though I don’t believe you killed your husband.”

“Oh, but that really cheers me. You can leave right now, Hugh. Or have you decided it might be a suitable time to execute your moral duty and try to impregnate me in the faint hope that pleading the belly might extend my life a further painful nine months?”

“Don’t be coarse.”

“Don’t be bigoted and narrow-minded. If you were a powerless woman married to a tyrant who forced you to lie with his cousin to beget an heir, I’d like to see you try and resist.”

He took her hands and shook his head. “I can’t bear to lose you.”

“You made it clear you didn’t like the woman you discovered I really was.”

“You take that too far, Phoebe. It was your willingness to consort with Wentworth that turned my stomach. Everything I’ve just heard…I’ll reconcile it with what I know you to be in time, but right now—”

She stepped back. “Say no more, Hugh. I loved you as much for the fact you are the most honorable man I’ve met, as that you believed I was worthy of your love. Now that I see you think I’m not worthy of the feelings you once had, I don’t want to drag out this painful interview. We know what tomorrow’s verdict will be, and I’m reconciled. Please spare us both. Just leave.”

* * *

It had been three hours since Hugh had torn himself away from Phoebe’s side, but he’d not returned to his bed to sleep. Sleep would elude him, and right now he wanted to try and make sense of the nightmare he’d just lived through.

The moon was high in the sky as he trod the gravel path that wound among the rhododendrons in the back garden of his cottage in Hampstead. He’d been unable to bear returning to St John’s Wood where he’d spent his two happiest weeks.

Phoebe had accepted her fate with dignity and stoicism. She was brave. She’d not wept pitifully or begged forgiveness for a crime she did not commit.

He’d condemned her for her lies, attributed all manner of underhand behavior to her, but she was prepared to accept her fate.

He twisted his head around and stared into the branches of a fir tree at the hoot of an owl. Two black eyes regarded him dispassionately. They reminded Hugh of the magistrate’s. Lord Coulson had exhibited little compassion toward Phoebe, giving the impression he already considered her guilty when she took the stand.

Justice would be swift. It was possible, though not likely, she’d be sent across the seas for the term of her natural life. The clamoring for her to receive a death sentence was too vociferous. A husband should be safe in his own bed. Women, as much as men, were outraged.

Tomorrow, when sentence was handed down, Phoebe would know to the last minute the number of hours left to her. As Hugh had kissed her farewell, she’d said softly, “Just know that of all men, I’ve loved you best.”

He turned to find the source of the eerie whirring above him and saw the flock of bats, before his sister’s face at the casement came into view. She waved to him, and in a few minutes, he greeted her in the library where a small fire warmed the room.

“You look shocking, brother dearest,” Ada told him, wrapping her shawl around her, her expression fierce. “All this gaming and whoring isn’t good for the complexion, you know. Are you only just back? “

Hugh ran his hand through his hair before taking a seat in front of the warmth. “I haven’t been out. Well, not since being in the courtroom for Lady Cavanaugh’s trial, then visiting Phoebe afterward.”

She raised her eyebrows, looked about to say something, then muttered in an undertone, “As I said, whoring. So you found Phoebe? I’m so glad. I was beginning to feel quite guilty.”

“Phoebe is Lady Cavanaugh.” Hugh watched the information register, and wasn’t surprised at the horror that dawned on his sister’s face. “I saw her in court and will go again tomorrow.”

Ada gasped and brought her hand up to her mouth. “What did you say?”

“My Phoebe is, in fact, Lady Cavanaugh, who was, it appears, detained while visiting a shady establishment called Mrs Plumb’s Salon of Sin in search of Mr Wentworth’s wife.”

“Phoebe is Lady Cavanaugh…who murdered her husband?”

“She claims Wentworth forced her hand—literally—making her powerless when he used her as his instrument to drive a paper knife through her dying husband’s chest.”

“Does the magistrate accept her defense?”

Wearily, Hugh shook his head. “Sentence will be passed in the morning. There is little doubt she will hang.”

“For a crime that Mr Wentworth committed?” Ada gripped the back of the chair then began to pace. “He is the new heir, the new duke, the new Lord Cavanaugh,” she muttered, frowning as she digested the news and its implications with new horror. “Let me think, Hugh. What do I know of the case, for I’ve followed it slavishly in view of Wentworth being involved.” She chewed her lip as she moved back and forth before the fire. “Wentworth learned news of the death of his two brothers the very day the late Lord Cavanaugh was murdered.” She looked up suddenly. “How very convenient that Phoebe—I mean Lady Cavanaugh—was on hand so that he could simply encase her hand around the paper knife and drive it into her husband’s chest. How just like Wentworth to come up with such a plan, though I’m sure it was conceived on the spot. He would snatch any opportunity to use to his advantage.”

Hugh was glad that Ada was defending Phoebe, but he had to put her outrage into perspective. He loved Phoebe, but the truth behind that night was almost more than he could bear.

“Ada, she was…caught in flagrante with Mr Wentworth by the servant delivering news of the deaths of Mr Wentworth’s brothers.” He squeezed shut his eyes as he tried to eradicate the image. “She’d been cuckolding her husband for nearly half a year before he died. She had every reason to wish him dead.”

Ada looked up, confused. “But you said she didn’t kill him.”

“Her hand was around the paper knife. That’s what Phoebe admitted, in court. That’s what will convict her.”

“Yes, but he forced her.” Ada looked angry. “You clearly do not know Mr Wentworth as I do. He could persuade anyone of anything, though in this case, I’ve no doubt he used brute force. He is a master of manipulation, a bully.” Her voice was rising now, and Hugh put an arm about her to hush her distress, but she pulled away and went to stand before the fire. “I know how dangerous he is, and I thought you did too.” Her expression was both pitying and angry. “Oh, Hugh, how dare you insinuate that there is a particle of blame to be attached to poor Phoebe.”

“She lied, Ada. She lied to her husband; she lied to me, and she lied to you.”

Ada put her hands on her hips, her expression combative. “Do you think I didn’t lie to you when I had my secret assignations with Wentworth? Do you think we’re all as holy as you are, Hugh? Who have never had to utter a lie in your life because you’ve always been so safe and protected? Partly because you’re a man, and everything has turned out well for you, so that you only have to play the knight in shining armor and you’ll always look so much better than everyone else?”

“I don’t believe she should die for it if that’s what you mean,” he answered hotly.

“Well, that’s good! I don’t either, and the fact that it was due to my request that she even got caught and is where she is now is…intolerable!” Ada was breathing fast now. After a long silence, she said, “So what are you going to do about it, Hugh?”

He stared. “Do about it? What can I do about it? She’ll learn her fate tomorrow, though God knows I’d do anything to spare her life.”

“Because you love her, or because you don’t think she deserves to die…despite the fact that she lied to you, and you can’t bear the idea of thinking that the same woman who gave herself to Wentworth could give herself to you?” Ada let out a strangled cry of frustration. “You men are all the same. You have no idea that a woman is completely dependent upon the goodness of the men who surround them. You’re exactly the same, Hugh. You have this unrealistic notion of what ‘good’ is all about. The only reason I met Wentworth secretly was because you prevented me from seeing him! You were so terrified I’d be enticed after I hinted at my feelings for him after you met him at the Assembly. Perhaps I’d not have been so intent on defying you if had you not been so determined to protect your innocent sister.”

“Good Lord, Ada!”

She shrugged. “The folly of youth. What have been your follies? Just because I’m a woman, I’m allowed so little latitude, and sometimes we women chafe at the restrictions imposed by the men on whom they are dependent—even when those men have only the very best of intentions. But now I’m straying from the subject.”

“Indeed you are.” Hugh felt uncomfortable.

“You agree with the magistrate that Phoebe should be punished for ‘lying’ though you think a death sentence is a little harsh? Well, Hugh, if you are sincere about enforcing good, then you just need to get Phoebe out of there. Rescue her,” she added when he looked at her blankly.

“How on earth am I to do that?” Hugh watched Ada’s bent head and furrowed brow and felt his desperation rise.

He moved forward to put his hands on Ada’s shoulders and tipped her face up to his. “Ada, do you think I’d really scorn Phoebe like that?” He shook his head. “I’ve had to confront so much about myself and the way I treated her since Phoebe went missing. At first, I assumed she’d left me, having little regard for anything other than feathering her nest as best she could and having had a better offer. I forced myself to be angry with her as it lessened the pain.”

Ada stroked his shoulder. “I know, Hugh,” she said softly. “And I’m sorry if I wasn’t as sympathetic as I should have been. I thought the same as you.”

“And then when I learned that Phoebe had been pretending to be someone else the whole time she’d been with me, that was hard enough. When I saw her as notorious Lady Cavanaugh, and that not a soul stood up to defend her, I could only wonder why she’d never told me the truth at least. What else had she to hide? I assumed she was at least in part guilty, and I felt anger; I admit it.”

“But you were persuaded otherwise? I hope so, Hugh, because I can assure you that if Wentworth had any hand in it—as, of course, he does—then Phoebe was the blameless victim. Wentworth gains his power through manipulating others.”

Hugh dropped his hands and leaned against the mantelpiece. “How on earth am I to help her, Ada?”

Ada shrugged. “How on earth do I know?” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Tomorrow, Wentworth will say his piece, and that’ll put the final nail in her coffin.”

“Wentworth!” Hugh started at the name, glancing up in sudden excitement. “That’s it, Ada! Yes, we know Phoebe was framed or manipulated by Wentworth. And when she went to this house of…introduction you mentioned in order to find evidence to help your case he was there, and she was caught. But what other secrets might be learned here at this….?”

“Madam Plumb’s Salon of Sin,” Ada supplied as her lips curved into a smile. “You’re right, Hugh. I have no idea if you’ll find anything, but at least it’s something you can do. Wentworth’s wife is there. She may be able to help you. Testify against her husband, perhaps.”

He sighed. “I don’t know about that but I know I certainly won’t sleep. Not now that at least I’m offered this kernel of hope.” He shook himself out of his lethargy and said with renewed energy, “You’re right, Ada. It’s the best I can try: to find Mrs Wentworth and make her talk.” He strode toward the door. “I must change.”

“And you must go in disguise, Hugh. That’s what everyone does, I believe. And I’ll whisper the address. Even saying the name makes me blush with shame.”

* * *

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the house. It stood four-square and respectable by a neat square park surrounded by wrought iron railings. For ten minutes, Hugh sat in his carriage and watched the front door. Some arrivals came with loud, confident companions while others, wearing masks and veils, were more furtive.

He pulled his mask down over his eyes and squared his shoulders. What had seemed a bold and daring mission now seemed fraught with disappointment.

The truth was, what could he possibly learn that would help Phoebe? Wentworth’s story was not just plausible, it had not been contested, and not a single person had stepped up to defend the woman he loved. Every member of the late Lord Cavanaugh’s household and all of Wentworth’s retainers had vouched for their respective masters, declaring it easy to believe the worst of Phoebe.

After gaining admittance and being ushered down a narrow hallway to a suite of reception rooms, Hugh had already decided his greatest chance lay in speaking to Wentworth’s wife. She was a dancer, a vestal virgin, he now knew, called Ariane, though he was sure that a woman working in this establishment did not restrict her repertoire to simply dancing.

Over the refreshments table, he learned where to find the six famous vestal virgins. A peephole enabled one secret access, but for a considerable sum, he could himself be involved in the sensual dance. The inference wasn’t lost on him, though he recoiled.

“Come and look, and then you can decide which lady you’d like to…invite for further refreshments.” The woman who spoke to him was, he noticed, one of the few not wearing a veil. She smiled a coy little smile which sat ill with her advancing years. “This is your first time here?”

He inclined his head.

“I hope you will find the entertainment on offer sufficient to entice you to return to my little establishment. Here, there is no discernment between the highest in the land and the humblest among us. All that is required is the facility for pleasure.”

“You are Mrs Plumb?”

“I am indeed. And now if you’d like to follow me, I shall take you to see the vestal virgins.”

Obediently, Hugh followed the stout little woman along a series of dimly-lit corridors. To the right of where they stopped was a red-painted door flanked by two large potted palms.

“Take your place between these and put your eye to the peephole. You will be all but hidden from the public so can enjoy yourself as you see fit.” She smiled knowingly. “For some that is sufficient; however, if you find your desires are only further inflamed, then you may pass a note through the grille stating your pleasure, and the girls themselves will decide whether or not they have a mind to grant it.”

Hugh raised his eyebrows, and Mrs Plumb laughed and tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “This is not a brothel, my good sir, and the women behind these doors make their own decisions as to how far they’re prepared to indulge their appetites. Ariane, for example, likes tall, dark men. I doubt she would take up an offer from you. Helena enjoys a challenge and considers every offer on merit. Minna, now, only ever performs her sensuous dance for peers of the realm who request it. She will consider no offers under five hundred pounds.”

“Good Lord, she must be good!” Hugh couldn’t help remarking, and Mrs Plumb raised one eyebrow. “She’s never been tested. Certainly, not in my establishment, but there is one who has offered that amount and who will take his pleasure tomorrow, so unless you choose to raise the amount, I suggest you confine your interest to one of the others.”

Mrs Plumb left him shaking his head, though not for long, for once his eye was at the peephole, he was entirely transfixed. Of course, spying was not a pastime for gentlemen, and Hugh did indeed feel keenly the irony. He was not a man who paid for transient pleasures. Taking Phoebe as his mistress was the first time he’d exchanged money for the keeping of a woman.

Fear for what tomorrow would bring threatened to overwhelm him; there was no pleasure in the erotic sight before him.

The women, all of similar height, one with golden tresses, another dark as a raven’s wing, one red-haired, and one with brown tresses past her waist, were swaying in time to a rhythmic chant. A strange mist swirled through the gloom, sending an unidentified, invisible perfume curling under the door.

It was not hard to identify Ariane with her golden tresses and her striking confidence. No doubt the most dangerous in view of what had happened to Phoebe. Her knowing look as she glanced in his direction suggested she was very well aware that she was under observation, and that she enjoyed playing to her audience. Had she betrayed Phoebe? Certainly, if she were Wentworth’s wife and yet happily consorted with her husband in these premises on occasion, the inference was that she was not the cowering abused wife Phoebe had no doubt believed she was going to meet.

The women clasped each other around the waist, their eyes vacant as their lips found each other’s briefly. Breaking into pairs, they delicately contoured faces, traced lips with long fingers, and gently nuzzled throats and breasts. There was something otherworldly about the scene. Hugh felt as if he’d stepped into a world where sin was not a crime. These women looked so serene, and he longed for the gentle touch of a woman. Not of these women, but of his Phoebe.

Phoebe, who came here only a few days ago, and whose liberty ended here. He had to discover a means to discredit Wentworth or Phoebe would die.

Hastily he scribbled a note on the paper provided and slid it through the grille. Ariane was too dangerous, he’d decided. Too knowing and too calculating to confront directly. The young woman with the light brown hair and the innocent face may be less guarded. She consorted with Ariane on a regular basis. It might just be that she’d know something, anything, that would be a start.

The young woman of his choice met him in an antechamber. He’d taken a seat on the comfortable red velvet upholstered banquette with its turned arms that faced a small dais, where presumably Minna would do her little dance for the pleasure of her clients.

To his surprise, she slipped through the door and gracefully crossed the room to stand in front of him, her expression expectant.

“What news?” she asked, her voice breathless. “Where should I go? Is it tonight? Oh please say you’ll get me out of here tonight, for I fear if he should come early, then what could I do? I’d rather die.”

Hugh, who’d risen to his feet, was unsure how to respond to this little speech. The young woman, unaware of his confusion, began to pace. “I never thought I’d win such a reprieve. Oh, dear Lord, I shan’t waste it. Shall we go now?” She turned suddenly, and Hugh had to admit at this point that he was really terribly sorry, but he had no idea what she was talking about.

She stared at him a moment, her face a mask of devastation. Then she gave a little gasp. “You are not Sir Gawain?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never heard the name.”

“Oh, a made-up one, I’m sure.” Her mouth trembled, and she stared at him. “So you really came to watch me dance?” she asked miserably. “Not to save me from my dreadful fate that will take place tomorrow when I am to be bought like a —” She couldn’t go on, bowing her head as her delicate frame was wracked by silent sobs.

Hugh was afraid to reach out to touch her, even in sympathy but then she raised her head and said in a rush, “So, you didn’t come to save me. All I can hope is that a stranger who will identify himself as Sir Gawain will make himself known and rescue me before I am forced to commit a sin that will guarantee my place in Hell, though to be sure it’s probably already waiting for me.” She sniffed, and her sweet rosebud lips trembled. “I had just held out the tiniest little bit of hope that…you…might be my last chance.” Collecting herself, she added on another faint sob, “But if you’re not Sir Gawain, you can’t help me.” Her shoulders slumped. Then she seemed to snap into a different state, more with the present and businesslike. “I daresay you came here to watch me dance, then.”

Hugh hesitated. “Actually, I came for information…which I’m quite willing to pay for,” he added quickly, indicating the seat beside him.

“Information?” She looked frightened as she sent a look at the door then back to his face. “No sir, I won’t betray any of the girls. And if you are planning to lock up all of us who operate out of here, then perhaps I’ll just scream now.”

Hugh rose and gripped her arm, immediately dropping his hands when he saw her tense. “I’m sorry, but let me assure you there’s no need to get so agitated. I have no intention of doing any harm. I merely hope to gain some information that might save the life of a dear friend of mine who was apprehended in this house last week by a certain Mr Wentworth, before being placed in custody and who is now awaiting His Majesty’s Pleasure. I’m hoping to find information that might save her from the hangman’s noose.”

“Ariane’s husband?” Minna put her hand to her mouth. “You didn’t hear it from me,” she said quickly as she turned away, clearly conflicted.

“No, I didn’t. He’s well known to me, and not at all in a way that casts honor on him, for all that he’s your friend’s husband.”

“Well, he’s no friend of mine,” Minna muttered, “but I’d never betray Ariane.

“It’s nice to know some loyalty exists in the world and you dancers—”

“Oh no, believe me, she’d kill me or rather have it done discreetly.” Minna looked bleak. “I’ve been here two years, and I know her methods. She is beautiful but deadly. But…” she hesitated, “…the truth is she’s a good friend, as long as one doesn’t cross her.”

“So you know her story, and that she’s wife-in-waiting to a man who now has a title, and is situating himself to take advantage of what has fallen lately and unexpectedly into his lap.”

“I know it,” Minna said warily.

“But what you don’t know perhaps is that it is at the cost of the life of the woman I love.”

Minna’s mouth dropped open. “I…I can’t know what you mean, sir. Wentworth is a strong and powerful man with a great deal of persuasive energy. I’ve seen it, and I’ve felt it. But he would never commit murder.”

Hugh looked furtively at the door, and then patted the seat beside him in the hopes she would sit there so he could lower his voice. There was little time to say what he must in order to persuade Minna to help him. If she even could. But if she were no friend of Wentworth’s, and if she knew something that could be brought against him, then Hugh needed to discover it now.

“I have no choice but to trust you in the hopes you might help me save the life of the woman I love,” he said urgently. “Tomorrow, sentence will be passed on Lady Cavanaugh, who is accused of murdering her husband.”

Minna’s eyes widened. “My Lord, what are you saying?” She looked terrified. “Wentworth is Lord Cavanaugh. He inherited the title only weeks ago upon the death of his cousin and two brothers occurring the same night. Of course I know the story. The papers can print nothing else.” Agitated, she hugged herself. “Are you telling me you believe a different version?”

“I believe Lady Cavanaugh when she says Wentworth, who visited her and her husband frequently, forced her hand around the paper knife that killed her husband and made him heir. He forced her hand to commit the murder he desired and then condemned her for it. Tomorrow Lord Coulson will pass sentence on her. Her fate is already sealed for Wentworth has made a compelling case.”

“Lady Cavanaugh was his mistress,” Minna murmured, staring at her feet.

Hugh bridled. “I’m sure your friend Ariane was very put out and has turned you all against Lady Cavanaugh. Lord knows, she has few friends who will testify to the fact that she has been used as a pawn.”

“Oh, Ariane orchestrated the union of Wentworth and Lady Cavanaugh.” Minna looked at Hugh, her expression not altering at Hugh’s shock. She nodded. “Shortly after I started dancing here, I remember the story well. Ariane and Wentworth had been wed several years but had done so before Wentworth’s majority, and they knew he’d be disinherited if the marriage were discovered. Wentworth had two older brothers—one dimwitted, the other an out-of-control drunkard—so as he saw no chance of becoming Lord Cavanaugh, the plan was that he…” she blushed, “…sire Lord Cavanaugh’s heir. It was Ariane who conceived the plan that she should make Lady Cavanaugh her husband’s mistress and, with collusion from Lord Cavanaugh himself, who was…unable to sire an heir.” She looked at the floor. “Poor Lady Cavanaugh. I felt sorry for her, even though I didn’t know her. When Ariane gets an idea, no one escapes from her plan.”

Hugh winced. He’d felt dead inside when he’d first learned the litany of sins that littered Phoebe’s past. He’d believed she was easily coerced, and that she’d done it for gain. Minna painted a different story.

“Then you understand that Lady Cavanaugh is entirely innocent of the charge leveled against her.” He gripped Minna’s hands. “And I see that there is no love lost between you and Ariane and Wentworth. Please help me find something—anything—against Wentworth that I might use at trial tomorrow, and I’ll do what I can to help you.”

Minna smiled sadly. “There is nothing you can do to help me. I was a poor vicar’s daughter before I was enticed to London to be the mistress of the man I thought would marry me, and now I am a dancer and for the first time have accepted an offer that will both damn me in the eyes of God forever, but will secure the happiness of my little sister who believes me dead. If Sir Gawain does not come to save me, I have another plan even if it places my sister’s future in jeopardy, though I will find another way to protect her—just not through the sacrifice of what last bit of integrity I have left.” She slumped as she finished her speech. “I would do whatever I could to help you, but I’ve told you all I know.” She rose, took a step towards the door, hesitated then turned. “All I can add is that Lord Coulson, the magistrate I think you mentioned, is a regular visitor to Mrs Plumb’s, and that he is here in one of these rooms now.” She rose and held out her hand. “In case it is in the interests of justice, I could take you to the peephole. He’s probably had it closed, but there is a possibility you might see something that could be used to…persuade him that condemning Lady Cavanaugh to death is rather extreme when his proclivities invite the death penalty too.”