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352 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published April 28, 1993





"Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Merryweather?"
“I myself am extremely skeptical on the subject,” Prudence admitted. “But many people do believe in ghosts. They often think they have evidence of spectral phenomena. My hobby involves examining that evidence and attempting to find a logical explanation for it.”

Angelstone was anything but angelic in either appearance or temperament. It was said in the drawing rooms of the ton that he bore a strong resemblance to the Lord of the Underworld. It was true that it would take a formidable imagination to envision him with a pair of wings and a halo.
The firelight flickering behind Sebastian seemed a little too atmospheric tonight. The glow of the flames threw his fierce, saturnine features into harsh relief. His black hair was cut short. His curious, amber eyes blazed with a cold, penetrating intelligence. His body was hard and lean. Prudence knew from her experience with him on the dance floor that Sebastian moved with a lazy, dangerous masculine grace.


“I should perhaps remind you that when one grants a favor, one expects to be able to collect payment in return at some future time.”
A fresh flash of alarm went through Prudence. She eyed him warily. “What, exactly, are you suggesting, my lord?”
“Merely that in return for my doing you this favor tonight, you will agree to do one for me should I ever request it.”
Prudence held herself very still. “What sort of favor would you expect in return for sparing my brother’s life?”
“Who knows? One cannot see into the future, Miss Merryweather. I have no notion now of what sort of boon I might someday require of you.”
“I see.” She drew her brows together in concern. “But you expect to collect this favor from me at some point?”
Sebastian smiled slowly. His eyes and those of his cat reflected the firelight. “Yes, Miss Merryweather. Someday I shall most definitely collect what is owed to me. Do we have a bargain?”
A dangerous silence settled on the shadowed library. It was broken only by the crackle of the flames on the hearth. Prudence could not look away from Sebastian’s steady, unreadable gaze.
She would have to take the chance that her intuition about this man was correct. He might be dangerous, but she did not believe he was evil.
“Very well, my lord,” Prudence said quietly. “I will agree to this bargain.”

There was, he realized, an earnest, thoroughly wholesome quality about Prudence that he found inexplicably enthralling. He thirsted for a taste of her refreshing, invigorating goodness even as he mocked it.
Sitting there in his library lecturing him about his responsibilities, she had made him feel every heavy ounce of the darkness that weighed down his soul. Prudence was a creature of the sunlight and she made him very conscious of the fact that he was a man who dwelt in the deepest shadows of the night.
They were opposites, yet he had wanted her from the moment he was introduced to her. It made no sense. Sebastian wondered why he found himself so captivated by Prudence. For captivated he was.
“This is a trifle awkward, my lord.”
“Yes.” Sebastian stretched his booted feet out toward the fire and went back to slowly stroking the cat.
“It is also a trifle dangerous.”
“Nonsense. I have a pistol in my reticule and the coachman who brought me here has agreed to wait for me. I assure you, I shall be quite safe.”
“A pistol?” He eyed her with some amusement. “You are a most unusual woman, Miss Merryweather. Did you think you would need the pistol to protect yourself from me?”
"Good heavens, no, my lord.” Prudence was genuinely shocked. “You’re a gentleman, sir.”
“Am I?”
“Of course you are. Pray do not tease me, my lord. I brought the pistol along as protection against footpads. I understand they are very prevalent here in Town.”
“Yes. They are.”
(Here comes the cat...)
The cat crouched on Sebastian’s lap and gazed at Prudence with an unwinking gaze. It struck her that the beast’s eyes were almost the exact same shade of gold as those of its master. She was momentarily distracted by that observation.
“Does your cat have a name, sir?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
The faint smile briefly edged Sebastian’s mouth again. “Lucifer.”

“He is at that dreadful age when young men feel things so very intensely. I expect you were young once yourself.”
Sebastian gazed at her, clearly fascinated. “Now that you mention it, I believe I was. It was a very long time ago, of course.”
Prudence flushed. “I did not mean to imply that you are old now, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
Prudence gave him an encouraging smile. “Heavens, you are probably not much above forty.”
“Thirty-five.”
Prudence blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am thirty-five, Miss Merryweather. Not forty.”
“Oh. I see.” Prudence wondered if she had offended him. She sought to recover whatever ground she had lost. “Well, you certainly have the aspect of the sort of sound maturity one would expect in a much older man, sir.”
“Kind of you to say so. Others have said that my face bears the marks of a blighted soul and too much hard living.”

He wrapped one hand around the bedpost and looked at her with hooded, unreadable eyes. “I wish to speak to you about this engagement of ours. I have had enough of this foolishness.”
Dismay swept through her. “You wish to end it so soon, sir?” She floundered for a logical, rational reason that would forestall the inevitable. “What about our investigation?”
“Forget the damned investigation. I am beginning to think that if the matter were put to the test, I would finish a poor second to your
interest in conducting investigations"
“I did not mean to imply that you are not also quite interesting, my lord,” she said desperately. “Indeed, I have never met a more decidedly interesting man. I am quite persuaded your intellect is of the highest order. I have been deeply impressed by your inquiring nature. And by your cleverness with locks.”
“Enough.” He released the bedpost and came toward her with an air of grim intent.
“Sebastian? What are you about?"
"Why don’t you apply your intellect to that question, Miss Merryweather? I’m certain you will very quickly arrive at the answer.”
He caught hold of her and swung her up into his arms before she realized what he intended.
“Sebastian.”

“Open for me, sweet,” Sebastian whispered to the lock. “That’s it, darling, let me inside. Give me what I want. Ah, yes. That’s right. That’s what I need. Beautiful.”
There was a tiny click. Sebastian turned the doorknob and opened the door. The hinges squeaked eerily.
Sebastian felt something give inside the lock. Satisfaction coursed through him. “Ah, yes, love. That’s it. Open for me. Easy, now. Let me inside. Beautiful.”
Prudence gave a soft, annoyed exclamation. “Are you aware that you tend to talk to locks the same way you talk to me when we are making love?”
“Naturally. You and a fine, clever lock have much in common. You are both endlessly amusing.”
“Sebastian, sometimes you are impossible.”
"Thank you. I do try.”


