shot him a naughty smile. “I’ll tell you when you’re older, darling.”
Sir Neville reached for her surprisingly strong hand, bringing it to his lips. “If I could ever love a woman,” he murmured, “you would be the one.”
“I’m immensely flattered,” she replied, batting her eyelashes. “I don’t know how my husband feels about it.”
“Follow your heart, dearest,” Philip said in a sardonic voice. “Don’t let me interfere with your little pleasures.”
Neville dropped her hand with unbecoming swiftness. “I said ‘if,’” he said hastily. “But, alas, we’ll simply have to stay friends. And speaking of friendship, I might suggest the most wonderful skin cream, made of champagne and sow’s milk. It will do wonders for your rough hands.”
“Too kind,” Valerie murmured.
And Philip only snorted, downing his glass of brandy.
Two hours later Sir Neville’s guests were safely ensconced in their carriage, heading back over the moonlitroad to their comfortable lodgings at Sutter’s Head. They traveled in silence for the most part, until the lady broke it.
“There are times, Phelan, when you have absolutely no sense of humor.”
“All I have to do is look at you, brother mine, and my sense of humor reasserts itself,” he replied with a mocking drawl.
Valerian kicked at his skirts. “God, did you see the way that little sodomite ogled me? I’m sure he’d be far happier if he knew what I really had under my skirts. As it is, he’s totally disgusted with himself for being attracted to a woman.”
“I’m pleased you find it amusing,” Phelan James Murdock Romney replied.
“Lord knows there’s little enough to keep me entertained,” Valerian said. “How much longer do I have to be cooped up in these damned skirts? Why in heaven’s name did we have to choose this of all masquerades? Couldn’t we have been sailors, or tradesmen, or even gypsies? I’m actually beginning to mince,” he said, his voice rich with disgust. “And do you realize how long it’s been since I’ve had even a mild flirtation? Not to mention a real flesh-and-blood woman?”
“You were flirting quite effectively tonight.”
Valerian shuddered. “That doesn’t count. I’m tired of this. Tired of being cooped up in that house, tired of wearing skirts, tired of celibacy and inaction. I tell you, Phelan, I’m going mad.”
“I doubt it,” Phelan drawled. “I hate to tell you this, Valerian, but with your blond hair you’d never pass for a gypsy.”
“You would have, curse your black soul,” Valerian mutteredwithout any real rancor. “If we had to go as man and wife, why couldn’t you have been the girl?”
“Not fitting for my dignity,” Phelan said. “Besides, it’s your own fault for being so bloody pretty.”
“I don’t know how much more of this I can stand. Lord Harry was killed more than a month ago, and what’s happened?”
“My mother is enjoying a very public mourning,” Phelan said in a bland voice.
“All the while accusing me of cold-blooded murder. Damn it, we need to go back.”
“You know as well as I do we can’t. My esteemed mother might be half mad, but she’s managed to convince a magistrate and the Bow Street runners that you’re a cold-blooded murderer. Our safest chance is to leave the country until this blows over.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Valerian said mutinously. “Who do you think killed him, Phelan?” he asked in a more subdued voice.
“If we knew that, we wouldn’t be hundreds of miles from Yorkshire. We’d be tracking the bloody bastard down and bringing him to justice.”
“And that’s my only hope, isn’t it? Finding who really killed him.”
“Our only hope. You’re forgetting, I’m in this, too. According to Hannigan, opinion is divided as to which of us actually did the old man in. Most people seem to think I’m the logical culprit and my mother’s lying to protect me. They know Lord Harry and I always hated each