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never met him until last week, when he came to work for Cosgrave. Quite a war hero, I understand.”
    “Yes, he took a ball in the leg at Badajos.”
    “Odd, he dances so well,” Burack said.
    “It is healing nicely,” she replied, and shot a gimlet look at Burack. She did not care for that remark. Was he suggesting Costain was malingering? “He is most eager to return to Spain,” she added.
    “I daresay he misses the excitement. We are a dull lot at the Guards. I wonder he bothered to join us.”
    “I expect Lord Costain is the sort of man who likes to be busy, and doing something for his country.”
    “Very admirable.”
    Yet Mr. Burack did not sound as if he admired Costain. In fact, she caught an intimation of resentment in his manner. Was it just jealousy of the ordinary man for the war hero? Or did he fear Costain would outshine him at the Guards as well?
    Burack’s next question put her on the alert. “How did you meet him?” he asked, and looked at her with brightly inquisitive eyes.
    The cheek! “Our families are old friends, Mr. Burack,” she said dampingly, and immediately changed the subject. “This is the first Christmas party of the season, I believe. What a lovely scent the fir boughs give to the room.”
    Mr. Burack wore the expression of a frustrated man, but his breeding forced him to discontinue his discussion of Costain, since the lady was so obviously opposed.
    As the dance drew to a close he said, “May I do myself the honor of calling on you, Miss Lyman?”
    “If you wish,” she said with little enthusiasm.
    “Where do you live?”
    “On King Charles Street, not far from where you work.”
    “I see!” he said in a surprised voice.
    As soon as the cotillion ended, Costain came forward. “Let us have a glass of wine,” he said, and led Cathy away.
    “He was prying, Lord Costain!” she exclaimed. “Is it possible Mr. Burack is the one who is making trouble at the Guards?”
    Costain looked interested in her suggestion. “Does he resemble your intruder?”
    She had forgotten all about it, but she stopped at the doorway and looked back. She mentally pulled a hat low over Burack’s face and drew a scarf up to nearly meet it. “I had the impression of an older, slighter man. Perhaps, with his shoulders hunched ...”
    “How about the voice?” Costain asked, warming to the idea.
    “It did not sound similar at all, but the intruder consciously lowered his voice to frighten me.”
    “It is odd he made such a point of meeting you.”
    Again Cathy felt that shaft of annoyance. “Gentlemen do occasionally wish to be presented to me,” she said.
    Costain tilted his head and drew his bottom lip between his teeth. Then he laughed. “There! I told you you would have real cause to be angry with me before long. If it is any consolation, both Lord Duncan and Sir Andrew Longford asked me most particularly to be presented.”
    “It seems only age appreciates my charms,” she said, not quite mollified, as the gentlemen mentioned were both nearing forty.
    “Burack is no Methuselah,” he said. She tossed her curls. “And Costain, at a mere nine and twenty, is coming to appreciate you, precocious fellow that I am.”
    “Let us go and see if Gordon has had any luck,” she said, and they walked out.
    Gordon came pacing from the refreshment parlor to meet them. Cathy rushed in with her suspicions of Burack.
    “What did he say, exactly, to tip you the clue?” Gordon asked.
    “He asked how long I had known Lord Costain, and how we met, and he mentioned it odd he danced so well when he was supposed to have wounded his leg.”
    “Upon my word, the fellow is a commoner,” Gordon exclaimed. “He is either jealous as a green cow or he’s our spy.”
    “He did sound a little jealous,” Cathy allowed. Then she looked sharply at Costain. “I don’t mean jealous because of me,” she said. “Jealous of your title and your war record is what I meant.”
    “Counter jumper! He is nothing