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information,” he allowed.
    Appleby inclined his head. “Always your servant, my lord.”
    “Very well,” Malcolm agreed. “See what you can find out about Miss Sarah Compton, late of Suffolk.”
    Appleby stared off toward the far end of the room, for all the world like some gypsy going into a trance. “Miss Sarah Compton,” he mused, voice echoing oddly. “Yes, of course, Miss Compton.”
    “You know her?” Malcolm asked with a frown.
    “It’s possible,” Appleby intoned. “Yes, quite possible. Elegant female, chaperoning the Incomparable Miss Persephone Compton?”
    “Yes, deuce take it,” Malcolm admitted, “the very one. Speak up, man. What have you heard?”
    Appleby blinked and focused his bleary blue eyes on his master. “Why nothing. Nothing at all. But perhaps I can remedy that by the time you awake in the morning.”
    “See that you do,” Malcolm growled, thoroughly put out with the fellow. “I expect a full report at breakfast.”
    “Your servant, my lord,” Appleby replied, starting to bow himself out.
    Malcolm held up a hand to stop him. “And Appleby, I don’t think I need to remind you that you are not to relay information about me without asking first.”
    Appleby froze halfway up from his bow. “You would give me permission to gossip about you?”
    “If it suited my purpose,” Malcolm explained. “It might be an expedient way to let a colleague know of my opinions without advertising them, or humbling him. However, in all other circumstances, I expect you to be silent about my doings.”
    “Will not the other servants see this as a difficulty, my lord?” Appleby asked, licking his lips as he slowly straightened. “I imagine I shall have to pay in some way for their confidences.”
    “I pay no one to stand as betrayer,” Malcolm informed him, scowling at the very thought. “Understand me well, Appleby. If servants are talking of their own free will, I see nothing wrong in listening. In fact, it appears to be expected that you will relay it to me. However, I do not want to offer any inducement to them to tell tales on their masters. That betrays a trust. Do you understand?”
    Appleby nodded. “I believe so, my lord. If you need nothing else, then?”
    Malcolm waved him out then shook his head. He could not help feeling that Appleby would prove singularly unskilled at this game. Just in case the man was as hesitant in gathering information as he was in dressing Malcolm, Malcolm would send a few pointed notes to others from whom he had previously learned much. With any luck, he would soon know just how qualified Sarah Compton was for his purposes.
    He could hardly wait.
     

Chapter Six
     
    Sarah wasn’t certain what time they left Lady Prestwick’s ball. The night seemed to stop the moment Viscount Breckonridge left, the time slowing, the people dulling. She watched the gentlemen flatter her cousin as if from a distance. She barely noticed that several others had joined the throng, including the brooding gentleman who had watched them from the doorway at dinner. Even the renewed attentions of the Duke of Reddington failed to pique her interest. The world had somehow shrunk and with it her enjoyment. She had no idea what spell Lord Breckonridge had woven over her, but she could hardly wait to go home.
    Even Norrie remarked on her change of attitude. “Sarah, this isn’t like you,” she protested when repeated questions had failed to get Sarah to answer in more than a monosyllable. “You’ve spent well over an hour in the gentleman’s company. Give over, my girl. What do you think of him?”
    Sarah rubbed her temple. “I think I shall have a headache for the first time in my life,” she murmured crossly. “I shall have to go home and brew a potion of feverfew leaves. Aunt Belle claims that always works wonders for her.“
    She looked up to find Norrie regarding her with narrowed eyes. Sarah threw up her hands. “Honestly, Norrie, I don’t know what to think about