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as if it held the answer to any number of unanswered questions about the man she had married. “What makes an honorable life, Gordon?”
    “Honesty, above all else, I should think.” Unless, he amended silently, pure honesty conflicts with a higher purpose such as service to one’s king and one’s country. “Being true to one’s self, one’s principles.” And such principles should always be guided by the interests of king and country.
    “Do you think Lord Wilmont lived an honorable life, Gordon?”
    He chose his words carefully. “It’s not my place to say, ma’am.”
    “Nonetheless, you have helped me set the leavings of his life in order. Surely you have formed some impression of the man?”
    “I would not venture —”
    “Nonsense.” Impatience rang in her voice. She rested her elbows on the desk, cradled her glass between her hands and studied him. “You are a man with a vast amount of experience and, I suspect, an acute observer of those around you. Is there anything you have seen in all this that indicates to you that my husband lived a dishonorable life?”
    “No, my lady. Not at all.” It was the truest thing he’d said all night and came as something of a shock. Tony had had no idea what to expect from Wilmont’s papers, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated a total lack of questionable activity. Why, even some of Tony’s own personal transactions were, on occasion, not entirely aboveboard.
    “He had a dreadful reputation, you know. Regarding gaming and wild living and drinking and” — she shrugged matter-of-factly — “women.”
    “Reputations are not always as they appear, ma’am,” Tony said firmly. He couldn’t defend Wilmont at the moment and, even if he hadn’t been in disguise, would have been hard-pressed to do so at any rate. Some of Wilmont’s reputation was indeed exaggerated to hide his true activities, but much of it was well earned. Still, Tony wondered if perhaps he had judged his friend too harshly.
    “He did marry me.” There was a cool note in her voice. “And that probably speaks well of him.”
    Without warning she rose to her feet and paced the room.
    Tony jumped up a beat behind her.
    “Oh, do sit down, Gordon.” She gestured impatiently. “I cannot seem to sit still, but there is no need for you to be uncomfortable as well.”
    “I couldn’t possibly, ma’am.” The shocked note in his voice wasn’t entirely feigned. She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “Very well.”
    Lady Wilmont circled the room casually, brandy still in hand, and perused the shelves as if searching for something of interest, but there was a tension in the line of her body and edge of her step that indicated she had far more on her mind than reading. She stopped and peered at the shelves, then selected a book and glanced at him. “Do you like Lord Byron’s works?”
    “I wouldn’t presume to say, my lady.” In truth, he thought both the man and his poems overpraised and overrated.
    She chuckled. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” She took another swallow of the brandy, set the glass on a shelf, then flipped the book open. “I myself am not overly fond of his more political offerings, but some of his poetry is rather evocative.” She paged through the book and stopped to read aloud.
    “She walks in beauty like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies…”
    And all that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes.
    “It’s quite nice, ma’am.” It was one of the few works of Byron he did indeed like, and suspected it appealed to a romantic aspect of his nature usually hidden.
    “Do you think so?” She continued to study the page, a frown creasing her brow. “ The smiles that win, the tints that glow but tell of days in goodness spent. A mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent.” She glanced at him. “Is there such a thing as a heart whose love is innocent, do you think, Gordon? Is there, in truth, such a thing as