“Does everyone know what my wife is planning?” Looking at his two friends, their eyes lit with mischievous laughter, Alex knew the answer to his question. He ran quickly up the marble stairs, his mind racing to elaborate pictures of what “appropriate” dress might be. What would Charlotte be wearing, for example?

But the bedroom held no one but Keating—no dressed, or deliciously undressed, wife.

Keating had laid out formal dress on the bed. Alex’s protest died on his lips. Obviously this was a surprise that Charlotte had elaborately planned. It would be churlish of him to refuse to comply. Still, he knit his brow when Keating swirled his old green domino around his shoulders.

“Am I going to a masquerade? In this part of the country?”

“I couldn’t say, my lord. I am merely following the countess’s orders.” Keating didn’t mention that Charlotte had asked him to take Alex’s green domino out of the attic some two months ago, and that the birthday excursion had been in the planning stages somewhat longer than that.

Finally Keating ushered his perplexed master out of the bedroom. Will’s butler was waiting in the hall, a devilish French smile on his face, Alex thought rather crossly. The butler majestically led the way to a carriage outside.

Finally, Alex thought, quickening his pace. He climbed inside, brushing off the footman’s extended arm.

But the carriage was empty, and before he could register the fact, the door was flung shut behind him and the horses picked up.

“For Christ’s sake,” Alex said blankly, to himself.

They didn’t go far, driving perhaps twenty minutes. Alex helped himself to a basket placed on the backseat, clearly for his pleasure. But even a glass of excellent champagne didn’t soothe his feelings. Where was his wife? What was the delight of drinking champagne alone? His eyes grew dark as he imagined her sitting opposite him in the carriage. Then he smiled wolfishly. He’d have his revenge for this lonely birthday party! She’d have to be in the carriage on the way home, after all….

So by the time the carriage jolted to a close, Alex’s mood was restored. In fact, he was feeling quite cheerful, having finished near to the whole bottle of champagne.

He tossed open the carriage door and jumped out, only to find himself face-to-face with Keating. A quick glance showed him that they had stopped in the manicured driveway to a country house.

“Keating!”

“My lord,” his valet said quietly. He had apparently just climbed down from the driver’s seat; his cheeks and nose were bright red with cold.

“Good God, man, what are you doing here? And where are we?” Alex demanded.

Keating hesitated. In his hands he held a black piece of cloth.

“My lord, I must ask you to turn around,” he replied.