Seducing the wallflower…

Over the years, Lydia Field has perfected the art of being a wallflower. It’s the only way to avoid the attention of unwanted suitors – and the perils of a convenient, loveless marriage! Instead, she dreams of the day she can leave London’s high society behind her, trading the glamorous balls and afternoon teas for a quiet life in the country.

But in an unguarded moment, she finds herself catching the eye of notorious rake ‘Handsome Harry’, Lord Birnham. Now that he’s glimpsed the wildness and fire that lurks beneath Lydia’s demure exterior, he will not rest until he has unleashed the full extent of her passion!

For if there’s one skill that Lord Birnham is known for, it’s the art of persuasion…

The next exquisite Regency romance from Raven McAllan, The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia will whisk you off your feet and sweep you into an opulent world of scandal, secrets, and desire!

Also by Raven McAllan

The Scandalous Proposal of Lord Bennett

The Rake’s Unveiling of Lady Belle

The Duke's Seduction of Lady M

The Scottish Lord’s Secret Bride

The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia

Raven McAllan

www.CarinaUK.com

RAVEN McALLAN

lives in Scotland, the land of lochs, glens, mountains, haggis, men in kilts (sometimes), and midges. She enjoys all of them – except midges. They're not known as the scourge of Scotland for nothing. Her long-suffering husband has learned how to work the Aga, ignore the dust bunnies who share their lives, and pour the wine when necessary. Raven loves history, which is just as well, considering she writes Regency romance, and often gets so involved in her research she forgets the time. She loves to travel, and says she and her hubby are doing their gap year in three-week stints. All in the name of research, of course.

She loves to hear from her readers and you can contact her on twitter: @RavenMcAllan or via her website: ravenmcallan.com

Thanks to my Editor Extraordinaire, the fabulous Charlotte Mursell.

The Cover Artist, Anna Sikorska.

All the HQ Digital team.

Doris O'Connor, wielder of the 'red pen', who is chief nagger when I need it.

The RavDor Chicks, (Doris and my) fantastic Facebook group for all their encouragement.

The Carina authors Facebook group ditto.

Paul my long suffering husband, who is still ignoring the dust bunnies, and providing the wine.

Everyone who is so kind to buy and read my books and have made my dream of being a published (and read) author come true.

To my long gone, never forgotten mum and dad, who would be so pleased I'd achieved my dream.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Excerpt

End page

Copyright

Prologue

‘I have a headache.’ It was almost true, Lydia thought, as she glanced up at her mama from under her lashes. If she were forced to fall in with her parents’ intentions it would no longer be a white lie. Even thinking about the evening’s so-called entertainment made her tense. ‘Can I not give the ball a miss and you make my apologies to our hostess?’ After all, she’d spend most of the night as a wallflower – not that she minded that at all; it was the fact that she would be forced to dance with whomsoever her hostess foisted upon her that she hated. Supper would be agony, as whichever gentleman had been coerced into escorting her attended to her for the bare minimum of time politeness dictated and then disappeared. ‘Seriously, Mama, let me have a night off. I am not interested and you know it.’

Her mama, the Countess of Ibstock, sighed, frowned and felt Lydia’s forehead. ‘You’re not heated and your complexion is normal. I’m sure you’ll be fine once you are there.’ There was a note of finality in her voice that hinted Lydia should take heed. ‘You never know, you might even catch the attention of…’ She broke off and reddened. ‘You will be fine,’ she said again lamely.

Poor mama. She was, Lydia thought with a surge of amusement, ever optimistic. In this case it was sadly misplaced. In her younger days, her vivacious mama had been considered an incomparable, and even now, in her fifties, showed the beauty she had once radiated. If she had been married to anyone other than Lydia’s papa her mama would, Lydia thought, have been a much sought after, leading hostess. Sadly, her papa, the Earl, was somewhat of an eccentric and eschewed most tonnish entertainments and his wife. To the Countess, fancy gowns, parties and balls were the spice of life and she couldn’t understand how her daughter hated them. Without those frivolities, Lydia suspected, her poor mama would be lonely and alone. Even Lydia couldn’t fill the void her papa deliberately left in his wife’s life. It was incomprehensible how he could be so unfeeling or how her mama managed to put on a stiff upper lip and rarely showed how hurt she was by her husband’s attitude. It might be the way of most of the ton, but it would never be Lydia’s way.

It would not ever do for her. If nothing else, it showed her she could not and would not be subjected to such a life of anguish and lack of respect as a person in her own right. Her mama loved her papa dearly, and look how he repaid her?

No, no, and no. It was not for her. She’d much rather be an old maid. Whoever said having a large fortune and a considerable dowry was an asset was sadly mistaken in Lydia’s opinion. The fortune might well be her saving grace one day, but a dowry? She shuddered. How many fortune hunters and men down on their luck had she refused? People who didn’t see her as a person, but as a purse. The number of females who, on discovering who Lydia was, looked startled, then speculative, couldn’t be counted. Friendships were courted and cultivated and ideas on how to spend her pin money – and more – bandied about. It was no wonder, Lydia mused, that she had deliberately gone out of her way to appear dull and bookish and fade into the background. Marriage had never been high on her agenda after she had thought her heart broken by a suitor she imagined loved her. Sadly – or thankfully, she had subsequently decided – she had discovered he loved her money, not her. It had been a bitter blow to come upon him, at what should have been her betrothal ball, bragging to one of his friends that she was boring, had no animation in her, and that nothing about her was interesting.

No doubt, the man had continued with a laugh, she would be rubbish between the sheets, but he would perk himself up by thinking of her fortune. She’d shown him how wrong he was with regards to her personality, stormed in, slapped his face, and told him that he would never find out. Plus, she had said, in such an icy tone he had blanched, to her knowledge she hadn’t actually agreed to the betrothal. When he tried to protest, she had grabbed a carafe of red wine from a nearby table and poured the contents over his head. He had spluttered and sworn, and a large quantity had dripped over his immaculate evening breeches. As he had an affectation for buff, the pale material turned a nice, deep claret.

Needless to say, she hadn’t seen him again. It had been a somewhat difficult conversation she had with her parents when they discovered her swain gone, but in her mind it had been worth it. To Lydia’s surprise the man didn’t talk about her in a bad way, indeed, the aborted betrothal never saw the light of day in the ton. She decided he was probably too embarrassed.

Happily, within the season he married elsewhere and retired to Wales, out of sight and out of mind.

Even so, the wedded state become less and less attractive over the years. Her erstwhile suitors left a sour taste in her mouth. As for her parents’ marriage? Words failed her.

Perhaps I was swapped with someone else at birth? There seemed to be no other explanation for those views which were so diametrically opposed to those of her parents.

‘Besides,’ the Countess continued, bringing Lydia back to the present with a jolt, ‘though I hate to bring the subject up, how else will you find a…’

‘Mama.’ Lydia held her hand up to stop her mama speaking. ‘Do not dare mention a husband. I am almost six-and-twenty and not interested in the gentlemen who are interested in me.’ Not that there were many these days. Lydia knew she had perfected the art of fading into the furnishings, and dissuaded all but the most persistent. ‘You know I do not suit them, and you also know that I prefer it that way.’ She squeezed her mama’s shoulder in silent sympathy. ‘I’m not you. I really don’t see the benefit of being a wife. After all, where would I find a man as perfect as papa?’ She hoped her sarcasm didn’t show, for her words were such an exaggeration. Lydia wouldn’t hurt her mama for anything, but sometimes it was so very hard to show respect for her father.

She wasn’t quite sure she loved him – for how could you love someone rarely there? However, she supposed she owed the Earl her filial respect for he was most definitely the head of the house and her mama deferred to him in all things. That lady never had an independent thought or idea, unless, Lydia mused wryly, it appertained to the problem of Lydia’s almost old maid status. She was definitely one more reason why Lydia had no intention of becoming a wife. How her mama could put up with the indifference shown to her – kindly or not – Lydia couldn’t comprehend.

Lydia was well aware she did not have the disposition to accept commands meekly without question, nor not to ask why something should be just so, nor to hang on to a man’s every word as if it were the only thing that mattered. Even as a young child she questioned everything. Lydia understood she had a mind of her own and opinions that were just as valid as those of anyone else. Nevertheless, from all she had seen and heard, no man had ever tempted her to change her attitude. She would not be a commodity, or someone to be used as a brood mare and then discarded. That was something she had watched happen all too many times, and sometimes the results were horrendous. In general, though, the ton seemed to think a marriage of convenience was the preferable alliance, advantageous to both parties concerned. Lydia disagreed and preferred her single life. Oh, she accepted some people’s marriages were different – her friend Esther’s was one in question – but how could she be sure her own would be?

Esther opined that miracles did happen; however, Lydia was of the belief that, after Esther and Edward, there were no more to be had. Esther, a friend of Lydia since schooldays, and now the wife of an influential lord who was an MP, had a marriage that was the one successful example, to Lydia’s knowledge, of those arranged for gain.

There had only been two other firm offers. The first was when the man turned out to have feet of clay. It was pure chance Lydia learned – from the lady herself – about his married mistress a few days before he asked her papa for her hand. The said mistress, herself married to a man who ignored her, had, she declared, been assured her liaison would not end after the marriage. Fortuitously, Lydia’s papa had let her refuse the offer. That had surprised her, but she had been grateful. It was only later she understood that her papa thought the man inferior to them and was someone who had once snubbed the Earl at Tattersalls.

Her mama couldn’t comprehend Lydia’s attitude. After all, a mistress was not something uncommon, surely Lydia understood that? When Lydia had asked her whether her papa kept a mistress, her mother had paled and her eyes clouded over until she stuttered and told her daughter it was not a subject to be discussed with innocent, unmarried girls. From that Lydia had inferred he did.

So it had been a pleasant surprise when her papa had not pushed her to say yes to that or a subsequent, even less palatable, offer. Agreed, that was more to the elderly peer’s lack of fortune, fondness for inferior port, and Lydia’s father’s fortune the man assumed would go to her on her papa’s death, than her vehement refusal, but it still gave her two more lucky escapes.

Since then she had become more wary of those peers looking actively for a wife. So many seemed to think a mistress was part of any marriage, and so many of those women seemed to be married to someone else. It was not for her.

Luckily, all other potential suitors she had thankfully managed to put off before they got as far as approaching her papa. She thought they might as well have guinea signs etched on their foreheads. It was galling to be seen as a money-well, but if it had done nothing else, it had made her increasingly aware that she was more than that. She had intelligence and wit, even though she chose not to show them but instead court a reputation for unconventionality.

Hence, in a few weeks’ time, she could take charge of her own, not inconsiderable, fortune, and she had plans made. Lydia was going to move to her cottage in Devon and forget all about Almack’s, balls, afternoon teas and gossip. She would be in charge of her life.

It was a fact that she could hardly wait, and Lydia sighed at the thought of what she needed to endure until then. The Countess regarded her daughter steadily and Lydia did her best not to squirm, but her mama had the knack of making her feel like a specimen under a microscope.

‘You really do not enjoy the life of the ton, do you?’ The Countess made it sound as if her daughter came from an alien planet. ‘Sometimes I despair of you. How can anyone not enjoy the parties, the chat, the…’

Lydia rolled her eyes. She felt her mama’s anguish, she really did, but even that couldn’t change her attitude towards the ton. ‘Sorry, mama, I am such a trial, I know, but I could reply with how can anyone enjoy them.’

The Countess pulled a face and shook her head. ‘Somehow I must have failed you.’

Not you, but Papa and your marriage did. And those bone-headed idiots who chose to try and pull the wool over my eyes. They opened my eyes to inequality and injustice. To overhear I am undesirable, but for my fortune he will put up with me, is not something any woman should ever apprehend..

‘Never, mama.’ Lydia patted her mama’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. ‘I just am different. I’m sorry but you know neither of us can change what we are.’

‘Sadly. Even so, my love, you have to attend tonight,’ her mama said earnestly. ‘Her ladyship would be most disgruntled if you pulled out at such a late date. You might not want to go’ – her tone indicated she personally could not comprehend anyone who chose not to attend such a gathering – ‘but do this one thing and I promise you can forgo Almack’s tomorrow.’ She sighed very dramatically. ‘I will think of some excuse that doesn’t offend the patronesses.’

Thank the lord for small mercies. It was a very large concession from her entertainment-loving mama, who thought Almack’s, balls and soirees almost the sole reason for living. ‘Say I have the plague? Oh, all right, the headache. And let me miss the musicale at Lady Bishop’s as well?’ Lydia added hopefully. ‘You know I get no pleasure at those events and it will make the headache all the more plausible.’ The only saving grace, as far as Lydia was concerned, was that if she closed her eyes during each musical piece, people thought she was lost in the music and not snoozing.

The Countess shook her head in sorrow and sighed heavily. ‘You strike a hard bargain. Very well.’

‘I try.’ Lydia stood up and shook out her dress. How could she explain the claustrophobic sensation that filled her when in the social situations her mother adored? Or the way her mind went blank and she wanted nothing more than to yawn or find a book to read. ‘It’s difficult, but I really try.’

She waited for her mama to come back smartly with ‘very trying’, but for once she did not, and merely patted her daughter’s cheek. ‘It will be fine,’ she said, not very convincingly.

‘In that case I best go and get ready for another evening in hell,’ Lydia said, ignoring her mother’s tut-tut and muttered admonishment as she left the room. If she had to endure several hours of torture she’d make certain she looked her effacing best. Not that it would make much difference. Whatever she wore she would still be seen as well on the shelf and not worth bothering with. Sometimes it perturbed her – she rather thought she would be a good mother – but after listening to the moaning of several young matrons, bored and ignored by their spouses, those moments were becoming fewer and fewer. Better not a mother than an unloved and unwanted encumbrance. After all, how much mothering would she, as the wife of a member of the ton, be allowed to minister? That thought made her smile wryly. Maybe she needed to find a nice jolly country squire who had no intention of straying, or a vicar who couldn’t afford nursery care and expected his wife to do it all, as well as ministering to whoever of his flock needed it.

Make gruel? Bake bread? Make small talk to all and sundry? That negated the vicar’s wife, then. Lydia had only the haziest idea of how bread or gruel was made and her repertoire of small talk was non-existent. An old maid with a trusty servant it would have to be. Plus, she thought with an inward giggle, cats.

She entered her bedroom and grinned at Millie, her personal maid. ‘I have to go tonight but tomorrow is mine and mine alone. A visit to Hatchards and to Mr Lloyd if we can do it without being observed, I think.’ Mr Lloyd was both her solicitor and her confidant. ‘Sadly, before then I have to pretend not to be bored out of my mind for the next however many hours. I’ll wear the midnight-blue silk.’

Millie, well used to her mistress’s abrupt changes of subject, nodded. ‘We’ll sort tomorrow out, don’t you worry, my lady. Now your bath is drawn and I’ll get you out in good time.’

Pity.

****

Purgatory was too mild a word for it, Lydia decided, as four hours later she nodded politely at Lord Baxford, who put a plate with a piece of cheese too small to satisfy even the tiniest and least hungry mouse in the country down in front of her. It was accompanied by a sandwich, no more than one inch square, two patties, and a strawberry – a single strawberry, for goodness’ sake – and none of the excellent treats she had spied as she entered the room. It might not be the height of the soft fruit season, but Lady Lewisham had succession houses unparalleled by anyone. Not for one minute did Lydia think that she would not have provided plenty of fruits for everyone. It was, she decided, with a quirk to her lips that Lord Baxford eyed suspiciously, a gentleman’s erroneous reading of a woman. He thought they should eat delicately and have no need for the same sort of sustenance as a man. How wrong could an idea be?

‘There you are, ah…’ Lord Baxford looked at her expectantly as if he were due a medal.

‘Thank you.’ She refused to pander to his ego and add any more. If she did, her shy mouse cover would be blown to smithereens. It was obvious he couldn’t remember her title let alone her name.

Baxford glanced wildly around the supper room and tapped his teeth with one long fingernail. ‘Hmm.’

Lydia stood up abruptly, tired of the gentleman’s posturing. ‘My lord, you’ve done your duty, and believe me I enjoyed it no more than you.’

He blanched and ran his finger around the edge of his perfectly, but boringly tied cravat. ‘I, er, no you have it…’

‘Correct,’ Lydia said with a sympathetic note in her tone. After all, it wasn’t his fault he’d been forced to escort her to supper and act as if it were his pleasure to do so. Something he hadn’t quite achieved. ‘You are absolved from dancing attendance on me any longer. Go and enjoy the rest of the evening. Mary Sutton is looking at you longingly.’ She had almost said making sheep’s eyes before she remembered herself. Sometimes, acting the lady was not at all easy. Very daring, she patted his cheek and bit the inside of her mouth so she didn’t laugh at his startled deer impression, as he flinched. ‘If you will excuse me.’ She didn’t give the hapless and unfortunate lord time to more than begin to stutter his apologies and thanks before she curtsied to the exact depth due to his status, made her way out of the supper room and headed towards the ladies’ withdrawing room. A little cold water and a stern talking to were needed.

Luckily, apart from the attendant, the room was empty and Lydia was able to use the commode, wash her hands and then, a glass of water in hand, sink into a large, overstuffed armchair and cool herself down without interruption. She hated confrontation, and wished to Hades her mama could understand where her daughter was coming from. A quiet life, a chance to do what she was good at, and with no interference from husbands, parents, or anyone else who thought they knew what she wanted and needed better than she. Surely it wasn’t too much to ask for?

Lydia drank the water and stood up again. With luck she could leave in an hour or so, and then, her duty done, have that well-earned day to herself on the morrow. For the umpteenth time she mentally counted how long she would have to endure the life of the ton before her mama would give in and accept her daughter was a lost cause. That time couldn’t come too soon.

After one last glance in the mirror to check her appearance – mundane but neat and tidy – just right to blend into the wallpaper, she decided – Lydia thanked the attendant, gave her a tip and walked out into the corridor. A group of men approached from the direction of the card room, laughing and chatting to each other, and she took a step backwards until her shoulders brushed the wall. She would stand quietly to one side to let them past. After all, it was highly unlikely any of them would pay her any attention, let alone give her a second glance, but she didn’t want to get in their way so they were forced to notice her. Luckily, Lydia reasoned, she had long perfected the art of fading into her surroundings. As she had thought, the first few males took no notice of her, but one exquisitely turned-out gentleman, arms gesticulating wildly to his companion, clipped her cheek as he walked by. To be fair, she thought – or tried to – as her head snapped back, he probably couldn’t turn his head far enough to see her. His cravat was so high he looked as if it supported his head.

Lydia saw stars as the man’s companion swore. ‘Donkin, you ass, you’ve hurt the lady. Apologise at once.’ Someone propelled her to a nearby seat. ‘Go and get some water and a maid.’ Presumably the man spoke to Donkin and not her.

To her chagrin, Lydia felt herself moved backwards and forcibly made to sit down. ‘I’m fine – there is no need to fuss,’ she said faintly as she glanced at her rescuer and blinked.

Oh, good grief, no. Of all the people it could have been, it had to be Lord Birnham. Known with irony to others in the same situation as herself – those females who were older, wiser and not likely to be taken in by a handsome face and pretty manners – as the deb’s delight. Or Handsome Harry, or the luscious lord. Whichever sobriquet she chose, he annoyed and intrigued her in equal amounts. Not that she knew a lot about him. He was not in her small circle of friends or even smaller group of admirers. Rakes weren’t interested in wallflowers. But she knew enough about him to be honest to herself, and wonder, what if? Lydia admitted she had some curiosity about men in general and Lord Birnham in particular.

Not that ‘what if’ was ever likely to become anything else. She bet he’d be hard pressed to even know who she was, let alone realise they frequented the same entertainments. Now he frowned at her response to him and Lydia smiled at his concerned expression. It sat well on his aristocratic face. One could almost imagine it was real. With deep-grey eyes, dark, wavy, immaculately styled hair, and a body honed to perfection hidden under his immaculate dress, it was no wonder impressionable debs swore they swooned if he favoured them with a smile, or even better, a bow or a word. She, however, was made of sterner stuff – she hoped.

‘I am fine, my lord,’ Lydia said earnestly and cursed the husky tone of her voice. ‘Really. There is no need to concern yourself.’ She coughed, somewhat unconvincingly, and ignored the quirk to his lips.

Damn his eyes. ‘Mr Donkin only caught me a glancing blow,’ she explained in a way she hoped showed her determination to be a quiet, unassuming person who caused no trouble. It wasn’t easy as she was more than a little disconcerted by his close scrutiny. ‘If I had been more alert I would have ducked.’

‘He needs ducking,’ his lordship said irritably, ‘preferably his head in the pond. He’s an idiot.’

She couldn’t disagree, but this attention embarrassed her. Lord, if her mama appeared she’d crow and push them together. How mortifying would that be? Lydia got a grip on herself and attempted to stand up. His lordship’s hand, warm and, to her annoyance, comforting on her shoulder, forestalled her. She didn’t need to be comforted, just ignored.

‘Lady Lydia, you should let me call him to accounts.’

He knew who she was? Lydia hadn’t expected that. ‘No need, my lord. It truly was an accident.’ She did not want all eyes on her.

‘Hmm. Stay there until you get a compress on your cheek,’ he commanded in a voice that told her he didn’t expect her to argue. That was enough for Lydia to become riled. ‘You do not…’ she began emphatically, and saw the surprised look in his eyes.

Damn, damn and double damn. Her carefully cultivated boring and wilting attitude was not in keeping with that sentence. Lydia made haste to rectify that, and modify her tone. ‘Do not need to worry, my lord. I’ll be fine and I’ll call my mama and she will escort me home,’ she said in a voice which held no emotion. ‘I’m so thankful for your help, but really there is no necessity.’

His eyes narrowed and Lydia held her breath. Would he challenge her? For a few long and fraught seconds the outcome could have gone either way.

Finally, as she was about to scream – or pretend to faint – he nodded.

‘If you insist.’ The look on his face showed he thought it was a temporary reprieve. ‘I will send a footman to find her. I’ll be back.’ He turned on his heels, presumably to find a footman. The minute he disappeared from view she made a move towards the front door. He obviously intended her to wait where she was.

Lydia intended to do no such thing.

Chapter One

‘You see, my lord, it was imperative I told you what has been brought to my notice. Your heir has some very unsavoury acquaintances.’ The neat-suited, tall, unassuming man, with his grey hair plastered to his skull and his brown eyes unfathomable, dipped his head apologetically. ‘I had the information checked out as best I could before I presented the facts to you.’ He shifted uneasily on the ladder-back chair he had been invited to sit on. ‘I didn’t press too far as I assumed you wouldn’t want any more rumours to abound, especially if they were without foundation.’

Harry, who had a few other names – including Lord Birnham – but was known as Harry to his friends, nodded as his mind raced furiously. Jeremy was involved in what? ‘Are they?’ he asked quietly, determined to show none of the trepidation and fury he held back with difficulty. ‘Without foundation?’

‘It seems there is perhaps a germ of truth in it all, somewhere,’ Pugh, his agent for all his business interests, continued apologetically, ‘Several germs. I have also been given to understand he has been, shall we say, boasting in the hells that he is due to come into money. A lot of money. He dipped deeply at Mrs O’Connor’s last week, to the tune of several thousand, and she’s pressing him. That in itself is unusual; she is generally more accommodating.’

Harry nodded and smiled to himself. ‘Indeed.’ He knew how accommodating the lady could be if she liked you.

‘Hence, I assume, the announcement with regards to money,’ Pugh said. ‘Now, unless he’s about to kill you, and I don’t think he has the stomach to come to that yet, he’s either involved in something illegal or about to be married.’

Harry had heard nothing to indicate either state, but, he ruminated, he had been out of town for a few weeks on other concerns. Firstly to his estate, to sort out extra barns for the harvest, then to speak to his agent in Devon concerning a new ship he had commissioned, and after that on to Wales. For business of the ‘end of a romance’ kind. That was now well over and, really, Lady Shelbourne should have been forgotten long before. However, an earnest plea for his attention had sent him hotfoot to Wales. It hadn’t turned out as the lady expected. Harry told her in no uncertain terms that, now she was betrothed once more, their brief sojourn was over. As a widow he would dally with her, as a wife he would not. Harry’s morals might not conform to rakish rules but they were his and he abided by them. Virgins and wives – or even wives-to-be – were not on his agenda. The lady had not been best pleased and the resultant altercation had spoiled any agreeable memories regarding what had been a rather pleasant dalliance.

‘See what you can find to indicate either state, if you would, Pugh,’ Harry said calmly. Damn Helen Shelbourne. If I had been around, we might have been able to scotch this earlier. ‘Report back to me on Friday, please. I, meanwhile, will keep my ears open in my circles.’

He remembered something Merryworth, his Devon agent, had said. The totals for the cargoes on his last three ships that had berthed in Teignmouth seemed to be down. ‘Check with Merryworth as well,’ he added as Pugh took his leave. As he also would.

He waited until Pugh had left and swore long and hard. Why couldn’t Helen have accepted it when he told her enough was enough and not concocted the story that he was needed to solve a problem? For that matter, why had he been so stupid as to believe her? He was usually too up to snuff to fall for such a ruse. It had been a long drive to Wales, involving several changes of cattle, some of which weren’t fit to pull a dogcart, let alone a curricle. Then an uncomfortable few hours of confrontation, tears and pleading from Helen, and in his mind an even longer drive back to town. Plus the unpleasant thought that, for a brief moment, he had been tempted to take what was on offer for one last time.

Logically, Helen should have accepted what she knew instead of assuming she would be the one to change his morals. Then they could have remained friends as she faded into marital bliss and left him alone. Instead of that, now they were not on the best of terms. Harry had prided himself that he and his ex-lovers always stayed friendly. This was a first. Ah, well. He turned his thoughts away from his ex-mistress and to the situation he now found himself in. To wit, that he was at a disadvantage over a situation he assumed was about to become incredibly important, not to say time-consuming.

Harry tossed off a glass of brandy, and stared moodily at the coal-less grate. Damn, he’d better start sooner rather than later.

White’s and Watier’s first. Then see what followed.

He stood up, stretched, and paused with his arms above his head. ‘Hell.’ What a time to remember he had a prior engagement – one he couldn’t miss. His godmother’s ball. Harry sighed and headed upstairs to change. Debs and mothers, traps and trappings. Inane conversations and inferior wine. What a way to pass several hours that could never be regained. Actually, he mused, fairly, as he took the stairs two at a time with his long-legged stride, the inferior wine wasn’t true. His godmother would never be so crass as to not have the finest food and drink served. Even so, the rest was a certainty. Sadly, the clubs would have to wait. Purgatory came first.

He better not let his godmother know he thought of her balls in such a way.

****

If only life were simple, he would now be on his second or even third glass of wine and ready to escape to the card tables. Instead, Harry stared at the glowering man in front of him, and wished he’d instructed Hill, his major domo, to tell this unwanted visitor he was not at home. Of course, Hill, on seeing Harry’s heir, would have thought nothing of admitting him, and now Harry’s head ached.

‘Get on with it, I have a ball to attend,’ he said to Jeremy sharply. Not that Harry was enamoured with the idea of the ball, but he was even less enamoured with his heir, especially in light of the recent revelations.

The hapless Jeremy Mumford had a harridan for a mother who, along with Harry, was Jeremy’s trustee, and jointly held the purse strings. With this in mind, Jeremy had just begged Harry to add weight to his plea that he be allowed to offer for a lady Harry now knew to be the stunning beauty he had aided at the recent ball. A lady several years older than Jeremy, who Jeremy declared was the only woman he would ever want.

Want, not love. Harry hadn’t thought that a stumbling block until suddenly Jeremy changed his tune and declared it was love. Love at first sight, not to be denied. Something was more than fishy, especially as Jeremy became more taciturn, as Harry pressed for answers.

‘Love, want, need?’

There was no reply. ‘Jeremy, you came to talk, to beg, so bloody well talk to me. Tell me what this is all about.’

‘I am going to marry her. She will marry me. Love cannot be denied.’

‘It can if I deny it.’ Grief, he would rather Jeremy try to emulate him, Harry decided grimly, and become a rake, than this.

If it were not so serious, it would be amusing. ‘Your life reads like one of those nasty romances women read,’ Harry said to the disgruntled young buck slouched in the chair next to him. In some people the stance would look elegant; in Jeremy it looked gauche. ‘Lost loves, unrequited love, languishing, tears and tantrums. And that’s just the males. Lord, Jeremy, you’re only one and twenty, well set up and, not to put too fine a point on it, a bloody idiot. How on earth do you have to marry this woman? Is she a harpy who entrapped you? Have you given her a slip on the shoulder? Is that it? Do you even know what love is?’

‘No, how dare you?’ Jeremy said indignantly. ‘It’s because…’ he scowled, his face turning the colour of the hall runner he’d so recently walked over, and mumbled something Harry didn’t catch.

‘You want your inheritance. To squander as you do your allowance? Gambling debts? Make arrangements like everyone else. Or do not gamble over your head.’

‘It’s not that, they are paltry.’

‘Is that why Mrs O’Connor is pressing you?’ Harry asked and sighed. ‘You’d best come clean.’

‘I’ve paid them, and it’s got nothing to do with you,’ Jeremy said. ‘I want to marry, that is all there is to it. I’ve chosen her. There are no debts. None.’

‘Make sure it stays that way,’ Harry advised. He ignored the marrying bit. He needed to think more about that before he made any further comments. Sadly, Jeremy was like a dog with a bone with regards to his future state.

‘Well, once I marry, nothing will have anything to do with you, so I will marry, and then you can… can go hang.’

‘Grow up.’ Harry sighed as he went over in his mind the rambling tale he’d just been given. It all smelled mighty fishy and far-fetched, especially with regards to the information he’d received earlier. ‘Then, when you have shown me you are indeed mature enough to manage it all, ask me once more.’ He didn’t mention Mrs O’Connor again. Some things were best left for a later date – after he’d spoken to her perhaps? To have ammunition was always useful.

‘It’s mine and I need it. Well, if I marry, you have to give it to me.’ So there, Jeremy’s tone indicated.

‘Not necessarily,’ Harry said pleasantly, albeit with a hint of menace in his tone. ‘I can stall, and unless you give me a clear and concise reason why this lady is the one for you, and she agrees, stall I will.’

Jeremy pouted. ‘You can’t,’ he said in an unsure voice. ‘I can make sure I have her. I need the money and her. She will be the…’ His voice faltered to a stop. ‘You can’t.’

‘Watch me,’ Harry advised, as he absorbed Jeremy’s somewhat ominous words. He’d definitely need to look into them. ‘Now is there anything else?’ His heir was spoiled by a doting mother and grandmother, but deep down, up until then, Harry had always been certain a decent and sensible young man lurked, so why on earth had he pitched the story of need, greed and must do? Harry was at a loss. Who, or what, on earth could send his heir into such a deep and imploring mood? Surely young men were supposed to sow their wild oats and not be thinking of marriage. He, of course, should be the opposite.

He wasn’t. Harry went over all the conversation in his mind. As much as he needed to get on, something in the tenor of it all worried him. He’d have to challenge Jeremy, and see how he wriggled out of explaining.

‘Hold on a minute. If my ears do not deceive me, and they never have before, I think you said you wanted her and changed that to love.’ Harry stared at Jeremy long and hard. ‘Which is it? And why? How do you think you can make sure you will have the lady? That strikes me as ominous.’

Jeremy mumbled something Harry didn’t catch. He thought it was ‘how do I know anything about how a woman’s mind works but I need to marry soon’; however, he couldn’t be certain. Harry reined in his ire. ‘What does the lady say?’ Harry asked mildly. Losing his temper at that moment wouldn’t help. ‘Where did you meet her?’

‘I saw her at Lady Finlay’s,’ Jeremy muttered. ‘She is almost on the shelf and needs to marry. Why not me?’

‘Saw her? That is not a very satisfactory reply. And then?’ Harry pressed on and ignored the negative attitude of his heir. Jeremy had the look on his face that intimated he was uncomfortable with the route the questions were taking. The one which, if his mama were around, she would immediately make haste to dispel. Not so Harry.

Jeremy looked mulish. ‘One look was all it took. Once I knew who she was, I knew she was the only one for me. I danced with her and knew. She would do.’

Harry raised his eyebrow. Do? What was behind all this? ‘One look across a crowded room, one twirl around the dance floor, and you decided that how?’ he asked sardonically. ‘What else comes into it?’

‘Nothing and I just did. We’re not all like you, you know. I love her and that is enough. If you persuade mama.’

Harry now understood for certain that his nephew and heir was a fool. Not that he believed Jeremy was in love for one second, but who on earth married for love, anyway? Such a fleeting sensation, soon lost and buried in the annals of time. Was she ill and about to die in the near future? Did Jeremy know how much she was worth? Harry knew to the last pound, for he kept his ear close to the ground where money was concerned, but he didn’t think Jeremy so wise. Over the years the information about Lady Lydia Field’s wealth had, to his mind, been severely downplayed. Most people now thought she had a comfortable fortune, no more. He thought different, but did Jeremy?

‘Do not mistake lust for love,’ he advised Jeremy. ‘And do not think to slake your lust with a lady. There are others more suited for that.’

I bet my fortune, that love has nothing to do with it. Now, to discover why Jeremy needs her.

Chapter Two

Harry stood in the shadows and watched as Lady Lydia Field glanced around the ballroom and limped in a roundabout route towards an anteroom he knew would be empty. Her usual slow and apologetic gait was purposeful, albeit uneven. Had she injured herself somehow? That apart, she seemed… he hesitated in his thoughts. All he could pinpoint was that somehow her persona had changed.

What had he stumbled upon? Harry decided he’d been sadly misled by his peers and deceived by his own eyes, and that flash of something fiery he thought he had spotted a few nights before was real. Once you looked past her unassuming, disappear-into-the-background attitude and usually lacklustre response to anyone’s comments, Lydia Field was stunning. He could well imagine his heir in lust with her; he was halfway towards that condition himself. Nevertheless, she did not conform to his criteria for a lover – widowed or someone who knew the score – and although she was said to be biddable and make that sort of wife, he wasn’t on the lookout for one of them at that moment in time, either. However, he could still look and admire, surely.

Her skin was clear and a soft shade of pearly pink, her blue eyes sparkled and her blonde hair shone like spun silk. He mentally rolled his eyes at his silly, poetic words. Since when had he thought of a woman’s attributes in such a way? Or noticed how this particular woman curved in all the right places. What had he been missing? Obviously he’d walked around with his eyes shut, or his mind on other things. This lady had no need to be ignored. Why had no one seen what he now saw? Then, to his amusement, she blinked, swallowed and almost faded into the background before him. Lady Lydia Field was a conundrum he was now determined to solve.

Or maybe, he pondered, as he remembered that recent, impassioned plea from Jeremy Mumford, it seemed Lady Lydia Field was clever and only showed a certain part of her personality. And figure. But why? And how, therefore, had she come to Jeremy’s attention? Harry remembered a half-listened-to conversation from earlier in the evening. Something about a fortune if you overlooked her banality? Was it Lydia his peers had been talking about and her wealth known? Damn, now he wished he had paid more attention but, as trivia bored him, he’d ignored it, and concentrated on his cards. Two threes and a five wasn’t going to win the pot.

Now he stood transfixed as the lady hesitated by the antechamber door, glanced around furtively and then swiftly went inside. Intrigued, he followed her. Was she meeting someone? Was he about to break up a romantic tryst? Maybe even with Jeremy, who he hadn’t as yet spied at the ball. So be it. Harry opened the door and stepped inside the tiny chamber. It was empty apart from the lady he followed.

Lydia looked up from the chair she occupied. As he closed the door behind him, she closed her eyes and sighed. ‘My lord? You should not be here, and please not with a closed door. You will ruin us both.’

Harry leant back on the door and surveyed her thoroughly as she lifted her lashes and stared at him with her deep-blue orbs. ‘Not me, I am already ruined in many eyes, and care nothing about the rest.’

Her luscious breasts heaved under her low-cut dress and a pretty, rosy hue began to spread upwards from them. ‘I, however, am not nor wish to be. Go away and leave me alone. I reiterate you should not be here.’

‘Why not? You are.’

‘That is why.’ Again the flash of something other than docility showed briefly in her eyes, before she blinked and the illusion, if that was what it was, disappeared. Harry studied her absently. What the hell had Jeremy got himself into? Who was this woman, or more to the point, what was this woman?

‘My lord?’ a hesitant voice said. ‘Are you well? You seem troubled.’ Good God, he’d forgotten the woman sat before him. Never mind him, she was obviously in pain; he’d noticed the wince and the way she had trouble formulating her thoughts. Heavens, she’d sounded almost animated for a split second.

Nevertheless, fine blonde hair twisted into a complicated knot, with delicate wispy tendrils loose around her creamy cheeks, blue eyes and an hourglass figure made his body and his mind sit up and notice. He had a weakness for those attributes in a female. That half-formulated plan of earlier began to niggle him again.

Jeremy must be saved from his own impetuousness. After all, hadn’t he finished his diatribe by saying sullenly that, whatever happened, he would have his own way? And admitted love didn’t come into it, even though he had refused to explain why he was so intent on marriage to Lydia and flounced out with the threat that he would get what he wanted come what may. To say Harry was concerned was an understatement. The sooner they got to the bottom of it all, the better for everyone. Even, he supposed, Jeremy.

What had happened to his intention never to get involved with anyone who might have marriage in mind? Until it was the shy, biddable wife he intended many years hence. Disappeared, it seemed. He still had no intention of marriage, but a little dalliance, without breaking his own rules of no virgins, no innocents and no one who wasn’t up to snuff, would remain in place. For if it solved the problem of Jeremy he would pay attention to Lydia and see what happened.

‘I wondered how you have hurt yourself,’ Harry said slowly as a plan began to simmer in the back of his mind. ‘You were limping.’

‘Oh.’ She bit her lip and the rosy crescents increased in colour. ‘I turned my ankle as I stepped over the lintel. So silly of me. I thought to rest if for a few minutes.’ Alone, her tone implied.

‘And get a respite from the rabble?’ Harry said teasingly.

She chuckled and broke it off abruptly. ‘I would not be so rude, my lord. But yes, it is pleasant to sit quietly for a while.’ She studied him for a moment. ‘Alone.’

‘Alone, I cannot allow. And do not say it is not up to me, for we both know it is.’ To his secret amusement she shut her mouth with a decided snap. So the lady had been going to argue.

‘Will you give me the pleasure of your company on the terrace for a short while?’ Harry asked his companion, urbanely. ‘If your ankle will stand it. We can be alone but not alone there, if you understand me. Perfectly acceptable, whereas here…’ He let his voice quieten.

Lydia jumped. ‘Oh, my goodness. Yes, I understand.’ She looked up at him from under impossibly long, honey-gold lashes. ‘But why?’

Two words full of suspicion. He couldn’t blame her; he’d never, ever indicated by so much as a wink or a nod that he had even a flicker of interest in her. Now it seemed Lady Lydia Field had more to her than those limpid pools of blue, otherwise known as her eyes, the hair of spun silk and a figure to hold and caress indicated. Good God, now he sounded like one of those awful books he’d heard women loved to read and accused Jeremy of behaving like a character from. Why had nobody brought the lady’s delicious attributes to his attention before?

Probably no one looked closely enough to see them. Including me.

‘The cooler air might help your pain. Plus, it had been remiss of me to neglect you,’ he said smoothly, every inch a gentleman of the ton. ‘I feel behove.’

‘Why? You have never shown the need before,’ she said bluntly, and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, my lord, I do apologise at my rudeness.’

Harry laughed. ‘No, don’t go and spoil it. I like this side of you.’

Did she really say ‘I was afraid of that’?

Lydia shook her head. ‘My mama would be aghast at my lack of respect. Perhaps I best return to her side before I totally blot my copybook. If you would excuse me, my lord.’ She curtsied and began to turn.

Harry stopped her by dint of taking hold of one wrist. ‘To my certain knowledge, you, my dear, when you forget yourself, show you have spirit,’ he replied amiably. ‘It intrigues me. Perhaps we should further our acquaintance. Here, where so many other people are milling around, will attract attention. The terrace is within view and will cause less interest than anywhere else.’

‘If you think that, you are deranged,’ Lydia said bluntly. Evidently she had forgotten her need to efface herself. Harry hoped she would continue to do so.

‘I’m not your type, my lord,’ she continued. ‘Everyone knows a man like you would have no interest in me. Even thus far will have people wondering how much brandy you have taken. So, again, why?’

That was much too complex to reply there and then, and to be honest he wasn’t sure he could answer. He was no longer sure of his motives. Originally he had thought to be unethical and divert some of her attentions from Jeremy to himself. Thence to try and get to the bottom of why Jeremy thought it necessary to wed her. But now, he understood that there was more to it than that. Exactly what more he wasn’t going to try to discover. Not yet.

Now he accepted he wanted to get to know the lady… just because…

‘Are you promised to anyone?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Have an understanding?’ If she had he might need to rethink his tactics.

‘Good lord, no,’ she said, startled. ‘Why on earth would I? I am single by choice and intend to stay that way… Ah.’ She went red and shut her eyes briefly. ‘I mean, my lord, who would want me? I’m past the age of men offering for me.’

‘But you would like some air; I’ve seen you look longingly towards the gardens.’ He hadn’t, but it was a calculated guess. ‘I’ll say Lady Raith asked me to, if you like,’ he said with the lazy smile he was aware usually made a woman turn into a simpering imbecile.

Lydia Field was made of sterner stuff, it seemed. She ignored it.

‘But she hasn’t,’ she pointed out. ‘And that doesn’t answer my question.’ Lydia paused and he swore she counted to three and did her best to compose herself.

Curious.

‘Truly, my lord, you are most kind, but there is no need.’ Her voice had no animation, no expression and again he wondered at her chameleon-like abilities.

Harry grinned. ‘Yes I am, and yes there is. Go into the ballroom and give me five minutes.’

He stared at her until she inclined her head, smiled oh so sweetly, and curtsied. ‘You are too gracious, my lord.’ She somewhat spoiled the meek and mild persona by muttering under her breath. Something along the lines of, God save me from high-handed men?

Really? Surely not? Truly, Lydia Field needed investigating. Harry turned on his heel and went in search of his godmother.

‘You want what? Why?’ Lady Raith asked suspiciously three minutes later, as Harry ran her to ground as she swept up the stragglers in the dining room and shepherded them towards the ballroom. ‘What do you want with her? Hold on.’ She pointed at a young lady who stared longingly at Harry. Lady Raith raised her voice. ‘Miranda Forrester, go on into the ballroom now. Your mama is waiting for you.’

The young deb, in a dress that Harry considered was first cousin to a meringue, blushed, curtsied and left the room.

‘Silly chit,’ Lady Raith said with a chuckle. ‘What do they see in you?’

‘My charm? Wit?’ He shook his head. ‘Lord only knows, I do nothing to encourage them. They just keep appearing in my vision like flies.’

His godmother snorted. ‘Really? Poor deluded things. As you insist you give them no encouragement, it’s more likely your fortune. Now, where were we? Lord, Harry, you do confuse me.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Stop changing the subject.’

Harry laughed. ‘Of course, my dear, and of course I would never cast aspersions on your summing up of the situation.’

Lady Raith guffawed. ‘Bad boy. Ah yes, Lydia Field. Why her and what are you up to?’ She narrowed her eyes and stared at Harry with suspicion. ‘She is not for you.’

‘I’m up to nothing, Rosie, not a thing.’ Harry spoke soothingly. His intended dalliance was for only him – and, when it happened, Lydia – to know about. ‘The lady in question turned her ankle on the way in. I thought a breath of air might help. Especially after the last ball she was at, where Donkin hit her accidentally on the cheek and was sent home bosky. Him not her. She seems to be accident prone.’

‘I should hope she wasn’t bosky,’ Lady Raith said indignantly. ‘We women do not get bosky. And you can hardly call her accident prone if it was Donkin’s fault,’ she pointed out acerbically. ‘And, do not call me Rosie – I feel like an apple if you do. Rosemary,’ Lady Raith said automatically, as she patted Harry’s cheek. ‘Always Rosemary and you know it. You are a good boy.’

The ‘boy’, well into his late thirties, grinned and ignored the niggle of remorse for not owning up to his true intentions. How could he, though, when, all of a sudden, he wasn’t totally sure of them himself? ‘I try.’

‘Hmm. Very well, where is she?’ Lady Raith asked as Harry bussed her cheek. ‘No need for that. I know damned well you’re up to something, and no doubt you’ll tell me what in your own good time.’ She patted his arm. ‘Let’s go and see if we can find young Lydia for you.’

‘I believe she is sitting outside the antechamber to the right of the ballroom. The one you call the blue room,’ Harry said. ‘For the love of God, Rose… Rosemary, do not intimate I asked for the introduction. It might make her faint on the spot. I rather think the lady in question would prefer not to be the centre of gossip. If people think it’s you being your usual medd… oh, you know what I mean.’ What a load of twaddle he was spouting. Not the meddling bit – that was oh so true, as he had often found out to his detriment in the past – but the rest.

‘I never meddle,’ Lady Raith said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Harry snorted.

‘Bad boy. Not unless I deem it necessary, anyway. Now, promise me something. Be gentle, Harry, she’s not the sort who understands innuendo and the badinage you men enjoy with ladies of a more robust nature. Lydia is a quiet, biddable, sweet young thing. She’d make any man a dutiful wife.’

He nodded. ‘I hear you.’

‘But are you taking heed, I wonder?’ she asked shrewdly. ‘All I’ll say is remember your rules. Shy and biddable is not for playing with.’

His godmother sounded so certain about Lydia’s mindset, Harry wondered if he had imagined those few times of vivacity. Maybe it was down to her situation at that moment? Although the thought of that young lady, naked, and writhing under him in ecstasy as he discovered the true woman beneath the prim and proper and boring persona she presented, was enough for him to rue how tight his clothes were.

Harry smiled vaguely, discreetly adjusted his now more than interested cock, and ran his finger around the top of the immaculate cravat that threatened to choke him.

Whatever, he still intended to go on with his plan. She was a puzzle he aspired to solve.

‘You don’t need to worry, love,’ he said emphatically. ‘I have no intention of getting leg-shackled any time soon, and as for setting up my nursery? Really, can you see me willingly with a hoard of scrubby offspring?’ The mental picture that conjured up – of blond-haired, blue-eyed moppets – struck an uncomfortable chord he couldn’t define in his mind.

Harry shuddered theatrically, and Lady Raith shook her head at him, before kissing him resoundingly on the cheek with a flourish. ‘Incorrigible.’

‘Oh, yes.’

He perceived the exact moment Lydia noticed he’d carried out his promise – he preferred it not to be thought of as a threat – and he and Lady Raith were about to approach her. Harry could almost see her straighten her shoulders and tense up, waiting for what no doubt she perceived as the instance the axe was to fall.

Goodness knows why she was so worried, he thought, as Lady Raith acknowledged Lydia’s curtsey with a kiss to her cheek. Lydia’s expression was wary, and she twisted her fingers together.

‘Now, Lydia, my dear, I see your cheek is fine from the other night. Young idiot. Him, not you. Mind you, Harry fixed him, I believe. Good sort is Harry, especially for things like that. And now my lintel caused you injury. You’ll hate all things to do with the ton before long at this rate. Let’s hope Harry can relieve your worries and show that we’re not all bad. I’ve given him all the usual warnings.’ Lady Raith tempered her generally booming voice to what she fondly thought of as a whisper.

Well, Harry mused with a grin, to her it probably was. To everyone else it was a normal tone of voice.

‘Yes, thank you, my lady, he did all that was necessary,’ Lydia said in a soft, colourless, almost not to be heard voice. ‘He was most kind.’

‘No need to thank me as well,’ Harry murmured and felt instantly ashamed as she reddened and bit her lip.

‘Lydia, my dear, I think you and Lord Birnham could do with a stroll on the terrace,’ Lady Raith said before anyone else could comment. ‘It’s hot in here.’

Harry agreed. His cravat was too tight, his shirt stuck to his body, and, as for his evening breeches, he daren’t hazard a guess. He’d just caught a proper glimpse of Lydia Field’s silhouette and it promised so much. His body as ever showed its interest in her, and he willed his staff to quiescence. He was doing a lot of that lately, and with no interest in finding someone to soften it in a more earthy and pleasurable manner. He smiled wolfishly, and Lydia gulped, apprehension writ large on her face.

Am I being fair? He refused to answer himself.

Rosemary beamed at him and gave a discreet nod in Lydia’s direction. Harry recollected his plan and bowed. ‘My dear Lady Lydia, shall we?’ He held out his arm.

Now why did Lydia look at it as if it were an adder about to strike?

****

A gentle cough from Lady Raith brought Lydia out of her reverie, and she wondered why on earth she had such an uncomfortable sense of disquiet, and butterflies in her stomach. Those she could perhaps put down to the length of time since she had last eaten. However, the unnerving impression that, once she took hold of the proffered arm, her life would never, ever, be the same again had nothing to do with food, or the lack of it. She had never thought herself fanciful before, but now?

Ah well. Fatalistically, Lydia took his arm. After all, what else could she do? No thunderclap rent the air. She didn’t fall down in a faint. No one turned to stare or point the finger at them. The musicians still scraped away in the ballroom. Muffled sounds from the card room, and an odd thud or two as the dining room was tidied, could be heard. Everything carried on as it should. Thank goodness. She might not be quite as biddable as people thought, but nor was she the sort of person to create a scene. Unless, of course, it was warranted. Fleetingly, she wondered just what would warrant such an action and hoped she would never have the need to find out. She loved her mama and, even if she wasn’t enamoured with ton-ish life, Lydia was dutiful enough to never unintentionally upset her parents by acting in an uncouth or uncivilised manner. Or so she prayed. For although she thought she had conquered her childish temper, Lydia understood herself well enough to know she would never want to put that to the test.

Harry glanced at the arm she held, and Lydia realised she had tightened her hold. Deliberately, she relaxed her fingers, cursed at the deep creases she could now see in what had been immaculate cloth, and smiled tremulously. ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’

She chose not to say why and hoped as an aristocratic gentleman he wouldn’t ask what for. That was her intention anyway, although knowing her luck, her expression would appear to indicate she was in pain or constipated.

‘Now then, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Harry asked in a teasing voice as they left the room together. ‘No apology needed. This way.’ He pointed to the French windows that led out onto the long, wide terrace that ran the length of the house and edged the landscaped gardens beyond. ‘We have left the protection of Lady Raith and nothing has befallen us. No clap of thunder and no one struck dead.’

‘No, my lord.’ She smiled as if she had just understood she was supposed to do so and wished he wasn’t so appealing in this mood. It was the last thing she needed. Any vague ideas that she looked on him even the slightest bit favourably would help her mama to disrupt the plans Lydia had formed to escape the ton. Not that anything would come if it – she knew enough about rakes to understand that – but her mama would work whatever transpired for all it was worth. Drat the man. Why him of all people. Harry Birnham was not noted for altruism, so why start now?

‘No dragons I need to slay and mess my evening coat?’ he said in a teasing voice. ‘No puddles to put it over and ditto?’

She giggled and bit her lip. Giggled? Oh, for goodness sake. Grow up. I am no longer a young, impressionable deb, so I need to act like it. ‘It has not rained for days, my lord. I believe you are safe,’ she said composedly. ‘We are indeed fortunate. We can just enjoy ourselves and the surroundings.’ However hard she tried, she couldn’t raise enough enthusiasm to make that sound appealing.

One male eyebrow lifted and it was no hardship to colour up and look at her toes. It was that or match his quip with one of her own. They walked on for several paces until, beside her, Harry sighed. ‘They are lovely slippers, my dear Lady Field, but I’d prefer you to look at me, not your shoes. Unless they have something I do not?’ He paused and waited.

Lydia slowly glanced at his face and he raised the other eyebrow.

The question seemed harmless enough, but… ‘Or the other way around?’ he added.

‘No, my lord.’ The stupid milksop act was so hard. Especially when she wanted to act normally with Harry, and show him she did have a brain. She thought he was the sort of man who would appreciate it.

****

It had been the most unusual evening, and for once he hadn’t been at all bored, Harry decided, as several hours later he took out the elegant jewelled pin he favoured, unwound his cravat and threw it over a chair. Foster, his valet, helped him out of his form-fitting coat, stroked the lapels lovingly, and carried it and the long neck cloth away. It didn’t matter how many times Harry informed the man that he was well able to manage and there was no need to stop up for him, Foster would silently appear, help him out of his boots and top clothes and leave him to finish undressing in peace. When Harry remonstrated, Foster had smiled.

‘My lord, it is my duty and honour to help you,’ Foster said earnestly. ‘Plus, if I may be so bold to say so, over my dead body will you use a book jack on your Hobys unless it is an emergency.’

‘I’ll have evening shoes on,’ Harry pointed out. ‘Not boots.’

‘That’s as maybe, but your jacket now,’ Foster said stubbornly but politely. ‘You need my help to get out of it.’

‘I’m a rake. Rakes can undress and dress themselves.’ And their ladies.

‘If you were in rake mode, my lord, undoubtedly you would not be here,’ his valet said, stating the obvious. Harry nodded, resigned to the fact that Foster would indeed wait up. He stripped slowly and stretched as he ran over all the events of the evening. It had proceeded as he expected until his unexpected encounter with Lydia Field and then, well, it had been very different to any other ball he’d attended.

His jaded palate had un-jaded – if that was indeed a state of mind – very quickly. With a self-satisfied grin, Harry turned down the covers on his bed, rolled onto the mattress, stretched out on his back and put his hands behind his head. Over the last few hours his plans for the immediate future had dramatically changed. Instead of pursuing his usual practice of his clubs, Jackson’s salon, and Tattersalls, he intended to pursue Lady Lydia Field and discover what she was all about. Oh, not to take any dalliance outside the realms of polite and acceptable behaviour, but just to find out what made her tick. One thing he was certain of was that she would never do for Jeremy, whatever the reason Jeremy had in mind. That young man would sulk for days if thwarted and, even on such a short acquaintance, Harry understood enough about Lydia to realise she would never stand for such nonsense as Jeremy was wont to indulge in.

She would suit me perhaps? Many years hence. What on earth had she done to him? To even contemplate the wedded state for many years hence brought him out in goosebumps. He knew the day would have to come eventually, but please God, not yet.

However, something had to be done. If Harry had thought Jeremy truly in love, he would stand to one side, even if he couldn’t condone a marriage with his heir still being so immature. Strangely, Harry understood Lydia didn’t fit the idea he had always had of a biddable wife. Those sparks of temper she showed him indicated that. So why was his mind flirting with the idea of marriage to her, one day?

One day was not now. He put the idea out of his mind and turned it to the knotty problem of Jeremy and her, and her idea of what was pleasant and what was not.

‘You mean you really do not like the gaiety and activities of London?’ he had asked after a decorous turn along the terrace during which slowly their footsteps matched. ‘Not the tea parties or theatres?’

‘Definitely not, my lord. Apart from the proximity of Hatchards and its shelves of books, I prefer walks in the country and the comfort of my own home, and friends, not sycophants,’ Lydia said with certainty. ‘That makes me an oddity in our world, I know.’ She looked over the edge of the terrace wall towards where tiny candles flickered in the garden. ‘Perhaps we should go back now.’

‘Is my company so bad?’ he asked in a humorous tone to show he was jesting and not serious. ‘I am devastated.’

She looked up at him. He knew she would see a shadowy figure in the semi-darkness. No one else was around them, and he thought her reply would be along the lines of they were too secluded. Instead she surprised him.

‘Coming it too brown, my lord. You know your worth, and I am not going to fall for that. My reason is much more mundane. I know our stroll will get back to my mama sooner or later, but I prefer later,’ she said with a ladylike chuckle. ‘After all, once I leave the capital it will not matter. Before then, if she catches wind of your kindness, she will turn it in her mind to interest, and neither of us will have a moment’s peace.’ She began to walk back towards the house. ‘I do not desire that and I am sure you feel the same.’ Her tone told him that she neither wanted nor expected him to reply.

‘Leave the capital?’ Was she going on a journey?

‘It is of no consequence.’ She firmed her lips. ‘I intend to go to the country very soon. I’m sure you have other places to be.’

As it was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything else, Harry very properly escorted her inside and left her before her mama or any of her parents’ cronies spotted them. Then he spent another half an hour or so chatting to his peers, and departed before his godmother decided it was time to insist he danced with some young woman or other.

Once he retrieved his hat and cane, he ambled along St James’s and dropped into his club, saw no one he wanted to spend time with, and eventually strolled home.

As the watch called four outside his window, Harry punched his pillow and turned out the lamp. Was he ready to be subjected to the sort of interference pushy mamas could try to inflict? He was an old hand at ignoring or distracting them, and much too wily to be entrapped by any schemes thought up, but even so, it could become wearing if he had to always be alert and aware of anything of that kind all the time.

Nevertheless, he intended to get to know Lydia Field better.

Much better.

Even that thought hardened his cock and made his muscles clench so tightly he had to force himself to relax. Some of his firmly entrenched rules had, he decided, just melted away. He couldn’t carry on like that. After all, if Lydia was ready for a little intimacy, with no strings, who was he to deny her? Better him than anyone else.

And if she wasn’t, he thought uneasily, what then? Harry made a conscious decision. If he was to get any peace he needed to quench his desire for her, and to that end seduction might be necessary.

Bed her and not wed her. That was what rakes did; he might as well live up to his reputation for once.

Chapter Three

Lydia surreptitiously looked at the clock on the wall of the milliner’s and did her best not to show her boredom. Why on earth did either she or her mama need yet more bonnets? It seemed her parents were deliberately ignoring the fact that her twenty-sixth birthday was but a few weeks away, and then elegant headwear would be among the last things she bothered about. Either that or her mother was determined to cram as much into these days as possible, to show Lydia what she would be missing if she kept to her plan. Did she hope it would change her daughter’s mind? Why didn’t she realise it was more likely to do the opposite?

Not for the first time, Lydia wondered if somehow she had been swapped with another child at a young age, or just been brought up by her mama and papa on behalf of someone else. She certainly didn’t seem to have anything in common with them.

‘Lydia, are you deaf? I asked if you prefer the blue or the lilac silk on this bonnet,’ her mama said snappily. ‘Please pay attention. It is important and Madame Lois has other clients to attend to after us, you know.’

Madame Lois smiled graciously. ‘You are my priority, Madame, you know that.’

Lydia mentally rolled her eyes as the Countess preened. ‘Even so. Lydia?’

Thus addressed, Lydia searched her mind how to give a tactful response. ‘Mama, I don’t much like either or really care,’ she said as patiently as she could, ignoring the milliner’s shocked, indrawn breath. The bonnet in question she thought neither flattering nor appropriate for any occasion she could imagine her mama attending. ‘If you must have it choose that pale green; it is much more flattering for your skin tones.’ She didn’t say any more, but even so her mama bristled.

‘Are you saying there is something wrong with my skin?’ she demanded acerbically. ‘That I am old?’

Lydia sighed. She should have kept her mouth shut and her thoughts to herself, and told her mama to choose whichever she preferred. Tact was not her best suit. ‘Not at all. I just don’t think you really suit blue or lilac. You do, however, suit green, especially that soft shade,’ she added diplomatically.

‘Lydia, please pay attention,’ her mama snapped.

So much for diplomacy.

‘It’s not for me, it’s for you.’ her mama said crisply. ‘So what do you think?’

Never. ‘No, I thank you, but it is not necessary, Mama, truly it’s not.’

‘No?’ You would have thought she’d refused three diamond bracelets and a tiara by the disappointment her mama displayed.

‘No, Mama, I neither want nor need a new bonnet.’ Lydia said patiently. Especially one like that. Why on earth does she think I would suit it? The bonnet in question was so large it would look as if it had been fashioned to hide her face from everyone and everything. Plus the brim seemed as if it was designed purely to hold enough flowers to stock a garden. ‘I have so many of Madame’s beautiful creations, I feel to have more would be greedy.’ There, surely that would pacify both women?

‘But what about the Gidleighs’ afternoon tea?’ her mama said mournfully, as Madame Lois, with an acerbic smile, curtsied her thanks, then went out of the room to look for more trimmings. ‘Surely you will want to look your best? Amelia told me that several gentlemen have been invited so it will not be all women chatting about their selves and their conquests.’ She made it sound like a happy surprise or a big treat. To Lydia it was neither.

‘I know,’ Lydia said quietly. ‘Josephine told me.’ Josephine Gidleigh, the daughter of the house, was a pretty young lady with an infectious giggle and a ready smile for everyone. ‘She hoped her mama had invited Lord Birnham as she has decided she has a tendre for him.’ And she would be much more suitable for him than I would. ‘She wonders if it is reciprocated, just a little.’

Her mother looked at her closely. ‘I think not, he is so sought after. I had hoped you…’

Lydia laughed. Little did her mother know. ‘Not a chance, he is not interested in me.’ Should she cross her fingers? It was so difficult. He appealed to her but… and it was a very large but. Something she needed to think through at a later date. ‘However, it is immaterial. The tea is over three weeks away and I won’t be here,’ Lydia pointed out. ‘You know that, Mama. It will be after my birthday, and I will be in Devon.’

Her mama put the bonnet down and sighed. ‘Are you really sure about this course of action, my dear?’ Do you not want to… well, at least delay until the end of the season. After all, there are a lot of gentlemen who are actively looking…’

‘Mama, later,’ Lydia glanced meaningfully towards Madame Lois who had returned and was doing her best not to look as if she was listening and enthralled by what she heard. ‘We can talk later, once you have purchased your bonnet.’

Her mama blinked and coloured. ‘Ah, yes. Perhaps I’ll have the green ribbons, on the other bonnet?’

‘A good idea,’ Lydia said and stood to one side while the Countess and the milliner completed their business. Within half an hour they were back in their barouche and making their way to the park where, as her parent put it, they could pull up and watch the promenading that went on, while chatting with any friends and acquaintances who chanced by. Most of the ton would appear at some point during the favoured time to see and be seen.

Lydia sat back in her seat and prepared to be bored. The Countess leaned forward and her eyes sparkled as she arranged her skirts to her satisfaction.

‘Is that Lord Mackieson over there?’ she asked. ‘With Miss Johnson. Lord, her dress does not show her in a favourable light. Whoever told her that shade of puce was becoming to her?’

‘Puce isn’t becoming to anyone.’ Lydia decided she best add a comment while she could and thus make her mama think she was really listening, rather than catching the odd phrase or two. With regards to the horrendous colour of puce, she could reply emphatically. It really was not a flattering hue.

‘Oh, and Lady Dearborne is with Lady Linton under the trees,’ her mama continued. Lydia nodded and hoped it was the correct response.

‘I had thought they were no longer speaking after Lord Dearborne was purported to have spent no less than a half of one hour talking to Louisa Linton. That woman is a veritable man eater. I can tell you Jane Dearborne was not best pleased. Oh, and look, there’s…’ Lydia gave in to temptation and let her mother’s voice wash over her. She knew her mama didn’t really expect an answer. To her it was all exciting and part of her daily routine. To Lydia it was dull and a trial. Who cared what Lady D thought and said to Lady L? Who was interested in how Lord Whoever approached Lady Someone Else? As for Lady D and Lady L, they were as bad as each other. Everyone knew they both bed-hopped as they pleased and their husbands chose to turn a blind eye. Probably because they were doing the same thing themselves. It would never do for Lydia. Nevertheless, she continued to nod every so often to appease her mama.

‘So you think so?’

‘Ah…’ What had she agreed to? ‘I’m sorry, but?’ She smiled wryly, and the Countess sighed.

‘You don’t mean it, do you? In fact, I would hazard a guess you didn’t even hear what I said.’

Lydia shrugged. ‘I apologise, Mama. I must be such a trial to you, but really I would rather darn stockings than be here, and we both know how bad I am at that.’

‘No, not a trial, just so difficult for me to understand,’ her mama said slowly. ‘I love you dearly, child, but I admit I’m at a loss, I really am. How can anyone not enjoy being here at the heart of everything during the season?’

Lydia smiled and patted her parent’s hand, touched more than she could have imagined by her mama’s confession. She had always felt an oddity her parents couldn’t cope with. To hear her mama say she loved her daughter was something special. ‘I must be the exception to the rule. I love you too, Mama, but I can only be myself for all I wish I could be what you want.’ She sighed. ‘Ah well, soon you won’t need to worry over me. Less than three weeks and I’ll be my own responsibility in Devon.’ She intended to reiterate that fact at every opportunity she got.

Her mother opened her mouth but happily Lydia was able to forestall her, as another carriage drew up and her closest friend, Esther Cranswick, waved from it. Dressed in the highest fashion on a shade of blue that suited her, Esther was everything the Countess wished her daughter to be.

‘Lyddie, shall we walk?’ Esther asked after acknowledging the Countess. ‘It is such nice weather for a stroll.’

A reprieve. Lydia turned to her mama. ‘May I?’

The Countess acquiesced. After all, Esther had married well, and Lydia knew her mama hoped Esther would introduce her to someone who, in the Countess’s words, Lydia would allow into her world. As long as it was someone of whom the Countess approved.

Like Lord Birnham? Argh, get him out of my head. He would never find the real me attractive.

Their coachman helped Lydia descend from the barouche, and within minutes she and Esther were arm in arm and walking sedately down the prescribed pathway for young ladies.

‘So,’ Esther asked as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘How is everything progressing, and what’s this I hear about Lord Birnham escorting you for a turn on the terrace at Lady Raith’s? Trust it to be on the one night I wasn’t there. I thought he had helped earlier? Tell me all.’

Lydia squeezed her friend’s arm. ‘Truly, there is very little to tell. He did the pretty after that horrible Norbert Donkin almost knocked me to the ground when Donkin was so bosky, he didn’t even see me. Lord Birnham came to my aid. He was sober, of course. Lord Birnham, I mean,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘Or at least if he wasn’t he hid it well. Then at Lady Raith’s I turned my ankle after I stepped awkwardly on the lintel. Lord Birnham saw me limping and noted I looked a little pale. He insisted to Lady Raith that she tell me to let him escort me for a turn on the terrace. Said it would do me good. I had no option but to agree or cause a scene. I might annoy my mama a lot, but not intentionally, so we walked from one end to the other and then he very properly left me.’

‘Hmm.’

Esther sounded sceptical, which, Lydia mused, wasn’t surprising. Sometimes the truth did sound strange and far-fetched.

‘What does your mama say about that?’

Lydia shrugged, not as insouciant as she portrayed. ‘Not a lot yet, but I am not holding my breath she’ll stay silent. You know Mama. She still can’t accept I prefer spinsterhood and the country life to marriage and the giddy whirl of tonnish life.’

‘Do you really?’ Esther asked her, shrewdly. ‘You honestly do not want to marry and have children? To be loved and love back, like I have.’ She favoured Lydia with a piercing stare. ‘You are good with children – I swear you would be a perfect wife and mother.’

They skirted two other young ladies coming towards them, passed pleasantries and walked on. Lydia composed a reply that wouldn’t show how she was torn.

‘How many marriages do you know like yours?’ Lydia asked, as she supressed a pang of envy for her friend’s marriage. ‘You and Edward are the exception. Most of our peers are wed for convenience not love, and once the heir is sorted go their own ways. I could not and would not countenance any such thing. I’d rather be single.’ It was impossible to put into words how she had seen her mama wither and resort to entertainments outside the home.

‘Well, I know I’m indeed fortunate,’ Esther said quietly. ‘But who is to say you wouldn’t be so as well?’

Lydia shrugged. ‘As I actively repel suitors, it is not likely. After all, I’m almost on the shelf, an old maid, an ape leader, call it what you will; it’s hardly likely now, is it?’ She ignored the thought that Lord Birnham had spent that little time with her, and not appeared repelled, or that she hadn’t disliked his attention. It was a once in a lifetime attention from him, she realised that. ‘I could never countenance anything where I was a convenience. No, I’ll retire to Devon and be happy.’ Or as happy as possible. Why, when her goal was so close, was the thought of a single life not as appealing as it had been before? ‘Now let’s change the subject,’ she said hastily, blocking her wayward thoughts. ‘Have you decided what you want to do with the decorations in your sitting room yet? Did you commission those chairs you liked?’

As she hoped, Esther, after one understanding and loving glance at her, picked up the new thread and chatted about her colour schemes and the chairs she desired and which Edward insisted were as comfortable as sitting on a nail. ‘And I swear they are not,’ she said indignantly and then coloured as Lydia stared at her sceptically. ‘Not really. Oh, look…’ Esther changed the subject as she tugged them both to a halt. ‘There’s Edward over there and well, well, look who’s with him. And they’re coming this way.’

Lydia looked and groaned. ‘Why?’ Did she have a placard over her head saying ‘Here I am. Come and annoy me’?

‘Why what?’ Esther waved as her husband and his companion approached on horseback. ‘Why should they not? Oh, you surely are not worried that Harry Birnham will speak to be civil and only be punctilious, are you, Lyddie? He’s not like that.’

‘All men who have any manners at all – with, yes, all right, the exception of your Edward – are like that,’ Lydia said wryly. ‘And even he can say all that is necessary if need be and not realise he is saying it. However, I promise I won’t be rude, and will act the well-brought-up lady I am expected to be.’

Esther harrumphed and looked very sceptical. However, she had no chance to argue before her husband and Lord Birnham were upon them.

Lydia made a split-second assessment of the situation and breathed a sigh of relief. As the men were on horseback, she reasoned there would be little likelihood of more than a brief exchange of words.

She was wrong.

Both men dismounted as they drew up, and as if by magic a groom appeared to take hold of the horses and walk them. Edward nodded his thanks and bent to kiss Lydia’s hand and his wife’s cheek. ‘Well met, ladies. We thought it was you both as we made our way down the row. Harry, you know Esther, of course, and this, I’m sure you realise, is Lady Lydia Field. My wife’s closest friend and confidante.’

Lydia narrowed her eyes. What was Edward playing at? Why was all this information necessary? Then she had another even more disturbing thought. What information had Harry shared? If Esther knew of her previous meeting with Lord Birnham it was a certainty her husband did as well.

‘As you know, Edward,’ Harry drawled, every inch the rake, ‘Lady Lydia and I are acquainted and I knew your wife before you did. As a distant relative, you understand, no more, so do not think to try and plant a facer on me for it. You’d miss anyway. Your guard is suspect.’

Edward laughed. ‘Don’t rub it in.’ He turned to Lydia and Esther, as Harry bowed to them both and kissed both of their hands.

Lydia bit back a moan, as he winked and nipped the soft flesh of her wrist with his teeth. What on earth was he doing?

‘I thought I was fit until just now when this bounder worsted me in Jackson’s salon,’ Edward said plaintively. ‘Show me I’m your hero, my love.’

‘For what? Hitting someone for no reason? Not a chance. Urgh, boxing, nasty thing,’ Esther replied and punched her husband in the ribs. ‘How can fighting someone be called a sport? I cannot understand it, can you, Lydia?’ she appealed to her friend as Edward said laughingly, ‘Well, what was that?’

Esther rolled her eyes. ‘A loving tap.’

Edward snorted. ‘I never want an unloving one, then.’

Lydia smiled at her friend. ‘I suppose they need somewhere to let off steam. After all, this is London with all its petty restraints. No galloping, no hunting, shooting, or fishing. They have to relieve their tension…’ She realised how her comment could be construed. ‘Ah, their frust… oh lord, excess energy.’ She forgot who accompanied them and rolled her eyes. ‘Esther, for goodness’ sake, stop laughing.’

It was no good. As Esther giggled and the men chuckled, Lydia reddened and let her amusement show. ‘Good grief, do not tell my mama about this. She would disown me for sure.’

‘Is that not what you want?’ Esther asked shrewdly. ‘In some form or another.’

‘Maybe, but not like this.’

‘My lady, shall we leave these two reprobates to their own devices and take a turn around the lake?’ Harry, whom Lydia noticed had been listening to the interchange with avid interest, asked smoothly.

It was on the tip of her tongue to query why, when Esther intervened.

‘Let’s all go. That way we are observing protocol and not upsetting the tabbies. After all, as friends of you both and an old, established couple, Edward and I are ideal as chaperones.’

‘My dear Esther. I am old enough not to need one,’ Harry said suavely.

‘You might be, but whatever Lydia thinks, she is not.’ Esther said. ‘Not here. We must observe propriety on her behalf. Lead on.’

Lydia rolled her eyes and resisted the temptation to poke Esther in the side and remind her she could hear every word. ‘I’m here, you know; you don’t have to talk about me in the abstract.’ Sometimes people could be so annoying. For that matter, so could the petty rules and regulations of the ton.

Edward laughed. ‘When my lady wife is in this mood I always do as she says.’

‘You do whatever mood I’m in,’ Esther said cheerfully. ‘I love you.’

‘And I you, my sweetness, but we are shocking Harry.’

‘Not me,’ Harry said with a grin. ‘I’m unshockable. Lady Lydia perhaps?’

Lydia shook her head. ‘Oh no, I’m used to them billing and cooing.’

‘Then let’s leave them to follow us like good little chaperones and they can bill and coo and we will converse like sensible people.’ Harry held out his arm for Lydia.

Why can’t we bill and coo a little? Had she really thought that? Lydia took Harry’s proffered arm, and waited for him to indicate which way around the lake they should walk.

It was inevitable, of course, that they saw so many people they knew who would chat about this spectacle of Harry Birnham with Lydia Field again.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Lydia asked him sotto voce so Edward and Esther wouldn’t overhear. Her soft sandals scuffed a few fallen leaves at the edge of the pathway as they walked, and she wondered what the ton would say if she kicked them up in the air as she’d done as a child in the country. ‘It will cause talk and my mama to crow, as well as raising false hope in her that you will somehow persuade me not to leave in a couple of weeks.’ To stop her even half thinking about causing a scandal, she steered Harry towards the middle of the path. ‘You are a rake, and I am not the type of person a rake consorts with.’

‘You intrigue me,’ Harry said. ‘And believe me, I am interested in you. And I’m hoping with your mama.’

‘Eh?’ Lydia was confused. The man was like a terrier with a rat, but half of the time he’d made her lose the thread of their conversations. She stopped walking and he obediently turned to look at her. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I hope I can persuade you not to leave,’ Harry said blandly. ‘This is one way.’

‘But why?’ She was bewildered. ‘There is nothing about me to interest you.’ Unless her persona of biddable had worked so well that he thought she was the sort of person to make a quiet, unassuming, undemanding wife. That thought made her feel sick. She didn’t want to marry at all, did she? And if, if, she ever entertained the idea, that type of partnership would not be it. ‘It is not nice to dally with no intentions of anything,’ Lydia added reproachfully.

He tapped her nose with his forefinger. ‘Oh, I have a lot of intentions,’ he assured her. ‘I just chose not to share them all yet. Now smile, for I see your swain approaching.’

‘My what?’ she asked as Esther and Edward caught up with them. ‘I have no swain, nor do I want one.’

Esther groaned. ‘Harry, if I stay here now, you owe me a favour at some point. I swear your heir is one of the most aggravating and annoying people I know, and I make no apologies for saying so. Why is he such a pathetic, whining man?’

Lydia started. His heir? Jeremy Mumford, the pitiful, long specimen dressed as a dandy, was Harry’s heir? It seemed hardly likely they could be related. They appeared as alike as chalk and cheese.

Hold on, why am I now thinking of him as Harry? However, once that name had fixed in her mind, it was nigh on impossible to revert to formality in her thoughts.

She watched Jeremy as he stood in front of Harry and glowered. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded of his elder. ‘Why are you with her?’

Lydia opened her mouth to tell the newcomer just what she thought of his attitude, but Harry luckily forestalled her.

‘She has a name,’ Harry said quietly. ‘You are making a fool of yourself, you know. Lady Lydia is not your responsibility.’

‘And she’s yours?’ Jeremy asked rudely. ‘I don’t think so.’

Lydia gasped and Esther coughed dramatically. Jeremy ignored them both.

‘Manners.’ Harry narrowed his eyes and Jeremy looked a little discomforted. ‘I know so,’ Harry continued implacably. ‘Now, unless you intend to be polite and greet us like a proper human being, I suggest you leave.’ Harry paused. ‘Now.’

‘Oh, all right – good afternoon, everyone.’ Jeremy looked at Lydia with a curious expression. Calculating, considering, almost evil; it made her shudder in trepidation. Therefore she ignored him. It was obvious he was not to be encouraged in any way, and his presence cast a cloud over them. Beside her, Harry shook with silent mirth. Lydia wanted to slap him. Jeremy was an annoyance, and Harry was fast joining him.

After a few seconds, Jeremy scowled. ‘I will bid you all a good day.’ He turned on his heels.

‘If looks could kill we would be choosing the hymns for your funeral,’ Edward remarked. ‘You really need to do something about him, Harry. He’s more than an idiot; there is a darker aspect to his make-up that is coming to the fore.’

Harry shrugged and Lydia watched with interest as the two men exchanged what to her seemed like a warning glance.

‘May I be so bold as to say good riddance?’ Esther asked sweetly.

Harry nodded. ‘Oh yes.’

‘Why me?’ Lydia asked. ‘Why is he fixated on me? He makes my skin crawl. You know, he invites me to dance and stares fixedly at me all the time. And his hands are clammy. At first I thought him harmless, but now?’ She shuddered as she remembered just how he made her feel – as if spiders danced over her skin. ‘He appears everywhere I go. It is unnerving to say the least. Now he’s talking about how, with my money and his acumen, whatever he means by that, we would make the perfect couple. Urgh. No. I tell you, I am having so many headaches or reasons to stay where only ladies go, my mama is at the end of her tether. What is it all about?’

‘I don’t know, but I’ll find out. Now let’s forget about him and talk of pleasanter things.’

‘He cannot be of your ilk, you know,’ Edward remarked, as in mutual, but unspoken, agreement they retraced their steps and approached the Countess’s carriage. ‘Somewhere down the line someone played their partner false.’

Harry laughed. ‘You’ve met my aunt and her mother. Who would have them?’

‘True. Well, you have all of my sympathy.’ Edward said with a wink.

‘My lord, if you do not want me to be subjected to intense questioning and pressure, can I persuade you to leave me before my mama spots you?’ Lydia broke in. As much as she wished she could hear all of what they were saying, she had a more pressing concern. Her mother’s nosiness.

Harry looked towards where her mama sat. Even at that distance he could see just where her attention was fixed. He shrugged and rolled his eyes. ‘Too late. I wager she has never let her eyes wander from us ever since Edward and I joined you and Esther. But I promise to say all the correct things about how I was merely with Edward, if you wish.’

‘Oh, I do.’ Not that she thought it would do much good, but even so, she intended to give her mama no ammunition. ‘I fear it will be too little too late or something, but every little helps,’ she said hopefully.

‘Then so be it. For now.’

Lydia glanced at him questioningly but he merely grinned and, as they reached her mama, turned and bowed. ‘How fortunate that my ride with Edward resulted in me seeing three lovely ladies,’ he said suavely. ‘And you, madame, outshine everyone.’

The Countess, always susceptible to flattery, simpered and laughed. ‘I thank you for your kind words.’ She stared at him for a few moments and then visibly collected herself. ‘Now, my dear Lydia, we’d best get on.’

And no doubt question me until I am ready to scream.

‘Come to tea soon?’ Lydia asked as Esther kissed her cheek and they exchanged hugs. ‘And I promise not to be morose or negative.’

Esther laughed. ‘Even when you are down you are never negative. Just determined to stick to your own view of society and life in general. I might not always agree with you, but I do applaud your individuality.’

‘Is that a compliment?’

Esther patted her cheek. ‘Yes, you goose.’

Lydia waved her friend and the gentlemen off and got into the carriage, ready for the questions she was sure would come.

Her mama didn’t disappoint.

‘Why was that Lord Birnham with you again?’ she demanded. ‘And you didn’t bring him back immediately to meet me or ask him to call? Really, how on earth could you waste such an opportunity?’

‘He’s not a dog, Mama; I cannot teach him to do as you bid,’ Lydia said patiently. ‘He was with Esther’s husband, and was very polite. That is because he is a gentleman who has no interest in me, but is too polite to say so.’

‘Oh Lydia, why do you sell yourself short?’ her mama asked sorrowfully. ‘Any man would be proud to spend time with you if only you acted…’ She hesitated.

‘Simpering?’ Lydia suggested. ‘Meek and mild?’

‘Less forceful,’ the Countess said finally. ‘As I know you could if you wanted.’

‘Mama, that will never happen,’ Lydia said. She had some sympathy for her parents being saddled with someone as indifferent to their lives as she was, but, as her mama was wont to say when Lydia cribbed about tonnish restrictions, it was life. ‘I do not want to attract a man because I can simper or pretend to bow to his every whim. I am me. I cannot and do not want to change.’ She didn’t add: ‘I cannot be like you and suffer what you do at the hands of Papa.’ It would have been cruel. Nevertheless, Lydia thought it.

The Countess sighed as she nodded to her coachman and the barouche set off and manoeuvred out of the park. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘And as much as I wish it were different, I do admire you for sticking to your guns and not giving in. You know? Strange though it may seem, I fell in love with your papa when he first spoke to me. He? Ah…’ She sighed deeply. ‘Who knows how a man’s mind works. He respects me, which I know, but love? I don’t think that came into his equation.’ She sounded so despondent, Lydia’s heart went out to her. That was one reason she refused to marry for the sake of it.

‘Love didn’t in those days, you know, and no one thought anything of it. Sometimes, Lydia, I wish I had your backbone. You may not realise it, my love, but I am so very proud of you.’

Lydia swallowed and blinked back sudden tears. ‘Mama, that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’

Chapter Four

Harry scowled at the sheets of paper in front of him that his major domo had presented him with a few moments earlier. They made for disturbing reading.

Lydia Field was indeed in possession of a considerable fortune and heiress to an even greater one. Her godmother had recently left her another very large sum of money. Just before Jeremy had approached Harry. Coincidence?

Harry snorted. He didn’t believe in coincidences.

Jeremy, it seemed, had dipped very badly in more gaming hells than Mrs O’Connor’s and was being dunned for money. Some very villainous thugs had been seen outside his lodgings, and although they had been refused admittance, it didn’t bode well for the man. Even if Harry signed his heir’s money over to him, Jeremy would be hard pressed to keep his head above water.

Stupid fool.

Harry read on, and slowly let the paper fall to his desk. The second sheet had even more disturbing news. Over the previous week or so, Jeremy had begun to repay his debts.

Where on earth had he got the money? Harry’s solicitor informed him he had someone looking into it all.

All this on top of yet another visit from Jeremy, stating emphatically he would marry Lydia and soon. It was no wonder Harry had a constant headache.

He massaged his forehead wearily. Was Jeremy truly enamoured with Lydia, or was it her money that called to him? He had no way of knowing. Whatever, she was not the one for Jeremy; she would eat him and spit him out in tiny pieces.

The rest of the epistle made him sit up straight and read it twice. Lady Lydia Field was known throughout the ton as a shy, demure, effacing young lady who had little to recommend her to a gentleman, except her fortune. She had turned all offers down, was considered to be on the shelf, and no one was surprised, even though she was an heiress.

That didn’t match with what he had seen over the past weeks. The lady intrigued him more and more. If he did nothing else he would have to discover the true Lady Lydia Field. It seemed his psyche, for reasons know only to it, had decided she piqued his curiosity, and he’d better do something about it.

And make her his?

****

Four days later, after very properly greeting his hostess, exchanging quips and indulging her with the sort of light flirtation she expected, Harry scanned the ballroom of the Earl and Countess of Leominster’s town mansion as he searched for one specific female.

‘Harry, are you on the prowl?’ Diana Leominster asked him teasingly. ‘You have the look, you know. Do I need to do the nicety and introduce you to anyone?’

‘When am I ever not?’ Harry laughed and shook his head. He’d best beware – the last thing he wanted was for the ladies to notice his intentions. ‘The day I need to be introduced is the day I hand over my rake’s title and retire to the country to breed pheasants. No, no prowling today, I’m just looking around.’

‘For your next conquest?’ Diana asked shrewdly. ‘Surely that’s no hardship. I could name at least a dozen women who would willingly grace your bed at the crook of your little finger in their direction.’

‘Ah, but there is the rub, Diana,’ Harry said mockingly. ‘Such willingness is not to my taste. I’m no longer of an age where I want a bed-hopping lady, who warms my sheets for one night and happily moves on. Nor do I eventually, when it is time, a long time hence, want a wife who does the same. I’ve become more discerning in my old age.’

‘Lady Mostyn?’

He shrugged. ‘She wanted more than I could or would give. I made my intentions clear, and she indicated she was of a like mind. Utter rubbish, it transpired. Why, my dear, do you ladies choose to forget the rules? Agree to something not meaning it, and then get upset when the gentleman in question, in this case me, reminds you of them and has no intentions of changing them. Therefore, no longstanding intentions or attachments. I have had enough of such playacting. I want disinterest and, well, you understand…’

Diana opened her eyes wide in disbelief. And so she should, he thought wryly. Not only was he contradicting himself, but it was diametrically opposite to the persona he did his best to project to his peers. That it was all an act he hoped no one realised. Harry had never been interested in casual liaisons. His few mistresses and lovers had been long-term, with like and mutual respect on both sides. He’d never set anyone up in a house, or given them silly, expensive knick-knacks, and had always treated them with courtesy and politeness. Any gifts were thoughtfully and carefully chosen for the woman concerned and would never give false hope or cause trouble. He knew, in the eyes of the ladies, he was considered to be a thoughtful, energetic and demanding lover, and no one who got the chance to lie with him turned him down. So why was he now considering how best to bed Lydia?

‘Then… oh lord, there is your annoying heir.’ Diana rolled her eyes as she changed the subject, much to Harry’s relief.

The annoying heir he intended to rescue Lydia from.

‘Joking aside, Harry, marry and put him out of the equation,’ Diana said seriously. ‘Do you know he’s been dropping very unsavoury hints about his soon-to-be good fortune? Even if he is to overnight become fabulously wealthy, it is so not good to boast about it. Where is the money coming from? You?’

‘Good lord, no.’ Harry shook his head emphatically. ‘He’s probably trying to force my hand to let him take control of his inheritance,’ he said, thinking furiously. Things were developing that he suspected needed nipping in the bud. Hopefully Pugh would soon have some information for him. ‘I told him to grow up first.’

‘I doubt he can with a mother like his, though,’ Diana observed shrewdly. ‘I… ah ha.’

Jeremy had got to within a few feet of Harry and his companion, seen them, scowled and turned on his heel.

‘He needs to learn better manners as well,’ Diana said quietly, but no less forcefully for that. ‘He was sniffing around Donald until Leominster sent him away with a flea in his ear. Jeremy not Donald.’

‘Ah? Sniffing for what?’

‘Lord knows. Although sometimes my son would try the patience of a saint, he is not scheming and I suspect, my dear Harry, that your heir is.’

‘I fear you could be correct,’ Harry said slowly. ‘Now let’s change the subject. I’ve had more than enough of him – more than any man could stomach. I have feelers out, so don’t worry.’

‘Good. Now, why do I hear Lady Raith introduced you to Lydia Field, who, I assure you, would not be up for dalliance or, I suspect, anything else? She is a perfectly well behaved but spiritless lady who would bore you rigid in minutes.’ Diana smoothed a strand of her hair and looked at him with shrewd eyes. ‘What is going on?’

‘Diana, my dear, you know my godmother,’ Harry said suavely, not at all surprised by her rapid change of subject, as he watched Jeremy disappear in the direction of the card room. ‘Once she gets a bee in her bonnet, none of us is safe. She decided Lady Lydia needed an escort to get some air, and I was chosen. I did as I was bidden. Now I’ll take a turn round the room, as I know you want me to. Smile and look interested, avoid predatory mamas, have a duty dance, put some young deb in alt, and then retire to the card room.’ And no doubt have to watch Jeremy like a hawk.

Diana sighed, and patted his cheek. ‘Ever the rake. Dance with Lydia Field and really stir things up.’

Harry waggled his finger at her. ‘You, my dear, are a troublemaker. A gorgeous, devious troublemaker.’

She giggled and looked like a young deb, not a matron with a happy marriage, a grown-up son, and a mischievous three-year-old daughter. ‘I do hope so. Now shoo, go and set hearts a-fluttering. Johnny is in the card room.’

Harry bowed and turned on his heel. He and Diana had once, many years ago, thought about a relationship. Her first husband had died and she was sad and alone. However, he sensed it would not be what either of them wanted and so instead introduced her to John, the Earl of Leominster, stood beside John at the couple’s wedding, and was godfather to Florence, their only child together.

He circled the room, in a seemingly careless, no destination in mind manner, nodded to some acquaintances, ignored a pair of giggling debs who stared at him with hungry eyes, and avoided a lady he knew had her heart set on him as her next protector. It was not going to happen. He intended to devote all his attention and energy to Lydia. If he found her. He still hadn’t fathomed why he needed to wrestle her from Jeremy’s clutches. Something about her tugged at him. He’d never expected to have the sort of interest in anyone he experienced when he thought of Lydia. It wasn’t the cock-hardening rush of lust he’d had with some of his past mistresses. Or the friendly interest he had, say, for Edward’s wife. For once he had no idea exactly what he felt and it was very disconcerting. Even so, he intended to find out. With or without her agreement.

At least now he understood the working of her mind a little more, and nowadays knew the sorts of places he would see Lydia. As he expected, she was ensconced in a corner with several other ladies who were collectively known as wallflowers. Almost, but not quite, on the shelf and supposedly resigned to the idea. Now he understood Lydia a little more, Harry thought he could see how she was being very clever by hiding among them. Only if you looked closely could you notice her glazed expression as the ladies chatted.

He made his way efficiently through the crowds to her side.

‘So we meet again, my dear.’ He let his glance rove over her with pleasure, noted the quick flash of temper – swiftly masked – and bit back a grin. Contrary to what he knew he was expected to see – a mousy girl dressed quietly and elegantly, but boringly, in a pale-blue dress with a darker-blue flounce – he saw the exact opposite. What he suspected she had hoped to disguise. Lustrous hair, sparkling eyes, a perfect complexion and a body his own ached to discover. Harry still marvelled how no one else saw through her obvious – to him – disguise. Why did no one else understand that to itch to discover what was hidden under fine blue silk was so much more tantalising than being shown it.

She smiled insipidly, stood and curtsied, and held out her hand. ‘What a surprise, my lord. After all, we have only been missing each other for years.’

Harry returned the smile and turned her hand over deftly to kiss her palm. He was satisfied when she gasped and the tiny pulse in her wrist showed. The lady next to her gave her a glance that could only be described as envious. Harry ignored her and curled Lydia’s fingers over the spot he had touched.

‘Save it for later, my dear.’

The pulse in her wrist jumped and she licked her lips.

Damn it, does she know how arousing that is? She might pretend to be immune, but he knew differently. Thankfully.

‘My lord,’ she said pleadingly. ‘Do not.’

‘Harry.’

She shook her head. ‘My lord, please do not single me out so. People will talk.’

‘I swear that “no” and “do not” are the most used words to come from your charming mouth, my dear. Now, my name is Harry and I give you leave to use it.’

She firmed her lips and a tiny sigh came from between them. ‘I cannot. It is not seemly and you know it. Tittle-tattle discomposes me, especially if I am at the centre of it.’

He tilted his head slightly and considered her. She didn’t seem overly discomposed, just a mite irritated. ‘People always talk. Come walk with me.’ He held his arm up and waited, daring her to agree or perhaps cause a scene. ‘They will gossip even more if they think I snubbed you – or, worse, that you snubbed me.’

****

Lydia saw three young ladies glance her way and nudge each other. Next they would send her either envious or pitying looks. She might as well be the centre of attention in a manner those women and others thought of enviously. Just once. With that thought uppermost, she inclined her head and took the proffered arm.

‘There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Harry said cheerfully. ‘I didn’t bite or make you jump. No sky fell on us, no footman fainted, or rake felt as though he were stabbed through the heart.’

She chuckled. ‘No, indeed, so all is well in our world then.’

He gave her a glance that could almost be construed as suspicious. She made haste to change his mind. ‘They do not understand things, some people. It is fine, is it not? Our world at the moment.’

‘Almost, my dear, but not totally. You are still insisting you will leave London soon.’

Lydia glanced up at him. His dark eyes gave no hint of his emotions. As ever he was immaculately dressed. The sapphire that sparkled in the snowy folds of his cravat matched the stones at her ears and around her neck, and his waistcoat had a thin, discreet thread of blue shot through it that complimented the jewels they wore, and the ruffle of her gown. Very clever. One could almost think he knew what she was going to wear before she did. For one fleeting moment she wondered if his valet were in cahoots with her maid before she dismissed the idea.

‘Leaving London is the major good thing,’ she said as she nodded to Lady Cowper and Princess Lieven as those ladies thankfully passed by without speaking. ‘I can hardly wait.’

‘How long have I got to change your mind?’ Harry drawled. ‘Nod at Lord Firth.’

Lydia smiled wryly, and nodded as indicated. He was like a dog and his bone. ‘You won’t. Can you not accept that?’ It seemed as if all she ever did was repeat herself to him, and he chose not to listen.

‘It seems not. Where is your dance card?’

‘My what?’ His abrupt change of direction confused her. ‘Oh, my dance card.’ It was something she rarely had cause to use. ‘Why?’

‘So I can sign it,’ he said patiently. ‘I assume you do have one somewhere, even though it is not on show?’

‘Oh, I have one.’ Her mama asked her more than once every time they attended a ball. She thought she knew her daughter well, and understood Lydia had no interest in dancing. Actually, Lydia did like dancing and had been taught well at the exclusive ladies’ seminary she had attended. However, she did not wish to dance with someone who had been coerced to ask her and only did so on sufferance. ‘I just choose not to advertise the fact.’

‘Why on earth not?’ Harry asked in a bewildered voice. ‘It is the reason for a female to attend a ball, surely?’

How little he knew of a debutante’s world. ‘Not in my case. I attend because my mama decrees so. Do you know how embarrassing it is to those of us who are only asked to dance because our hostess has forced a gentleman to ask us?’ she demanded, ignoring the fact she had intended to revert to her meek and mild persona. ‘Knowing he’d rather be anywhere else than leading us down the room? Forced to smile and say thank you to someone who is so patently uninterested, you can see him eying up everyone except you? Knowing that once the obligatory dance is over he will bow and scurry away? And do not get me started on the so-called debutantes who are the toast of the ton, who laugh behind your back, and then shower you with false, syrupy sympathy. Their beauty is only skin deep.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Oh, believe me, I could go on and on.’ Lydia stopped talking abruptly and bit the inside of her mouth, conscious of how close they were to other people. The last thing she needed or wanted was to cause a scene. ‘Sorry.’

He patted her hand. ‘It is I who should say that. I honestly hadn’t realised how self-centred and unthinking we males are. However, I would like to have the first waltz with you and the supper dance. Look on it as thumbing your nose at the tabbies if you like. And those insufferable incomparables who do not have one tenth of your personality.’ Behind them the sound of violins got louder. ‘Your card?’ he prompted. ‘Perhaps now it will be the second waltz.’

‘I’m sorry, my lord.’ She raised her head and worried her lip; something she had seen shy, sweet young things do to great effect. However, Lydia would wager she just looked stupid. She might want to come across as docile and boring, but never stupid. ‘What do you want me to do now?’

‘Walk on, so we aren’t interrupted, is a good start.’ He urged her out of the long windows that led to the gardens, and along the terrace to where several flickering sconces lit a selection of seats and tables. ‘I see that annoying Miss Dixon and the even stupider Mr Fitchett to our right. If we increase our pace they shouldn’t catch us up and regale us with inane conversation.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Oh, stupid.

Only one table was occupied, as most couples were drifting back inside to where the strains of a waltz could be heard. ‘We can sit here, a perfectly conventional couple and chat…’ – he paused and winked – ‘…about anything we like. As long as you don’t blush or hit me.’

Lydia allowed Harry to seat her on a curved, padded bench and waited as he sat down beside her, leaving a correct distance between them. ‘I would never be so unladylike as to attack anyone,’ she said in a suitably shocked voice. ‘I’m sure you are much too much a gentleman for me to ever have the urge or the need to do so.’

He quirked one eyebrow in a manner she knew was intended to intimidate. Damn it, she would not let him see how it – and him in general – affected her. Lydia wondered how she could make herself blush without reason and lowered her head in order, she accepted, to mask the fact she wasn’t intimidated. Then she caught a glimpse of his staff, outlined by fine material, and knew the answer. Her thoughts strayed to what was under that material and how, she had read, it was used. Heat rushed into her face. Where was her fan when she needed it? ‘You would not behave in that way,’ she added faintly for good measure.

‘If you think that, my dear, you are truly more naïve than I give you credit for. Somehow…’ Harry tipped her chin up with the tip of his forefinger. ‘No, I do not accept that.’

Lydia had no comeback. She folded her hands in her lap. It was that or mangle her reticule. Damn him. Was he going to be the one who saw through her façade? Why, oh why, had he singled her out? Any other gentleman would have left her once she assured them she was fine. Not him. He had to involve Lady Raith, who Lydia was certain would not have introduced him to her without his insistence, and now at another ball he had once more given her his undivided attention. Why?

A servant approached with a salver and Harry took two glasses of champagne from it and held one out to her. ‘Will this help and give you something to do with your hands?’ Harry paused and grinned. ‘Other than hold your fingers so tightly together your knuckles are white. I’m not here to upset you, my dear Lydia, more to reassure you I am a good, upright citizen with your best interests at heart.’

Really? Oh, Hades. Lydia took the glass with a murmur of thanks. Why did she think his ideas would not mesh with hers? She was going to need to have her wits about her, and be very alert. Please, God, do not let my attraction or nervousness show. These sorts of nerves were not due to innocence or reticence, more down to the discovery he seemed to see through her façade.

Why?

‘So kind,’ she said faintly, and watched his lips quirk.

‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed amiably. ‘I can be even more kind when it is warranted. Shall we discover if this is one of those times?’

Oh lord. When would she learn not to treat him like most of the other idiotic young bucks who couldn’t see what was under their nose?

Her stomach lurched. If only the servant had brought food as well. She was thirsty and felt somewhat nauseous, but her overwhelming fear was her tummy might rumble because she hadn’t managed to eat any supper. Perhaps she had better take her time with the champagne.

Lydia put her glass down and took a deep breath, knowing she was probably going to say something she would regret later. ‘What were we talking about earlier?’

‘Your dance card.’

With a sigh that rustled the hem of her dress, Lydia opened her reticule, resigned now to becoming the focus of people’s interest. ‘If you must.’ She handed the card with its attached pencil over to him.

Harry grinned. ‘I must.’ He scribbled his name twice and handed it back to her. ‘I’d fill it except then that would cause a stir.’ He bowed very formally. ‘I believe this is our dance, my dear. Ready?’

She sighed again and hated the way it sounded breathy, not resigned. ‘As I will ever be.’

Harry laughed and his dark eyes sparkled. ‘You do my ego so much good, my lady. There is no chance of it becoming overinflated with you around.’

‘I, er…’ she stammered, not knowing what to say, and he winked.

‘Don’t worry. I know that secretly you want to dance with me and only your innocence and reticence stops you showing it.’ He took her glass and sat it down on the table next to his. ‘Into the fray?’

There really was no answer to that. Lydia swallowed and smiled as he led her on to the dance floor and hoped she would not disgrace herself. It was a long while since she’d danced properly with someone who had asked her because he actually wanted to be her partner and not because he had been forced into it. She suspected it might feel different.

It did.

Once Harry swung her into his arms and began to waltz, Lydia forgot everything except the joy of dancing with someone who wanted her in his arms, and was not wishing for the dance to end. Someone who danced beautifully and let her do the same. Their steps matched, and she knew that, for once in her life, she was envied and not pitied. Her skirts brushed his legs as they executed a flourishing turn, and she could almost imagine his arms tightened as he steered her around another couple. Did his chest touch her? Did he really press his lips to her hair? Goodness, was he flirting?

Lydia glanced up at him and he smiled in such a way she could almost imagine she mattered to him. Which, of course, was stupid. Harry Birnham’s views on women were well known. Love them and leave them, and no love came into the equation. Even so, it was rumoured women queued up to share his bed, even briefly. That would never do for Lydia. To be a convenience seemed so demeaning. He had no intention of getting leg-shackled and, when he did, everyone knew he would take a wife to ensure the line and nothing more. Even more humiliating. It would never do for her and Lydia knew it. But he danced like a dream and, for one brief moment, it was good to be envied not pitied.

They danced on. Sadly, it was all too soon that the music stopped and she remembered to curtsey to her partner.

Harry bowed as he held her hand for a second longer than was truly acceptable. His eyes gleamed and he chuckled softly. ‘How the hell you are not inundated with suitors for every dance I do not know. That was sheer pleasure, my dear, and I look forward to the next.’

The sincerity in his voice was enough to make her body tingle and tiny pinpricks of desire danced down her spine. The man had enough charisma for three men and it was oh so dangerous. How simple it would have been to bask in his admiration and go with the flow. And how easily that could lead to the destruction of her carefully constructed world. Even so… ‘It makes a difference to be with someone who wasn’t forced to ask you to…’ She broke off. Her unruly tongue would be the social death of her. Lydia might want to leave, but preferably not in disgrace. ‘I, er…’

Harry glared. ‘You infuriating woman. Are you intimating I was coerced into dancing with you? No such thing. I was not forced to ask you, and you know it.’

It was interesting, she thought, how he could convey such annoyance and still speak in a level tone.

‘I danced with you for my enjoyment and, I hope, yours,’ he continued. ‘I look forward to our next dance and would not relinquish you if I didn’t have to. Now, to where would you like me to escort you? Your mama?’

Lydia shuddered. ‘Heaven forbid. I’m fine here. I will go and get some lemonade and sit and watch the dancers.’

He shook his head. ‘I will escort you to get some lemonade and we will watch the dancers.’

That was surely a recipe for disaster? ‘People will talk.’

Harry looked around. ‘People are talking anyway. It’s to be expected. I don’t dance normally, you only do when coerced, and I’m certain we appeared as if we were enjoying ourselves. Look on the bright side. If they are talking about us, they are not upsetting anyone else.’

He had a point. ‘I hate being the centre of attention,’ she grumbled as he took her arm once more and carved a way though the throng towards the anteroom where an assortment of drinks waited. ‘It’s all right for you. You can do the lordly bit and ignore anyone you don’t want to talk to. I, however, have to grit my teeth and bear it all.’

Harry handed her a glass of lemonade, and took a goblet of wine for himself. She eyed it mulishly as he led her to a low, soft chaise and waited while she settled down on the dark-green, velvet cushions. Why should she have to have lemonade while he had wine? She hadn’t heard of that in those damned unwritten rules for debs.

‘Here.’ He smiled in amusement, handed her the wine, and put the lemonade on a nearby table. ‘I have never know someone who can convey so much annoyance without saying a word. I’ll get another one for myself.’

Lydia smiled back. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

Harry laughed. ‘You keep me on my toes.’

She sipped the rich, ruby red and robust wine. ‘Good.’

‘Wait there.’ He took the few steps needed to reach out and accept another glass of wine and returned to sit in an armchair next to her, then shook his head. ‘Why people think you are sweet and effacing, I cannot fathom. You are anything but, aren’t you?’

Lydia glanced around to make sure no one else was in earshot. As most people were either on the dance floor, gossiping in groups, or at the card tables in another salon, the room was almost empty. Perhaps it was time to put her cards on the table and be open about her intentions. ‘I want to be seen to be all of those things. I do not want to be part of all this.’ She waved her hand towards the ballroom. ‘I can’t do much else for my parents other than be seen as a disappointment to them, and therefore intend to cause no, or only a small, scandal when I retire in a week or so. It will be “Those poor Fields, but it’s all for the better. Lydia was never going to catch the eye of a gentleman, so she’s in the best place for her. Now the Fields can enjoy life without worrying what to do with her”. No one will actually enquire where I am. Or if they do will be told something innocuous.’ She took another sip of wine and looked at Harry over the rim of the heavy crystal goblet. He sat back in the chair next to her, his long legs encased in immaculate evening trousers and stretched out in front of him, and eyed her closely. She, however, didn’t dare eye him too closely, for her eyes strayed downward to where his torso ended and his legs began.

His lips twitched.

‘What?’ Lydia asked suspiciously. ‘Do I have wine on my gown or a spider in my hair?’

He shook his head. ‘I cannot believe how well you have deceived everyone, including me. Life will be interesting from now on.’

Why? Lydia decided not to ask him. She put her glass down and stood up. ‘I best go back to the ballroom before my mama realises I’m gone.’

‘Oh, she’ll have realised,’ Harry said. ‘But also seen you were with me and accepted it,’ he finished shrewdly. ‘But by all means run away. Although I never thought you a coward.’

Lydia glowered at him and curtsied. ‘Thank you, my lord, for your oh so charming assessment of my character. There is no need for me to run. A brisk walk with be sufficient.’ His shout of laughter made her sit down again with a thump.

Damned infuriating man.

Chapter Five

Harry wondered just what his companion was thinking. When she relaxed she seemed to forget herself and her emotions chased across her face, easy to translate. That wasn’t often enough for him. What had started out as a whim to save her from Jeremy and his lack of true interest in her, and then to see if the blasted woman ever did animated, had changed into a determination to discover what made her tick. Lydia Field was a dark horse and intrigued him more than he would have thought possible. Not that he would let things go too far, too fast, but if he made her last few weeks in London more enjoyable, surely that was a good thing? If he made her body tingle and sated his, that would be even better.

If he made her change her mind about leaving? Then what? He decided to shelve that thought for a later date.

He exchanged her empty glass for one filled with another deep-red wine. Lydia looked at it dubiously, but thanked him prettily.

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