CAROLE MORTIMER was born and lives in the UK. She is married to Peter and they have six sons. She has been writing for Mills & Boon since 1978 and is the author of almost two hundred books. She writes for both the Mills & Boon® Historical and Modern™ lines. Carole is a USA TODAY bestselling author and in 2012 she was recognised by Queen Elizabeth II for her ‘outstanding contribution to literature’. Visit Carole at www.carolemortimer.co.uk or on Facebook.

A Regency Lady’s Scandal

The Lady Gambles
The Lady Forfeits

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

The Lady Gambles

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

Chapter Eighteen

The Lady Forfeits

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

Copyright

The Lady Gambles

Carole Mortimer

Prologue

April 1817—Palazzo Brizzi, Venice, Italy

‘Have I mentioned to either of you gentlemen that I had thought of offering for one of Westbourne’s daughters?’

Lord Dominic Vaughn, Earl of Blackstone, and one of the two gentlemen referred to by their host, Lord Gabriel Faulkner, found himself gaping inelegantly across the breakfast table at the other man in stunned disbelief. A glance at their friend Nathaniel Thorne, Earl of Osbourne, showed him to be no less surprised at the announcement as he sat with his tea cup arrested halfway between saucer and mouth.

Indeed, it was one of those momentous occasions when it seemed that time itself should cease. All movement. All sound. Indeed, when the very world itself should simply have stopped turning.

It had not, of course; the gondoliers could still be heard singing upon their crafts in the busy Grand Canal, the pedlars continued to call out as they moved along the canal selling their wares, and the birds still sang a merry tune. That frozen stillness, that ceasing of time, existed only between the three men seated upon the balcony of the Palazzo Brizzi, where they had been enjoying a late breakfast together prior to Blackstone and Osbourne’s departure for England later today.

‘Gentlemen?’ their host prompted in that dry and amused drawl that was so typical of him, one dark brow raised mockingly over eyes of midnight blue as he placed the letter he had been reading down upon the table top.

Dominic Vaughn was the first to recover his senses. ‘Surely you are not serious, Gabe?’

That mocking dark brow was joined by its twin. ‘Am I not?’

‘Well, of course not.’ Osbourne finally rallied to the occasion. ‘You are Westbourne!’

‘For the past six months, yes.’ The new Earl of Westbourne acknowledged drily. ‘It is one of the previous Earl’s daughters for whom I have offered.’

‘Copeland?’

Westbourne gave a haughty inclination of his dark head. ‘Just so.’

‘I—but why would you do such a thing?’ Dominic made no effort to hide his disgust at the idea of one of their number willingly sacrificing himself to the parson’s mousetrap.

The three men were all aged eight and twenty, and had been to school together before serving in Wellington’s army for five years. They had fought together, drunk together, eaten together, wenched together, shared the same accommodations on many occasions—and one thing they had all agreed on long ago was the lack of a need to settle on one piece of succulent fruit when the whole of the basket was available for the tasting. Gabriel’s announcement smacked of a betrayal of that tacit pact.

Westbourne shrugged his wide shoulders beneath the elegance of his dark-blue superfine. ‘It seemed like the correct thing to do.’

The correct thing to do! When had Gabriel ever bothered himself with acting correctly? Banished to the Continent in disgrace by his own family and society eight years ago, Lord Gabriel Faulkner had lived his life since that time by his own rules, and to hell with what was correct!

Having inherited the extremely respected title of the Earl of Westbourne put a slightly different slant on things, of course, and meant that London society—the marriage-minded mamas especially—would no doubt welcome the scandalous Gabriel back into the ton with open arms. But even so …

‘You are jesting, of course, Gabriel.’ Osbourne felt no hesitation in voicing his own scepticism concerning their friend’s announcement.

‘I am afraid I am not,’ Westbourne stated firmly. ‘My unexpected inheritance of the title and estates has left the future of Copeland’s three daughters to my own tender mercies.’ His top lip curled back in self-derision. ‘No doubt Copeland expected to see his three daughters safely married off before he met his Maker. Unfortunately, this was not the case, and as such, the three young women have become my wards.’

‘Are you saying that you have been guardian to the three Copeland chits for the past six months and not said a word?’ Osborne sounded as if he could barely believe it.

Westbourne gave a cool inclination of his arrogant head. ‘A little like leaving the door open for the fox to enter the henhouse, is it not?’

It was indeed, Dominic mused wryly; Gabriel’s reputation with the ladies was legendary. As was his ruthlessness when it came to bringing an end to those relationships when they became in the least irksome to him. ‘Why have you never mentioned this before, Gabriel?’

The other man shrugged. ‘I am mentioning it now.’

‘Incredible!’ Osborne was still at a loss for words.

Gabriel gave a hard, humourless grin. ‘Almost as incredible as my having inherited the title at all, really.’

It was certainly the case that it would not have occurred if the years of battle against Napoleon’s armies had not killed off Copeland’s two nephews, the only other possible inheritors of the title. As it was, because Copeland only had daughters and no sons, the disgraced Lord Gabriel Faulkner had inherited the title of Earl of Westbourne from a man who was merely a second cousin or some such flimsy connection.

‘Obviously, the fact that I am now the young ladies’ guardian rendered the situation slightly unusual, and so I had my lawyer put forward an offer of marriage on my behalf,’ Westbourne explained.

‘To which daughter?’ Dominic tried to recall whether or not he had ever seen or met any of the Copeland sisters during his occasional forays into society this past two Seasons, but drew a complete blank. He did not consider it a good omen that none of the young women appeared to be attractive enough to spark even a flicker of memory.

Westbourne’s sculptured mouth twisted wryly. ‘Never having met any of the young ladies, I did not feel it necessary to state a preference.’

‘You did not!’ Dominic stared at the other man in horror. ‘Gabriel, you cannot mean to say that you have offered marriage to any one of the Copeland chits?’

Westbourne gave a cool smile. ‘That is exactly what I have done.’

‘I say, Gabe!’ Osbourne looked as horrified as Dominic felt. ‘Taking a bit of a risk, don’t you think? What if they decide to give you the fat and ugly one? The one that no other man would want?’

‘I do not see that as being a problem when Harriet Copeland was their mother.’ Westbourne waved that objection aside.

All three men had been but nineteen when Lady Harriet Copeland, the Countess of Westbourne, having left her husband and daughters, had tragically met her death at the hands of her jealous lover only months later. The woman’s beauty was legendary.

Dominic grimaced. ‘They may decide to give you the one that takes after her father.’ Copeland had been a short and rotund man in his sixties when he died, and with little charm to recommend him, either—was it any wonder that a woman as beautiful as Harriet Copeland had left him for a younger man?

‘What if they do?’ Westbourne relaxed back in his chair, his dark hair curling fashionably upon his nape and brow. ‘In order to provide the necessary heir, the Earl of Westbourne must needs take a wife. Any wife. Any one of the Copeland sisters is capable of providing that heir regardless of her appearance, surely?’ He shrugged those elegantly wide shoulders.

‘But what about—I mean, if she is fat and ugly, surely you will never be able to rise to the occasion in order to provide this necessary heir?’ Osbourne visibly winced at the unpleasantness of the image he had just portrayed.

‘What do you say to that, Gabe?’ Dominic chuckled.

‘I say that it no longer matters whether or not I would be able to perform in my marriage bed.’ Westbourne picked up the letter he had set aside earlier to peruse its contents once again with an apparent air of calm. ‘It would appear that my reputation has preceded me, gentlemen.’ His voice had become steely.

Dominic frowned. ‘Explain, Gabriel.’

That sculptured mouth tightened. ‘The letter I received from my lawyer this morning states that all three of the Copeland sisters—yes, even the fat and ugly one, Nate …’ he gave a mocking little bow in Osbourne’s direction ‘… have rejected any idea of marriage to the disreputable Lord Gabriel Faulkner.’

Dominic had known Gabriel long enough to realise that his calm attitude was a sham, and that the cold glitter in those midnight-blue eyes and the harsh set of his jaw were a clearer indication of his friend’s current mood. Beneath that veneer of casual uninterest he was coldly, dangerously angry.

A fact born out by his next statement. ‘In the circumstances, gentlemen, I have decided that I will shortly be following the two of you to England.’

‘The ladies of Venice will all fall into a decline at your going,’ Osbourne predicted drily.

‘Perhaps,’ Gabriel allowed dispassionately, ‘but I have decided that it is time the new Earl of Westbourne took his place in London society.’

‘Capital!’ Osbourne felt no hesitation in voicing his approval of the plan.

Dominic was equally enthusiastic at the thought of having Gabriel back in London with them. ‘Westbourne House in London has not been lived in for years, and must resemble a mausoleum, so perhaps you would care to stay with me at Blackstone House when you return, Gabriel? I would welcome your opinion, too, on the changes I instructed be made at Nick’s during my absence.’ He referred to the gambling club he had won a month ago in a game of cards with the previous owner, Nicholas Brown.

‘I should have a care in any further dealings you might have with Brown, Dom.’ Gabriel frowned.

An unnecessary warning as it happened; Dominic was well aware that Nicholas Brown, far from being a gentleman, was the bastard son of a peer and a prostitute, and that his connections in the seedy underworld of England’s capital were numerous. ‘Duly noted, Gabe.’

The other man nodded. ‘In that case, I thank you for your invitation to stay at Blackstone House, but it is not my intention to remain in town. Instead, I will make my way immediately to Shoreley Park.’

An occurrence, Dominic felt sure, that did not bode well for the three Copeland sisters …

Chapter One

Three days later—Nick’s gambling club, London, England

Caro moved lightly across the stage on slippered feet before arranging herself carefully upon the red-velvet chaise, checking that the gold-and-jewelled mask covering her face from brow to lips was securely in place, and arranging the long ebony curls of the theatrical wig so that they cascaded over the fullness of her breasts and down the length of her spine, before attending to the draping of her gold-coloured gown so that she was completely covered from her throat to her toes.

She could hear the buzz of excitement behind the drawn curtains at the front of the small raised stage, and knew that the male patrons of the gambling club were anticipating the moment when those curtains would be pulled back and her performance began.

Caro’s heart began to pound, the blood thrumming hotly in her veins as the introductory music began to play, and the room behind the drawn curtains fell into an expectant silence.

Dominic hesitated at the entrance of Nick’s, one of London’s most fashionable gambling clubs, and one of his favourite haunts even before he had taken possession of it a month ago.

Newly arrived back from Venice that afternoon, he had decided to visit the club at the earliest opportunity, and as he handed his hat and cloak over to the waiting attendant, he could not help but notice that the burly young man who usually guarded the doorway against undesirables was not in his usual place. He also realised that the gambling rooms beyond the red-velvet curtains were unnaturally silent.

What on earth was going on?

Suddenly that silence was bewitchingly broken by the sultry, sensual sound of a woman singing. Except that Dominic had given strict instructions before his departure for Venice that in future there were to be no women working—in any capacity—in the club he now owned.

He was frowning heavily as he strolled into the main salon, seeing at once the reason for the doorman’s desertion when he spotted Ben Jackson standing transfixed just inside a room crowded with equally mesmerised patrons, all of them apparently hearing only one thing. Seeing only one thing.

A woman, the obvious source of that sensually seductive voice, lay upon a red-velvet chaise on the stage, a tiny little thing with an abundance of ebony hair that cascaded in loose curls over her shoulders and down the length of her slender back. Most of her face was covered by a jewelled mask much like the ones worn in Venice during carnival, but her bared lips were full and sensuous, her throat a pearly white. She wore a gown of shimmering gold, the voluptuousness of her curves hinted at rather than blatantly displayed, and the more seductive because of it.

Even masked, she was without a doubt the most sensually seductive creature Dominic had ever beheld!

The fact that every other man in the room thought the same thing was evident from the avarice in their gazes and the flush to their cheeks, several visibly licking their lips as they stared at her. A fact that caused Dominic’s scowl to deepen as his own gaze returned to that vision of seduction upon the stage.

Caro tried not to reveal her irritation with the man who stood at the back of the salon glowering at her, either by her expression or in her voice, as she brought her first performance of the evening to an end by slowly standing up to move gracefully to the edge of the stage as she sang the last huskily appealing notes.

It did not prevent her from being completely aware of that pale and disapproving gaze or of the man that gaze belonged to.

He was so extremely tall that even standing at the back of the salon he towered several inches over the other men in the room, his black superfine tailored to widely muscled shoulders, his white linen impeccable and edged with Brussels lace at his throat and wrist. His fashionably styled hair was the colour of a raven’s wing, so black it almost seemed to have a blue sheen. His eyes, those piercingly critical eyes, were the pale colour of a grey silky mist, and appeared almost silver in their intensity. He had a strong, aristocratic face: high cheekbones, a straight slash of a nose, firm sculptured lips, and a square and arrogantly determined jaw. It was a hard and uncompromising face, made more so by the scar that ran down its left side, from just beneath his eye to that stubbornly set jaw.

His pale grey eyes were currently staring at Caro with an intensity of dislike that she had never encountered before in all of her twenty years. So unnerved was she by his obvious disdain that she barely managed to maintain her smile as she took her bows to the thunderous round of applause. Applause she knew from experience would last for several minutes after she had returned to her dressing-room at the back of the club.

It was impossible not to take one last glance in the scowling man’s direction before she disappeared from the stage, slightly alarmed as she saw that he was now in earnest conversation with the manager of the club, Drew Butler.

‘What is the meaning of this, Drew?’ Dominic asked icily under cover of the applause for the beauty still taking her bows upon the stage.

The grey-haired man looked unperturbed; as the manager of Nick’s for the past twenty years, the cynicism in his tired blue eyes stated that he had already seen and done most things in his fifty years, and was no longer disturbed by any of them, least of all by the disapproving tone of the man who had become his employer only a month ago. ‘The patrons love her.’

‘The patrons have neither drunk nor gambled since that woman began to sing some quarter of an hour ago,’ Dominic pointed out.

‘Watch them now,’ Drew said softly.

Dominic did watch, his brows rising as the champagne began to flow copiously and the patrons placed ridiculously high bets at the tables, the level of conversation rising exponentially as the attributes of the young woman were loudly discussed, along with more bets being placed as to the chances of any of them being privileged enough to see behind the jewelled mask.

‘You see.’ Drew gave an unconcerned shrug as he turned back to Dominic. ‘She’s really good for business.’

Dominic shook his head impatiently. ‘Did I not make it clear when I was here last month that this is to be a gambling club only in future, and not a damned brothel?’

‘You did.’ Again Drew remained completely unruffled. ‘And as per your instructions the bedchambers upstairs have remained locked and unavailable to all.’

A gentleman, an earl no less, owning a London gambling club of Nick’s reputation was hardly acceptable to society. But it had been a matter of honour to Dominic, when Nicholas Brown had challenged him to a game of cards the previous month for ownership of Midnight Moon, the prize stallion kept at Dominic’s stud at his estate in Kent. In return, Dominic had demanded that Nicholas put up Nick’s as his own side of the wager and obviously Dominic had won.

Owning a gambling club was one thing, but the half-a-dozen bedchambers on the first floor, until recently available to any man who had wished for some privacy with … whomever, were totally unacceptable; Dominic drew the line at being considered a pimp! As such, he had ordered a ban on women—all women—inside the club, and the bedrooms upstairs to be immediately closed off. With the exception of the mysterious young woman, who had so recently held the club’s patrons enthralled—and not just with her singing!—those instructions appeared to have been carried out.

Dominic’s mouth compressed. ‘I believe my instructions were to dispense with the services of all the … ladies working here?’

‘Caro ain’t—is not, a whore.’ Drew visibly bristled, his shoulders stiffening defensively.

Dominic frowned darkly. ‘Then what, pray, is she?’

‘Exactly as you saw,’ Drew said. ‘Twice a night she simply lays on the chaise and sings. And the punters drink and gamble more than ever once she leaves the stage.’

‘Does she bring a maid or companion with her?’ The older man looked amused. ‘What do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ Dominic’s eyes had narrowed to icy slits. ‘I think she is a disaster in the making.’ He scowled. ‘Which gentleman has the privilege of escorting her home at the end of the evening?’

‘I does.’ The doorman, Ben Jackson, announced proudly as he passed them on his way back to his vigil at the entrance to the club, his round face looking no less cherubic for all that his nose had obviously been broken more than once. His ham-sized fists did not come amiss in a brawl, either.

Dominic raised sceptical brows. ‘You do?’

Ben beamed contentedly, showing several broken teeth for his trouble. ‘Miss Caro insists on it.’

Oh, she did, did she?

Ben Jackson could make grown men quake in their boots just by looking at them, and Drew Butler was a cynic through and through, and yet Miss Caro appeared to have them both eating out of her delicate little hand!

‘Perhaps we should continue this discussion in your office, Drew?’ Dominic turned away, expecting rather than waiting to see if the older man followed him, his impatience barely held in check. Nevertheless, he still managed to greet and smile at several acquaintances as he moved purposefully towards the back of the smoke-filled club to where Drew’s office was situated.

He barely noticed the opulence of that office as Drew followed him into the room before closing the door behind him and effectively shutting out the noise from the gaming rooms. Although Dominic did spot a decanter of what he knew to be a first-class brandy, and he swiftly poured himself a glass and took an appreciative sip before offering to pour one for the manager, too.

The older man shook his head. ‘I never drink during working hours.’

Dominic made himself comfortable as he leant back against the front of the huge mahogany desk. ‘Well, who is she, Drew? And where is she from?’

The manager shrugged. ‘Do you want my take on her or what she told me when she came to the back door asking for work?’

Dominic’s gaze narrowed. ‘Both.’ He took another sip of his brandy, giving every appearance of studying the toe of one highly polished boot as the other man began to relate the young woman’s tale of woe.

Caro Morton claimed to be an orphan who had lived with a maiden aunt in the country until three weeks ago, the death of the elderly lady leaving her homeless. Consequently she had arrived in London two weeks earlier with very little money and no maid or companion, but with a determination to make her own way in the world. Her intention, apparently, had been to offer herself as companion or governess in a respectable household, but her lack of references had made that impossible, and so she had instead been driven to begin knocking on the back door of the theatres and clubs.

Dominic looked up sharply at this part of the story. ‘How many had she visited before arriving here?’

‘Half a dozen or so.’ Drew grimaced. ‘I understand she did receive several offers of … alternative employment along the way.’

Dominic gave a humourless smile as he easily guessed the nature of those offers. ‘You did not feel tempted to do the same when she came knocking on the door here?’ He had no doubt that Miss Caro Morton was a young woman most men, no matter what their age, would like to bed.

The older man shot him a frowning glance as he moved to sit behind the desk. ‘My lord, I happen to have been happily married for the past twenty years, with a daughter not much younger than she is.’

‘My apologies.’ Dominic gave a slight bow. ‘Very well.’ His gaze sharpened. ‘That would appear to be Miss Morton’s version of her arrival in London; now tell me who or what you think she is.’

Drew looked thoughtful. ‘There may have been a maiden aunt, but somehow I doubt it. My guess is she’s in London because she’s running away from something or someone. A brutish father, maybe. Or perhaps even a cruel husband. Either way she’s far too refined to be your usual actress or whore.’

Dominic eyed him speculatively. ‘Define refined?’

‘Ladylike,’ the older man supplied tersely.

Dominic looked intrigued; a woman of quality attempting to conceal her identity would certainly explain the wearing of that jewelled mask. ‘And you do not think that actresses and whores are capable of giving the impression of being ladylike?’

‘I know they are,’ Drew answered. ‘I just don’t happen to think Caro Morton is one of them.’ His expression became closed. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you were to talk to her and decide for yourself?’

That the manager felt a fatherly protectiveness towards the ‘refined’ Miss Caro Morton was obvious. That the doorman, Ben Jackson, felt that same protectiveness was also apparent. If she really were a runaway wife or daughter, then Dominic felt no such softness of emotions. ‘I fully intend doing so,’ he assured the other man drily as he straightened. ‘I merely wished to hear your views first.’

Drew looked concerned. ‘Are you intending to dismiss her?’

Dominic gave the thought some consideration before answering. There was no doubting Drew Butler’s claim that Caro Morton’s nightly performances were a draw to the club, but even so she might just be more trouble than she was worth if she really were a runaway wife or daughter. ‘That will depend upon Miss Morton.’

‘In what way?’

He raised arrogant brows. ‘I accept that you have been the manager of Nick’s for several years, Drew. That you are, without a doubt, the best man for the job.’ He smiled briefly to soften what he was about to say next. ‘However, that ability does not give you the right to question any of my own actions or decisions.’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Where is Caro Morton now?’

‘I usually ensure that she has a bite to eat in her dressing-room between performances.’ Drew’s expression challenged Dominic to question that decision of his.

Remembering the girl’s slenderness, and the pallor of her translucent skin, Dominic felt no inclination to do so; from the look of her, that ‘bite to eat’ might be the only food Caro Morton had in a single day.

‘I’d like to be informed if you decide to let her to go. She has wages owing to her,’ Drew defended as Dominic looked surprised.

She also, Dominic decided ruefully as he agreed to the request before leaving the office, had the cynical club manager wrapped tightly about her tiny little finger, and no doubt the older man would offer her his assistance in finding other employment should Dominic decide to let her go.

Deciding for himself who or what Miss Caro Morton was promised to be an interesting experience. It was a surprising realisation for a man whose years in the army, and the two years since returning to England spent evading the clutches of every marriage-minded mama of the ton, had made him as cynical, if not more so, as the much older Drew Butler.

Caro gave a surprised start as a brief knock sounded on her dressing-room door. Well, not a dressing-room as such, she allowed ruefully, more a private room at the back of the gambling club that Mr Butler had put aside for her use in between her performances.

A room that he had assured her was completely offlimits to any and all of the men who frequented Nick’s …

She stood up slowly, nervously making sure that her robe was securely tied about her waist before crossing the tiny room to stand beside the locked door. ‘Who is it?’ she asked warily.

‘My name is Dominic Vaughn,’ came the haughty reply.

Just like that, Caro knew that the man standing on the other side of the locked door was the same man who had looked at her earlier with those disdainful silver-coloured eyes. She was not sure why or how she knew that, she just did. There was an arrogance in the deep baritone voice, a confidence that spoke of years of issuing orders and having them instantly obeyed. And he was obviously now expecting her to obey him by unlocking the door and allowing him inside …

Her hands clenched in the pockets of her robe, the nails digging painfully into the palms. ‘Gentlemen are not allowed to visit me in my dressing-room.’

A brief silence followed her statement, before the man replied with hard impatience, ‘I assure you that my being here has Drew Butler’s full approval.’

The manager of Nick’s had been very kind to Caro this past week, and, what’s more, she knew that she could trust him implicitly. But having a man approach her dressing-room in this unexpected way and simply stating that Mr Butler approved of his being here and expecting her to believe his claim was not good enough. ‘I am sorry, but the answer is still no.’

‘I assure you, my business with you will only take a few moments of your time,’ came the irritated response.

‘I am in need of rest before my next performance,’ Caro insisted.

Dominic’s mouth firmed in frustration at this woman’s stubborn refusal to so much as open the door. ‘Miss Morton—’

‘That is my final word on the subject,’ she informed him haughtily.

Drew had claimed that Caro Morton was ‘ladylike’, Dominic recalled with a narrowing of his eyes. He could hear that quality himself now in the precise diction of her voice. A subtle, and yet unmistakable authority in her tone that spoke of education and refinement. ‘You will either speak to me now, Miss Morton, or I assure you there will be no “next performance” for you at Nick’s.’ Dominic stood with his shoulder leaning against the wall in the darkened hallway, arms folded across the broad width of this chest.

There was a tiny gasp inside the room. ‘Are you threatening me, Mr Vaughn?’ There was a slight edge of uncertainty to her voice now.

‘I feel no need to threaten, Miss Morton, when the truth will serve just as well.’

Caro was in something of a quandary. Having fled her home two weeks earlier, sure that she would find employment in the obscurity of London as a lady’s companion or governess, instead she had found herself being turned away from those respectable households, time and time again, simply because she did not have the appropriate references.

Everything in London had been so much more expensive than Caro had imagined it would be, too. The small amount of money she had brought with her, saved over the months from her allowance, had diminished much more rapidly than she had imagined it would, leaving her with no choice, if she were not to return to an intolerable situation, but to try her luck at the back door of the theatres. She had always received compliments upon her singing when she’d entertained after dinner on the rare occasions her father had invited friends and neighbours to dine. Those visits to the theatres had resulted in her receiving several offers of employment—but all of them were shocking to a young woman brought up in protected seclusion in rural Hampshire!

She owed her present employment—and the money with which to pay for her modest lodgings—completely to Drew Butler’s kindness. As such, she was not sure that she could turn Dominic Vaughn away from her dressing-room if for some reason the older man really had approved the visit.

Her fingers shook slightly as she took her hands from the pockets of her robe to slowly turn the key in the lock, only to step back quickly as the door was immediately thrust open impatiently.

It was the silver-eyed devil from earlier! He looked even more devilish now as the subdued candlelight illuminating the hallway threw that scar upon his cheek into sharp relief and his black jacket and white linen only added to the rawness of the power that seemed to emanate from him.

Caro took another step backwards. ‘What is it you wished to speak to me about?’

Dominic deliberately schooled his expression to reveal none of the shock he had felt as he looked at Caro Morton for the first time without the benefit of that concealing jewelled mask. Or the ebony-coloured wig, which had apparently concealed her own long and gloriously golden curls. Those curls now framed sea-green, almond-shaped eyes, set in a delicate, heart-shaped face of such beauty it took his breath away.

An occurrence, if she were indeed a disobedient daughter or—worse—a runaway wife, that did not please him in the slightest. ‘Invite me inside, Miss Morton,’ he demanded dictatorially.

Long-lashed lids blinked nervously before she ar rested the movement and her pointed chin rose proudly. ‘As I have already explained, sir, I am resting until my next performance.’

Dominic’s mouth hardened. ‘Which I understand from Drew does not take place for another hour.’

The slenderness of her throat moved convulsively, drawing his attention to the bare expanse of creamy-white skin revealed by the plunging neckline of her robe. His hooded gaze moved lower still, to where the silky material draped down over small, pointed breasts. Her waist was so slender that he was sure his hands could easily span its circumference. He also privately acknowledged, with an unlooked for stirring of his arousal, that his hands could easily cup her tiny breasts before lowering to the smooth roundness of her bottom and lifting her against him for her to wrap those long, slender legs about his waist …

Caro found she did not much care for the way Dominic

Vaughn was looking at her. Almost as if he could see beneath her robe to the naked flesh beneath. Her cheeks became flushed as she straightened her shoulders determinedly. ‘I would prefer that you remain exactly where you are, sir.’

That silver gaze returned to her face. ‘My lord.’

She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He introduced himself. ‘I am Lord Dominic Vaughn, Earl of Blackstone.’

Caro felt a tightness in her chest as she realised this man was a member of the ton, a man no doubt as arrogant as her recently acquired guardian. ‘If that is meant to impress me—my lord—then I am afraid it has failed utterly.’

He raised dark brows as he ignored the sarcasm in her tone. ‘I believe it is the usual custom at this point for the introduction to be reciprocated?’

Her cheeks burned at the intended rebuke. ‘If, as you claim, you have spoken to Mr Butler, then you must already know that my name is Caro Morton.’

He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Is it?’

Her gaze sharpened. ‘I have just said as much, my lord.’

‘Ah, if only the saying of something made it true,’ he jeered.

That tightness in Caro’s chest increased. ‘Do you doubt my word, sir?’

‘I am afraid I am of an age and experience, my dear Caro, when I doubt everything I am told until proven otherwise.’

There was no doubting that the cynicism and mockery of this man’s expression gave him a world-weary appearance, and that scar upon his left cheek an air of danger, but even so she would not have placed him at more than eight or nine and twenty. Not so much older than her own twenty years.

Nor was she his ‘dear’ anything! ‘How very sad for you.’

Not the response Dominic had expected. Or one he wanted, either; the wealthy and eligible Earl of Blackstone did not desire or need anyone’s pity. Least of all that of a woman who hid her real appearance behind a jewelled mask and ebony wig.

Could Butler’s assessment of her be the correct one? Had this young woman run away to London to hide from possibly an overbearing father, or a brutish and bullying husband? She was of such a tiny and delicate appearance that Dominic found the latter possibility too distasteful to contemplate.

Whatever the mystery surrounding this woman, he was of the opinion that neither he, nor his gambling club, was in need of the trouble she might bring banging upon the door. ‘Are you even of an age to be in a gambling club, Caro?’

She looked startled. ‘My lord?’

‘I simply wondered as to your age.’

‘A gentleman should never ask a lady her age,’ she retorted primly.

Dominic slowly allowed his gaze to move from the top of that golden head, over the slenderness of her body, the delicacy of her tiny wrists and slender hands, to the bareness of her feet, before just as slowly returning to her now flushed and slightly resentful face. ‘As far as I am aware, ladies are always accompanied by a maid or companion; nor do they cavort upon the stage of a gentlemen’s gaming club.’

Her little pointed chin rose once more. ‘I do not cavort, my lord, but simply lie upon a chaise,’ she bit out tartly. ‘I also fail to see what business it is of yours whether or not I have a maid or companion.’

Dominic glanced into the room behind her, noting the tray on the dressing table, with its bowl of some rich and still-steaming stew and a platter of bread beside it, a plump and tempting orange upon another plate, obviously intended as her dessert. No doubt that ‘bite to eat’ Butler had mentioned providing for her.

‘I appear to have interrupted your supper,’ he acknowledged smoothly. ‘I suggest that we finish this conversation later tonight when I, and not Ben, act as your escort home.’

Her eyes widened in alarm before she gave a firm shake of her head. ‘That will not be possible, I am afraid.’

‘Oh?’

This was not a man used to receiving no for an answer, Caro realised ruefully as she took in the glittering arrogance in those silver eyes beneath one autocratically raised brow. And her lack of maid or companion was easily explained—if she had felt inclined to offer this man any explanation, which she did not! To have brought either maid or companion with her when she fled Hampshire two weeks ago would have placed them in the position of having abetted her in that flight, and she was in enough trouble already, without involving anyone else in her plight.

‘No,’ she reaffirmed evenly now. ‘It would hurt Ben’s feelings terribly if he were not allowed to walk me home. Besides,’ she added as his lordship would have dismissed that excuse for exactly what it was, ‘I do not allow gentlemen I do not know to escort me to my home.’ A man she had no wish to know, either, Caro could have added.

Mocking humour glittered briefly in those pale grey eyes. ‘Even if Drew Butler were to vouch for this gentleman?’

‘I have yet to hear him do so. Now, if you will excuse me? I wish to eat my supper before it becomes too cool.’ Caro’s attempt to close the door in Dominic Vaughn’s face was thwarted by the tactical placing of one of his booted feet against the door jam. Her eyes flashed a warning as she slowly reopened the door. ‘Please do not force me to call upon Ben’s help in having you removed from the premises.’

A threat that did not seem to bother the arrogant Dominic Vaughn in the slightest as he continued to smile down at her confidently. ‘That would be an … interesting experience.’

Caro eyed him uncertainly. Ben was as tall as the earl, and obviously more heavily built, but there was an underlying air of danger lurking beneath this man’s outward show of fashionable elegance. An aura of power that implied he could best any man against whom he chose to pit the strength of those wide shoulders and tall, lithely muscled body. Besides which, Caro very much doubted that the Earl of Blackstone had received that scar upon his face by sitting comfortably at home by his fireside!

She forced the tension from her shoulders as she smiled up at him. ‘Perhaps we might defer discussing your offer to escort me home until after I have spoken to Mr Butler?’

And perhaps, Dominic guessed, this young lady would choose to absent herself without so much as bothering to talk to Drew Butler. ‘I will be waiting outside for you when you have finished your next performance.’

The irritated darkening of those beautiful sea-green eyes told him that he had guessed correctly. ‘You are very persistent, sir!’

‘Just anxious to acquaint myself with one of my own employees.’

She gasped, those sea-green eyes wide with alarm. ‘Your … ? Did you say your employee?’

Dominic gave an affirmative nod, and took great pleasure in noting the way the colour drained from the delicacy of her cheeks, as she obviously realised he did indeed have the power to ensure she never performed at Nick’s again. ‘Until later then, Miss Morton.’ He bowed elegantly before returning to the gaming rooms, a smile of satisfaction curving his lips.

Chapter Two

‘I would prefer to walk, thank you.’ It was a little over two hours later when Caro firmly dismissed even the idea of getting inside Dominic Vaughn’s fashionable carriage as it stood waiting outside Nick’s—a man Drew Butler had confirmed to Caro was not only the Earl of Blackstone, but also the man who had recently taken ownership of the gambling club at which they were both employed. That aside, she had no intention of placing herself in the vulnerable position of travelling alone in his carriage with him!

‘As you wish.’ He indicated for the driver of the carriage to follow them, his raven-black hair now covered by a fashionably tall hat, and a black silk cloak thrown about those widely muscled shoulders.

Caro shot him a sideways glance from beneath her unadorned brown bonnet, only a few of her golden curls now showing at her temples and nape. The brown gown she wore beneath her own serviceable black cloak was equally as modest in appearance, with its high neckline and long sleeves.

She had bought three such gowns when she’d arrived in London two weeks ago, this brown one, another in a dull green, and the third of dark cream, having very quickly realised that the few silk gowns she had brought to town with her stood out noticeably in the genteelly rundown area of London where she had managed to find clean and inexpensive lodgings. And being noticed—as herself, rather than as the masked lady singing at Nick’s—was something she dearly wished to avoid.

To say that Dominic had been surprised—yet again!—by Caro Morton’s appearance on joining him a few minutes ago would be an understatement. In fact, it had taken him several seconds to recognise her beneath that unbecoming brown bonnet that hid most of those glorious golden curls, and the equally unfashionable cloak that covered her from neck to ankle, so giving her every appearance of being a modest and unassuming young lady of meagre means.

That dark modesty of her clothing opened up a third possibility as to why Caro Morton was living alone in London and so obviously in need of work in order to support herself. Her slender hands were completely bare of rings, but that did not mean she was not one of those starry-eyed young ladies who, during the years of war against Napoleon, had abandoned all propriety by eloping with their unsuitable soldier beau before he marched off to battle, only to find themselves widowed within weeks, sometimes days, of that scandalous marriage having taken place.

No matter what the explanation, there was certainly very little danger of any of the patrons of Nick’s recognising this drably dressed young woman as the ebony-haired siren whose seductive performance had so easily bewitched and beguiled them all so completely twice this evening.

Himself included, he readily admitted.

‘Perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to why an unprotected young woman should choose to work in one of London’s fashionable gambling clubs?’

It was a question she seemed to have been expecting as her expression remained cool. ‘For the money, perhaps?’

Dominic scowled. ‘If you must work, then why did you not find more respectable employment? You have the refinement to be a lady’s maid, or, failing that, to serve in a shop.’

‘How kind of you to say so,’ she returned over-sweetly. ‘But one needs references from previous employers to become either of those things. References I do not have,’ she added pointedly.

‘Perhaps because you have never worked as a lady’s maid or served in a shop?’ he pressed.

‘Or perhaps I was just so inadequate at both those occupations that I was refused references?’ she suggested tartly.

Dominic gave an appreciative smile at her spirited answer. ‘So instead you have chosen to put yourself in a position where you are ogled by dozens of licentious men every night?’

Caro came to an abrupt halt, her own humour fading at the deliberate insult, both in his tone and expression, as he paused beside her in the flickering lamplight and allowed that silver gaze to rake over her critically from her head to her toes. ‘It appears that I needed no references for that,’ she informed him with chilling hauteur.

Dominic knew that it really was none of his concern if she chose to expose herself to the sort of ribald comments he had been forced to listen to following her second performance this evening, when the bets as to who would eventually become her lover and protector had increased to a level he had found most unpleasant. And yet … ‘Do you have so little regard for your reputation?’

Her cheeks became flushed. ‘The jewelled mask I wear ensures my reputation remains perfectly intact, thank you!’

‘Perhaps.’ Dominic’s jaw tightened. ‘I am surprised you did not consider a less … taxing means of employment.’

She looked puzzled. ‘Less taxing?’

He shrugged. ‘You are young. The comments of your numerous admirers this evening are testament to your desirability. Did you not consider acquiring a single male protector, rather than exposing yourself in this way to the attentions of dozens?’

Caro felt the flush that warmed her cheeks. ‘A protector, my lord?’

‘A man who would see you housed and suitably clothed in exchange for the pleasure of your … company,’ he elaborated.

Caro’s breath caught in her throat, that flush covering the whole of her body now as she realised that the earl was suggesting she should have taken a lover when she arrived in London rather than ‘singing for her supper’ at Nick’s.

A lover!

When Caro’s father had been so averse to any of his three daughters appearing in London society that he had not even allowed any of them to have so much as a Season, but instead had kept them all secluded at his estate in Hampshire. Had ensured his daughters were so overprotected that Caro had never even been alone with a young gentleman until now.

Although that description was hardly appropriate in regard to the arrogant Dominic Vaughn; that scar upon his otherwise handsome face, and the mockery that glittered now in those narrowed silver-coloured eyes, proclaimed him to be a gentleman in possession of a cynicism and experience that far exceeded his calendar years …

‘I believe it would not be merely my company that would be of interest in such an arrangement, my lord.’ She arched pert blonde brows.

Dominic was beginning to wish that he had never broached this particular subject. Indeed, he had no idea why he was taking such an interest in the fate of this particular young woman. Perhaps his sense of chivalry was not as dead as he had believed it to be? ‘Surely the attentions of one man would be preferable to being undressed, mentally at least, by dozens of men, night after night?’ he bit out harshly.

Her gasp was audible. ‘You are attempting to shock me, sir!’

Yes, he was. Deliberately. ‘I am attempting to stress, madam, how foolishly you are behaving by repeatedly placing yourself in such a vulnerable position.’

Her eyes widened indignantly. ‘I assure you, sir, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I am in absolutely no danger—’ Dominic put an end to this ridiculous claim by the simple act of pulling her effortlessly into his arms and taking masterful possession of the surprised parting of her lips.

He did it as a way of demonstrating the vulnerability of which he spoke. As a way of showing Caro how easily a man—any man—could take advantage of her delicacy. How the slenderness of her tiny body was no match for a man bent on stealing a kiss. Or worse!

He curved that willowy body against his much harder one as he took possession of the softness of those parted lips. With deliberate sensuality, his tongue swept moistly across her bottom lip before exploring farther, his hands moving in a light caress down the slenderness of her back before cupping her bottom and pulling her even more firmly against him as that marauding tongue took possession of the hot cavern of her mouth. Thrusting. Jousting. Demanding her response.

Nothing in Caro’s previous life, not the twenty years spent in seclusion in Hampshire, or these past two weeks in London, had prepared her for the rush of sensations that now assaulted her and caused her to cling to Dominic Vaughn’s wide and powerful shoulders rather than faint at his feet.

She was suffused with a heart-pounding heat, accompanied by a wild, tingling that began in her breasts, causing them to swell beneath her gown and the tips to harden so that they felt uncomfortable and sensitised as they chafed against her shift, that heat centring, pooling between her thighs, in a way she had never imagined before let alone experienced. She—

‘What ho, lads!’

‘Don’t keep her all to yourself, old chap!’

‘Give us all a go!’

Caro found those hard lips removed from her own with a suddenness that made her gasp, the earl’s hands hard about her waist as those silver-coloured eyes glittered down at her briefly before he put her firmly away from him. He turned and bent the fierceness of that gaze upon the three young gentlemen walking slightly unsteadily towards them.

Caro staggered slightly once released, knowing herself badly shaken by the searing intensity of Dominic Vaughn’s kiss—a punishing, demanding assault upon her lips and senses that in no way resembled any of her previous youthful imaginings of what a kiss should be. There had been none of the gentleness she had ex pected. None of the shy thrill of emotions. Only that heart-pounding heat and the wild tingling in her breasts and thighs.

Emotions not reflected in the hard intensity of his lordship’s expression as he signalled to his coachman and groom that he was as in control of this present situation as he had obviously been whilst kissing her!

The young gentlemen had come to an abrupt and wary halt as they suddenly found themselves the focus of Dominic’s glittering silver gaze, the three of them backing up slightly at the chilling anger they obviously recognised in his expression, that savage slash of scar running the length of his left cheek adding to the impression of impending danger.

‘We meant no offence, old chap,’ the obvious ringleader of the trio offered in mumbled apology.

‘A little too much to drink, I expect,’ the second one excused nervously.

‘We’ll just be on our way.’ The third member of the group grabbed a friend by each arm before turning and staggering back in the direction they had just come.

Leaving a still-trembling Caro to the far from tender mercies of Dominic Vaughn!

That trembling increased as he turned the focus of his glowering attention back on to her. ‘I believe you were assuring me that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself and that you believe yourself to be in absolutely no danger from any man’s unwanted attentions?’

Caro felt a shiver run the length of her spine as she looked up into that harshly forbidding face; no wonder those three young gentlemen had decided that retreat was the best and safest course of action. She felt like retreating herself as she recalled how demanding and yet arousing that firmly sculptured mouth had felt against her own …

Her shoulders straightened determinedly. ‘You kissed me deliberately, my lord, purely in an effort to demonstrate your superior strength over me.’

His nostrils flared as that silver gaze raked over her. ‘In an effort to demonstrate how any man’s strength would be superior to your own—even those three drunken young pups who just ran away with their tails between their legs.’

Caro raised a haughty brow. ‘You exaggerate, sir—’

‘On the contrary, Miss Morton,’ he snapped coldly, ‘I believe myself to be better acquainted than you with the lusts of my own sex.’ His mouth twisted in distaste. ‘And if I had not been here to protect you just now then I guarantee you would now find yourself in an alley somewhere with your skirts up about your waist whilst one of those young bucks rutted between your thighs and the other two awaited their turn!’

Caro felt herself pale and the nausea churn in her stomach at the vividness of the picture he painted. A vividness surely designed to shock and frighten her—and succeeding? Those three young gentlemen had obviously over-imbibed this evening, and were feeling more than a little playful, but surely they would not have behaved as shockingly as the earl suggested?

She looked at him in challenge. ‘Then it is a pity that there was no one here to protect me from your own unwanted attentions, was it not?’

Dominic drew in a swift breath at the accusation. In the circumstances, it was a perfectly justified accusation, he allowed fairly. He had meant only to teach a lesson, to demonstrate her vulnerability by taking advantage of her himself. Instead he had found he enjoyed the honeyed taste of her as he explored the heat of her mouth, as well as the feel of her slender curves pressed against his much harder ones. To the extent that he had taken the kiss far beyond what he had originally intended.

He straightened, the expression in his eyes now hidden behind hooded lids. ‘I meant only to demonstrate how exposing yourself on a stage night after night has left you open to physical as well as verbal abuse.’

‘You are being ridiculous,’ she dismissed briskly. ‘Neither am I a complete ninny. It was for the very reason of protecting my reputation that I donned the mask and wig at Nick’s. Indeed, I doubt that anyone would ever recognise the woman I am now as the masked and ebony-haired woman who sings in a gambling club each evening.’

There was some truth in that; Dominic had barely recognised Caro himself when she had joined him earlier. Even so … ‘The fact that you are masked, and your own blonde curls hidden beneath those false ebony tresses, would, I am afraid, only protect your identity as far as the bedroom.’

Her throat moved convulsively as she continued to look up at him proudly. ‘My … identity?’

Dominic gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Your voice and manner proclaim you as being a lady—’

‘Or a disgraced lady’s maid,’ she put in quickly.

‘Perhaps,’ Dominic allowed tersely. ‘I have no idea what your reasons are for taking the action you have—and I doubt you are about to enlighten me, are you?’

Her mouth firmed. ‘No.’

‘As I thought.’ He gave an abrupt nod. ‘Of course, the simplest answer to this predicament would be for me to simply terminate your employment. At least then I would not feel honour bound to take responsibility for your welfare.’

She gave an inelegant snort. ‘That would only solve the problem for you, my lord; I would still need to find the means with which to earn my own living.’

She was right, Dominic allowed sourly. But there was another alternative … He could offer to become her protector himself—his enjoyment of their kiss earlier proved that his senses, at least, were not averse to the idea. And no doubt, with a little coaching as to his physical preferences, Caro would be more than capable of satisfying his needs.

But in the ten years since Dominic had first appeared in town he had never once taken a permanent mistress, as many of his male acquaintances chose to do, preferring instead to take his pleasures whenever and with what women he pleased. He had no wish to change that arrangement by making the spirited and outspoken Caro Morton his mistress.

‘Of course, if you were to decide to terminate my employment then you would leave me with no choice but to seek the same position elsewhere.’ She shrugged those slender shoulders. ‘Something that should not prove too difficult now that the masked lady has, as you say, gained something of a … male following,’ she added.

It was a solution, of course. Except at Nick’s, whether the chit was aware of it or not, Caro at least had the protection of the attentive Drew and Ben. And, apparently, now Dominic himself. ‘If it is only question of money—’

‘And if it were?’ Caro had immediately bristled haughtily.

His mouth thinned. ‘In those circumstances I might perhaps see my way clear to advancing you sufficient funds to take you back to wherever it is you originate from.’

‘No!’ Those sea-green eyes sparkled up at him rebelliously. ‘I have no intention of leaving London yet.’

Dominic was unsure as to whether Caro’s vehemence was due to his offer to advance her money, or his suggestion that she use that money to take herself home, so he decided to probe further. ‘Is the situation at home so intolerable, then?’

She attempted to repress a shudder and failed. ‘At present, yes.’

Dominic studied her through narrowed lids, noting the shadows that had appeared in those sea-green eyes, and the pallor of her cheeks. ‘That remark would seem to imply that the situation may change some time in the future?’

‘It is to be hoped so, yes,’ she confirmed with feeling.

‘But until it does, it is your intention to remain in London, whether or not I continue to employ you at Nick’s?’

Her mouth set firmly. ‘It is.’

‘You are very stubborn, madam.’

‘I am decisive, sir, which is completely different.’

Dominic sighed heavily, not wishing to send Caro back to a situation she obviously found so unpleasant, but also well able to imagine the scrapes this reckless young woman would get herself into, if she were once again let loose to roam the streets of London seeking employment. ‘Then I believe, for the moment, we must leave things as they are.’ He looked away. ‘Shall we continue to walk to your lodgings?’

Caro shot him a triumphant glance. ‘We have been standing outside them for some minutes, my lord!’

Dominic gave her an irritated scowl before glancing at the house behind them. It was a three-storied building so typical of an area that had once been fashionable, but which was no longer so, and as such had fallen into genteel decay. Although the owner of this particular lodging had at least attempted to keep up a veneer of respectability, the outside being neat and cared for, and the curtains at the windows also appearing clean.

He turned back to Caro. ‘In that case it remains only for me to bid you goodnight.’

She gave an abrupt curtsy. ‘My lord.’

‘Miss Morton.’ He nodded curtly.

Caro gazed up at Dominic quizzically as he made no move to depart for his waiting carriage. ‘There is no need for you to wait to leave until you are assured I have entered the house, my lord.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘In the same way you were in “absolutely no danger” earlier on?’

Her cheeks coloured prettily. ‘I find your manner extremely vexing, my lord!’

‘No more so than I do your own, I assure you, Miss Morton.’

Caro had never before met anyone remotely like Dominic Vaughn. Had never dreamed that men like him existed, so tall and fashionably handsome, so aristocratic. So arrogantly sure of themselves!

Admittedly her contact with male acquaintances had been severely limited before she came to London, usually only consisting of the few sons of the local gentry, and occasionally her father’s lawyer when he came from London to discuss business matters.

Even so, Caro knew from Drew Butler’s respectful attitude towards the earl earlier this evening, and the hasty departure of those three young gentlemen just minutes ago, that Dominic Vaughn was a man whose very presence demanded respect and obedience.

Except, after years of having no choice but to do as she was told, Caro no longer wished to obey any man. Not least of all the guardian she had so recently acquired …

She flashed the earl a bright meaningless smile before turning to walk to the front door of her lodgings, not even glancing back to see if he still watched as she quietly let herself inside with the key the landlady had provided for Caro’s personal use when she had taken the rooms two weeks ago.

She waited several heartbeats before daring to look out through the lace-covered window beside the front door. Just in time to see the earl climbing inside his carriage before the groom closed the door behind him and hopped neatly on to the back of the vehicle as it was driven away.

But before it did so Caro saw the pale oval of Dominic Vaughn’s grimly set face at the carriage window as he glanced towards where she stood hidden. She moved away quickly to lean back against the wall, her hands clutched against her rapidly beating heart.

No, being kissed by the Earl of Blackstone had been nothing at all as she imagined a kiss would be.

It had been far, far more exciting …

‘So, where did you get to last night, Dom?’ Nathaniel Thorne, Earl of Osbourne, prompted lazily the following evening, the two men lounging in opposite wing-chairs beside the fireplace in one of the larger rooms at White’s.

‘I was … unavoidably detained.’ Dominic evaded answering his friend’s query directly. The two men had arranged to meet late the previous evening, an appointment Dominic obviously had not kept as he had instead been occupied with seeing Caro Morton safely delivered back to her lodgings. For all the thanks he had received for his trouble!

Nathaniel raised a blond brow. ‘I trust she was as insatiable as she was beautiful?’

‘Beautiful—yes. Insatiable? I have no idea.’ In truth, hours later, Dominic still had no idea what to make of Caro Morton, of who and what she was. He had taken the trouble, however, to send word to Drew Butler to continue feeding her, as well as arranging for Ben Jackson to escort her home at the end of each night’s work; Caro might have no care for her own welfare, but whilst she continued working for Dominic, he had every intention of ensuring that no harm befell her.

‘Yet,’ Nathaniel drawled knowingly.

Both of Dominic’s parents had died years ago, and he had no siblings, either, making Nathaniel Thorne and Gabriel Faulkner the closest thing he had to a family; the years they had all spent at school together, and then in the army, never knowing whether they would survive the next battle, had made them as close as brothers. Even so, Dominic could have wished at that moment that Nathaniel did not know him quite as well as he did.

Thankfully he had the perfect diversion from his lack of appearance the night before. ‘I received a note from Gabriel today. He expects to arrive in England by the end of the week.’ He lifted his glass of brandy and took an appreciative sip.

‘I received one, too,’ Nathaniel revealed. ‘Can you imagine the looks on the faces of the ton when Gabe makes his entrance back into society?’

‘He reaffirmed it was his intention to first go to Shoreley Park and confront the Copeland sisters,’ Dominic reminded him.

Osbourne snorted. ‘We both know that will only take two minutes of his time. By the time Gabriel returns to town, past scandal or not, I have no doubt that all three of the silly chits will be clamouring to marry him!’ Nathaniel made a silent toast of appreciation to their absent friend.

It was a fact that Gabriel’s years of banishment to the Continent and the army had in no way affected his conquests in the bedchamber; one look at that raven-black hair, those dark indigo eyes and his firmly muscled physique, and women of all ages simply dropped at Gabriel’s feet. Or, more accurately, into his bed! No doubt the Copeland sisters would find themselves equally as smitten.

‘What shall we do with the rest of the night?’ After the dissatisfaction he had felt at the end of the previous evening, Dominic knew himself to be in the mood to drink too much before falling into bed with a woman who was as inventive as she was willing.

Nathaniel eyed him speculatively. ‘I have heard that there is a mysterious beauty currently performing at Nick’s …’

As close as the three men were, Dominic knew that some things were best kept to oneself—and his meeting with Caro Morton the previous night, his uncharacteristic, unfathomable sense of protectiveness where she was concerned, was certainly one of them! Although Dominic could not say that he was at all pleased that she was already so great a source of gossip at the gentlemen’s clubs after only a week of appearing at his.

He grimaced. ‘I believe the only reason she is considered such a mystery is because she wears a jewelled mask whilst performing.’

‘Oh.’ The other man’s mouth turned down. ‘No doubt to hide the fact that she’s scarred from the pox.’

‘Possibly,’ Dominic dismissed in a bored voice, having no intention of saying anything that would increase his friend’s curiosity where Caro was concerned.

Nate sighed. ‘In which case, I believe I will leave the choice of tonight’s entertainment to you.’

That choice involved visiting several gambling clubs before ending the evening at the brightly lit but nevertheless discreet house where several beautiful and accomplished ladies of the demi-monde made it only too obvious they would be pleased to offer amusement and companionship to two such handsome young gentlemen.

So it was all the more surprising when those same two gentlemen took their leave only an hour or so later, neither having taken advantage of that willingness. ‘Perhaps we should have gone to view the mysterious beauty at Nick’s, after all.’ Osbourne repressed a bored yawn.

‘Scarred from the pox or not, I doubt I could find her any less appealing than the ladies we have just wasted our time with!’

Dominic frowned, knowing that to demur a second time would definitely incur Nate’s curiosity. ‘Perhaps we are becoming too jaded in our tastes, Nate?’ he murmured drily as he tapped on the roof of the carriage and gave his driver fresh instructions.

The other man raised a questioning brow. ‘Do you ever miss the excitement of our five years in the army?’

Did Dominic miss the horror and the bloodshed of war? The never knowing whether he would survive the next battle or if it was his turn to meet death at the end of a French sword? The comradeship with his fellow officers that arose from experiencing that very danger? He missed it like the very devil!

‘Not to the point of wanting to renew my commission, no. You?’

Osbourne shrugged. ‘It is a fact that civilian life can be tedious as well as damned repetitious.’

Dominic felt relieved to know that he was not the only one to miss those years of feeling as if one walked constantly on the knife edge of danger. ‘I am told that participating in a London Season often resembles a battlefield,’ he mused.

‘Do not even mention the Season to me,’ the other man groaned. ‘My Aunt Gertrude has taken it into her head that it is high time I took myself a wife,’ he explained at Dominic’s questioning look. ‘As such she is insisting that I escort her to several balls and soirées during the next few weeks. No doubt with the expectation of finding a young woman she believes will make me a suitable Countess.’

‘Ah.’ Dominic began to understand his friend’s restlessness this evening; Mrs Gertrude Wilson was Osbourne’s closest relative, and one, moreover, of whom he was extremely fond. She reciprocated by taking a great interest in her nephew’s life. To the point, it seemed, that she was now attempting to find him a wife. Reason enough for Dominic to be grateful for his own lack of female relations! ‘I take it that you are not in agreement with her wishes?’

‘In agreement with the idea of shackling myself for life to some mealy-mouthed chit who has no doubt been taught to lie back and think of king and country when we are in bed together? Certainly not!’ Osbourne barely suppressed his shiver of revulsion. ‘I cannot think what Gabriel is about even contemplating such a fate.’

It was a fact that all three gentlemen would one day have to take a wife and produce the necessary heir to their respective earldoms. Fortunately, it seemed that Osbourne, at least, was as averse to accepting that fate as Dominic was. Although there was no doubting that Mrs Gertrude Wilson was a force to be reckoned with!

Dominic’s humour at his friend’s situation faded, his mouth tightening in disapproval, as the two gentlemen stepped down from his carriage minutes later and he saw that Ben Jackson was once again absent from his position at the entrance to Nick’s; obviously they had arrived in time for Nathaniel to witness Caro Morton’s second performance of the evening.

However, the sound of shouting, breaking glass and the crashing of furniture coming from the direction of the main gaming room as they stepped into the spacious hallway of the club in no way resembled the awed silence Dominic had experienced on his arrival the previous evening.

Especially when it was accompanied by the sound of a woman’s screams!

Chapter Three

Caro had never been as frightened in her life as she was at that moment. Even with Ben and two other men standing protectively in front of her, and keeping the worst of the fighting at bay, it was still possible for her to see men’s fists flying, the blood freely flowing from noses and cut faces as chairs, tables and bottles were also brought into play.

In truth, she had no idea how the fighting had even begun. One moment she had been singing as usual, and the next a gentleman had tried to step on to the stage and grab hold of her. At first Caro had believed the second gentleman to step forwards was attempting to come to her aid, until he pushed the first man aside and also lunged towards where she had half-risen from the chaise in alarm.

After that all bedlam had broken loose, it seemed, with a dozen or more men fighting off the first two with fists and any item of furniture that came readily to hand. And through it all, every terrifying moment of it, Caro had been humiliatingly aware of Lord Dominic Vaughn’s dire warnings of the night before …

‘Care to join in?’ Osbourne invited with glee as the two men stood in the doorway of the gaming room still hatted and cloaked.

Dominic’s narrowed gaze had taken stock of the situation at a glance. Thirty or so gentlemen fighting in earnest. Several of the brocade-covered chairs broken. Tables overturned, and shattered glasses and bottles crunching underfoot. Drew Butler was caught in the middle of it all as he tried to call a halt to the fighting. And on the raised stage, Ben Jackson stood immovable in front of where a head of ebony curls was just visible above and behind the chaise.

‘Head towards the stage,’ Dominic directed Osbourne grimly as he threw his hat aside. ‘If we can get the girl out of here, I believe the fighting will come to an end.’

‘I sincerely hope it does not!’ Nathaniel grinned roguishly as he stepped purposefully into the mêlée.

Most of the gentlemen fighting seemed to be enjoying themselves as much as Osbourne, despite having bloody noses, the occasional lost tooth and several eyes that would no doubt be black come morning. It was the three or four gentlemen closest to Ben Jackson, and their dogged determination to lay hands on Caro as she crouched down behind the chaise, that concerned Dominic the most. Although to give Ben his due, he had so far managed to keep them all at arm’s length, and even managed to shoot Dominic and Osbourne an appreciative grin as they stepped up beside him.

At which point Caro Morton emerged from behind the chaise and launched herself into his arms. ‘Thank goodness you are come, Dominic!’

Osborne grinned knowingly at the spectacle. ‘You take the girl, Dom; this is the most fun I’ve had in years!’ He swung a fist and knocked one of the men from the stage with a telling crunch of flesh against teeth.

At that moment Dominic was so angry that he wanted nothing more than to break a few bones for himself. A satisfaction he knew he would have to forgo as Caro’s arms tightened about his neck, a pair of widely terrified sea-green eyes visible through the slits in the jewelled mask as she looked up at him.

Dominic’s gaze darkened as he saw that her gold gown was ripped in several places. ‘Did I not warn you?’ Dominic’s voice was chilling as he pulled her arms from about his neck and swung off his cloak to cover her in it before bending down to place his arm at the back of her knees and toss her up on to his shoulder as he straightened.

‘I— What— Put me down this instant!’ Tiny fists pummelled against his back.

‘I believe now would be as good a time as any for you to learn when it is wiser to remain silent,’ Dominic rasped grimly as several male heads turned his way to watch jealously as he carried her from the stage and out to the private area at the back of the club.

The last thing that Caro had needed in the midst of that nightmare was for Lord Dominic Vaughn to tell her ‘I told you so’. She had already been terrified enough for one evening without the added humiliation of being thrown over this man’s shoulder as if she were no more than a sack of potatoes or a bail of straw on her father’s estate!

Caro struggled to be released as soon as they reached the relative safety of the deserted hallway. ‘You will put me down this instant!’ she instructed furiously as her struggles resulted only in her becoming even more hot and bad-tempered.

‘Gladly.’ Dominic slid her unceremoniously down the hard length of his body before lowering her bare feet on to the cold stone floor.

‘I do not believe I have ever met a man more ill mannered than you!’ Caro looked up at him accusingly even as her flustered fingers tried to secure the engulfing cloak about her shoulders and hold the soft silk folds about her trembling body.

‘After I have tried to save you from harm?’ His voice was silky soft as those silver eyes glittered down at her in warning.

‘After you have manhandled me, sir!’ Caro was unrepentant as she tried to bring some semblance of order to the tangled ebony curls, all the time marvelling at how the jewelled mask and ebony wig had managed to stay in place at all. ‘Your own anger a few minutes ago seemed to imply that you believe I am to blame for what just took place—’

‘You are to blame.’

‘Do not be ridiculous!’ Caro gave him a scornful glance. ‘Every woman knows that men—even so-called gentlemen—will find any excuse to fight.’

She might very well be in the right of it there, Dominic acknowledged as he remembered Osbourne’s glee before he launched himself into the midst of the fighting. But that did not change the fact that this particular fight had broken out because Caro had refused to see the danger of flaunting herself night after night before a roomful of intoxicated men.

As it was, Dominic had no idea whether to beat her or kiss her senseless for her naïvety. ‘I have a good mind to take out the cost of this evening’s damages on your backside!’ he grated instead.

Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed a fiery red even as her chin rose in challenge. ‘You would not dare!’

Dominic gave a disgusted snort. ‘Do not tempt me, Caro.’

Caro gave up all attempt to bring order to those loosely flowing locks and instead removed the jewelled mask in order to glare at him. ‘I believe you are just looking for an excuse to beat me.’

Dominic stilled, his gaze narrowing searchingly on her angrily defiant face. Just the thought of some nameless, faceless man ever laying hands on this delicately lovely woman in anger was enough to rouse Dominic’s own fury. Yet at this particular moment in time, he totally understood the impulse; he badly wanted to tan Caro’s backside so hard that she would not be able to sit down for a week! ‘I assure you, where you are concerned, no excuse is necessary,’ he growled.

‘Oh!’ she gasped her indignation. ‘You, sir, are the most overbearing, arrogant, insulting man it has ever been my misfortune to meet!’

‘And you, madam, are the most stubborn, wilfully stupid—’

‘Stupid?’ she echoed furiously.

‘Wilfully stupid,’ Dominic repeated unrepentantly as he glared back at her.

Caro had never been so incensed. Never felt so much like punching a man on his arrogant, aristocratic nose!

As if aware of the violence of her thoughts those sculptured lips turned up into a mocking smile. ‘It would be most unwise, Caro.’ His warning was silkily soft and all the more dangerous because of it.

Sea-green eyes clashed with silver for long, challenging moments. A challenge she was almost—almost!—feeling brave enough to accept when an amused voice broke into the tension. ‘I came to tell you that Butler and his heavies have thrown out the last of the patrons and are now attempting to clean up the mess, but I can come back later if now is not a convenient time … ?’

Dominic was standing directly in Caro’s line of vision and she had to lean to one side to see around him to where a tall, elegantly dressed man leant casually against the wall of the hallway. His arms were folded across the width of his chest as he watched them with interest, only the ruffled disarray of his blond and fashionably long hair about the handsomeness of his face to show that he had only moments ago been caught up in the thick of the fighting.

‘I believe our earlier assessment of the … situation to have been at fault, Blackstone.’ The other man gave Dominic an appreciative smile before turning his dark gaze back to pointedly roam over the unblemished, obviously pox-free skin of Caro’s beautiful face.

It was a remark she did not even begin to understand, let alone why he was looking at her so intently! ‘To answer your earlier question, sir—I believe Lord Vaughn and I have finished our conversation.’

‘Not by a long way.’ One of Dominic’s hands reached out, the fingers curling about Caro’s wrist like a band of steel, as she would have brushed past him. ‘I trust not too many heads were broken, Osbourne?’

The blond-haired man shrugged. ‘None that did not deserve it.’ He straightened away from the wall. ‘Care to introduce me, Blackstone?’ A merry brown gaze briefly met his friend’s before he looked at Caro with open admiration.

‘Caro Morton, Lord Nathaniel Thorne, Earl of Osbourne,’ Dominic said coldly.

‘Your servant, ma’am.’ Lord Thorne gave an elegant bow.

‘My lord.’ Really, did every man she met in London have to be a lord and an earl? she wondered crossly as she pondered the ridiculousness of formally curtsying to a gentleman under such circumstances.

‘If you were thinking of leaving too now all the excitement is over, Osbourne, then by all means do so,’ Dominic said. ‘I fear I will not be free to leave for some time yet.’

His gaze hardened as he glanced down pointedly at Caro Morton, his mouth thinning as those sea-green eyes once more stared back at him in silent rebellion.

She broke that gaze to turn and smile graciously at the other man. ‘Perhaps, if you are leaving, I might prevail on you to take me with you, Lord Thorne?’

To all intents and purposes, Dominic recognised impatiently, as if she were a lady making conversation in her drawing room! As if a fight had not just broken out over who was to share her bed tonight. As if Dominic’s own property had not been destroyed in that mêlée.

As if she were not standing before two elegant gentlemen of the ton dressed only in a ripped gown, and with her ebony wig slightly askew!

Dominic gave a frustrated sigh. ‘I think not.’

Those sea-green eyes flashed up at him with annoyance before Caro ignored him to turn once again to Nathaniel. ‘I would very much appreciate it if you would agree to escort me home, Lord Thorne.’ A siren could not have sounded or looked any more sweetly persuasive!

Dominic easily read the uncertainty in his friend’s expression; a gentleman through and through, Osbourne never had been able to resist the appeal of a seeming damsel in distress. Seeming, in Dominic’s estimation, being a correct assessment in regard to Caro Morton. The woman was an absolute menace and had become a veritable thorn in Dominic’s side since the moment he’d set eyes upon her.

‘I am afraid that is not possible,’ Dominic answered smoothly on the other man’s behalf.

Those delicate cheeks flushed red. ‘I believe my request was made to Lord Thorne and not to you!’

Dominic allowed some of the tension to ease from his shoulders, aware that he had been in one state of tension or another since first meeting her. ‘Lord Thorne is gentleman enough, however, to accept a prior claim, are you not, Osbourne?’

Osbourne’s eyes widened. As well they might, damn it; Dominic had as good as denied all knowledge of this woman earlier tonight, a denial that had been made a complete nonsense of the moment Caro had launched herself into his arms and, in her agitation, called him by his given name.

Hell and damnation!

‘I believe you were quite correct in your assertion earlier, Blackstone,’ Osbourne’s drawled comment interrupted Dominic’s displeasing thoughts. ‘Personally I would say exquisite rather than beautiful!’

Dominic nodded irritably. ‘Just so.’

‘That being the case, Blackstone, I believe I will join Butler and Ben and enjoy a reviving brandy before I leave. My respects, Miss Morton.’ Osbourne gave a lazy inclination of his head before leaving the two of them alone.

Caro blinked at the suddenness of Lord Thorne’s departure. ‘I do not understand.’ Neither did she have any idea what tacit agreement had passed between the two men in the last few moments. But something most certainly had for the gentlemanly Lord Thorne to have just abandoned her like that.

Dominic released her wrist before stepping away from her. ‘You should go to your room now and change. I will be waiting in Drew Butler’s office when you are ready to leave.’

Caro frowned. ‘But—’

‘Could you, for once, just do as I ask without argument, Caro?’ The scar on Dominic’s cheek showed in stark relief against his clenched jaw.

She looked up into that ruthlessly hard face, repressing a shiver of apprehension as she saw the dangerous glitter in those pale silver eyes. Of course—this man had already told her that he held her responsible for the occurrence of the fight and the damages to his property, and he had also threatened to take out the cost of those damages on her backside!

Never, in all of her twenty years, had Caro been spoken to in the way the arrogant Dominic Vaughn spoke to her. So familiarly. So—so … intimately. A gentleman should not even refer to a lady’s bottom, let alone threaten to inflict harm upon it!

Her chin rose haughtily. ‘I am very tired, my lord, and would prefer to go straight home once I am dressed.’

‘And I would prefer that you join me in Butler’s office first so that we might continue our conversation.’

‘I had thought it finished.’

‘Caro, I have already been involved in a brawl not of my making, and my property has been extensively damaged. As such, I am really in no mood to tolerate any more of your stubbornness this evening.’ His hands had clenched at his sides in an effort to control his exasperation.

‘Really?’ She arched innocent brows. ‘My own patience with your impossible arrogance ended some minutes ago.’

Yes, Dominic acknowledged ruefully, this young woman was undoubtedly as feisty as she was beautiful. To his own annoyance, he had also spent far too much time today allowing his thoughts to dwell on how delicious Caro’s mouth had tasted beneath his the night before.

‘Would you be any more amenable to the suggestion if I were to say please?’

She eyed him warily, distrustfully. ‘It would be a start, certainly.’

He regarded her for several seconds before nodding. ‘Very well. I insist that you join me in Butler’s office shortly so that we might continue this conversation. Please.’

A second request that was intended to be no more gracious than the first! ‘Then I agree to join you in Mr Butler’s office shortly, my lord. But only for a few minutes,’ Caro added firmly as she saw the glitter of triumph that lit those pale silver eyes. ‘It is late and I really am very tired.’

‘Understandably.’ He gave a mocking bow. ‘I will only require a few more minutes of your time this evening.’

That last remark almost had the tone of a threat, Caro realised worriedly as she made her way slowly to her dressing-room to change. And for all that she had so defiantly told Dominic Vaughn the previous evening that she would simply seek employment elsewhere if he chose to dismiss her, after this evening’s disaster she could not even bear the thought of remaining in London without the protection of Drew and Ben.

She had been completely truthful the evening before when she’d assured Dominic that she had every intention of returning home as soon as she felt it was safe for her to do so. Unfortunately, Caro did not believe that time had come quite yet …

Dominic made no attempt to hide his pained wince as he looked at the dull green gown Caro was wearing when she joined him in Drew’s office some minutes later; it was neither that intriguing sea-green of her eyes, or of a style in the least complimentary to her graceful slenderness. Rather, that unbecoming colour dulled the brightness of her eyes to the same unattractive green, and gave the pale translucence of her skin an almost sallow look. The fact that the gown was also buttoned up to her throat, and her blonde curls pulled tightly back into a bun at her nape as she stood before the desk with her hands demurely folded together, gave her the all appearance and appeal of a nun.

Dominic stood up and stepped lithely around the desk before leaning back against it as he continued to regard her critically. ‘You appear none the worse for your ordeal.’

Then her appearance was deceptive, Caro acknowledged with an inner tremor. Reaction to the horrors of this evening’s fighting had begun in earnest once she had reached the safety and peace of her dressing-room, to the extent that she had not been able to stop herself trembling for some time. It had all happened so suddenly, so violently, and the earl’s rescue effected so efficiently—if high-handedly—that at the time, Caro had not had opportunity to think beyond that.

She was still shaking slightly now, and it was the reason her hands were clasped so tightly together in front of her; she would not, for any reason, show the arrogant Dominic Vaughn any sign of weakness. ‘I did not have opportunity to thank you earlier, my lord, for your timely intervention. I do so now.’ She gave a stiff inclination of her head.

Dominic barely repressed his smile at this show of grudging gratitude. ‘You are welcome, I am sure,’ he replied. ‘Obviously it is going to take several days, possibly a week, to effect the repairs to the main salon—’

‘I have no money to spare to pay for those repairs, if that is to be your next suggestion,’ she instantly protested.

Dominic looked at her from underneath lowered lids, seeing beyond that defiant and nunlike appearance to the young woman beneath. Those sea-green eyes were still slightly shadowed, her cheeks pale, her hands slightly trembling, all of those things evidence that Caro had been more disturbed by the violence she had witnessed earlier than she wished anyone—very likely most especially him—to be aware of.

He found that he admired that quality in her. Just as he admired her pride and the dignity she’d shown when faced with a situation so obviously beyond her previous experience.

Did that inexperience extend to the bedchamber? he could not help but wonder. After her initial surprise the previous evening, she had most definitely returned the passion of his kiss. But then afterwards she had appeared completely unaware of the danger those three young bucks had represented to her welfare.

Just as she had seemed innocent of the rising lusts of the men who returned night after night to watch her performance at Nick’s. Perhaps an indication that she was inexperienced to the vagaries of men, at least?

Caro Morton was fast becoming a puzzle that Dominic found himself wishing to unravel. Almost as much, he realised with an inward wince, as he wished to peel her out of that unbecoming green gown before exploring every inch of her delectably naked body …

‘It was not,’ he answered. ‘I was merely pointing out that Nick’s will probably have to be closed for several days whilst repairs and other refurbishments are carried out. A closure that will obviously result in your being unable to perform here for the same amount of time.’

She looked at him blankly for several moments, and then her eyes widened as the full import of what he was saying became clear to her. She licked suddenly dry lips. ‘But you believe it will only be for a few days?’

Dominic studied her closely. ‘Possibly a week.’

‘A week?’ Her echo was distraught.

Alerting him to the fact that she was in all probability completely financially reliant upon the money she earned each night at the gambling club—her clothes certainly indicated as much! It also proved, along with her determination to remain in London ‘for the present’, that her situation at home must be dire indeed … ‘There is no reason for you to look so concerned, Caro,’ he assured her. ‘Whether you wish it or not, for the moment, it would appear you are now under my protection.’

Her eyes went wide with indignation. ‘I have absolutely no intention of becoming your mistress!’

Any more than it was Dominic’s wish to take her—or any other woman—as his mistress …

His parents had both died when he was but twelve years old. Neither had there been any kindly aunt to take an interest in him as there had with Nathaniel. Instead Dominic’s guardianship had been placed in the hands of his father’s firm of lawyers until he came of age at twenty-one. During those intervening years, when he was not away at school, Dominic had lived alone at Blackstone Park in Berkshire, cared for only by the impersonal kindness of servants.

It would have been all too easy once he reached his majority, and was at last allowed to manage his own affairs, to have been drawn into the false warmth of affection given by a paid mistress. Instead, he had been content with the friendship he’d received from and felt for both Gabriel and Nathaniel. He knew their affection for him, at least, to be without ulterior motive. The same could not be said of a mistress.

‘I said protector, Caro, not lover. Although I am sure that most of the gentlemen here tonight now believe me to already have that dubious honour,’ he pointed out.

She stiffened at the insult in his tone. ‘How so?’

‘Several of them witnessed you throwing yourself into my arms earlier—’

‘I was in fear of my life!’ Two indignant spots of colour had appeared in the pallor of her cheeks.

Dominic waved a dismissive hand. ‘The why of it is not important. The facts are that a masked lady is employed at my gambling club, and tonight that lady threw herself into my arms with a familiarity that was only confirmed when she called out my name for all to hear.’ He shrugged. ‘Those things are enough for most men to have come to the conclusion that the lady has decided on her protector. That she is now, in all probability, the exclusive property of the Earl of Blackstone.’

If it were possible, Caro’s cheeks became even paler!

Chapter Four

For possibly the first time in her life, Caro was rendered bereft of speech. Not only was it perfectly shocking that many of the male members of society believed her to be the exclusive property of Lord Dominic Vaughn, but her older sister, Diana, would be incensed if such a falsehood were ever related to her in connection with her runaway sister, Caroline!

Caro had left a note on her bed telling her sisters not to worry about her, of course, but other than that she had not confided her plan of going to London to either Diana or her younger sister, Elizabeth, before fleeing the family home in Hampshire two weeks ago, before their guardian could arrive to take control of all their lives. A man none of the Copeland sisters had met before, but who had nevertheless chosen to inform them, through his lawyer, that he believed himself to be in a position to insist that one of them become his wife!

What sort of man did that? Caro had questioned in outraged disbelief. How monstrous could Lord Gabriel Faulkner, the new Earl of Westbourne, be that he sent his lawyer in his stead to offer marriage to whichever of the previous earl’s daughters was willing to accept him? And if none chose willingly, to insist upon it!

Never having been allowed to mix with London society, none of the Copeland sisters had any previous knowledge of their father’s heir and second cousin, Lord Gabriel Faulkner. But several of their close neighbours had, and they were only too happy to regale the sisters with the knowledge—if not the details—of his lordship’s banishment to the Continent eight years previously following a tremendous scandal, with talk of his having settled in Venice some years later. Other than that, none of the sisters had ever heard or seen anything of the man before being informed that not only was he their father’s heir, but also their guardian.

They had all known and accepted that a daughter could not inherit the title, of course, but it was only when their father’s will was read out after his funeral that the three sisters learnt they were also completely without finances of their own, and as such their futures were completely dependent upon the whim and mercy of the new Earl of Westbourne.

But as the weeks, and then months, passed, with no sign of the new earl arriving to take possession of either the Shoreley Hall estate, or to establish any guardianship over the three sisters other than the allowance sent to them by the man’s lawyer each month, they had begun to relax, to believe that their lives could continue without interference from their new guardian.

Until, that is, the earl’s lawyer had arrived at Shoreley Hall three weeks ago to inform them that the new Earl of Westbourne was very generously prepared to offer marriage to one of the penniless sisters. An offer, the lawyer had informed them sternly, that as their guardian, the earl could insist—and indeed, would insist—that one of them accept.

Diana, the eldest at one and twenty, was half-promised to the son of the local squire and so was safest from the earl’s attentions. Elizabeth, only nineteen and the youngest of the three, had nevertheless declared she would throw herself on the mercy of a convent before she would marry a man she did not love and who did not love her. Caro’s plan to avoid marrying the earl had been even more daring.

Desperate to bring some adventure into her so far humdrum existence, Caro had decided she would go to London for a month, perhaps two, and seek obscurity as a lady’s companion or governess. And when Lord Gabriel Faulkner arrived in England—as his lawyer had assured them he undoubtedly would once informed of their refusal of his offer—then Diana, incensed by the disappearance of one of her sisters, would reduce the man to a quivering pulp with the cutting edge of her legendary acerbic tongue, before sending him away with his cowed tail tucked between his legs.

A month spent in London, possibly two, should do it, Caro had decided as she excitedly packed her bag before creeping stealthily from the house to walk the half a mile or so to the crossroads where she could catch the evening coach to London.

None of Caro’s plans had worked out at she had expected, of course. No respectable household would employ a young woman without references, nor the dress shops, either, and the small amount of money Caro had brought with her had been seriously depleted, as instead of being taken into the warmth and security of the respectable household of her imaginings, she was forced to pay a month in advance for her modest lodgings.

In fact, until Drew Butler had taken pity on her, allowing her to sing at Nick’s, Caro had feared she would have to return home with her own tail between her legs, before the earl had even arrived in England, let alone been sent on his way by the indomitable Diana!

Dominic had been watching Caro’s expressive face with interest as he wondered what her thoughts had been for the past few minutes. ‘You know, you could simply put an end to all this nonsense by returning from whence you came,’ he said persuasively.

A shutter came down over that previously candid sea-green gaze, once again alerting Dominic to Caro’s definite aversion—maybe even fear?—of returning to her previous life. Once again he wondered what, or who, this beautiful young woman was running away from.

And what possible business was it of his? Dominic instantly rebuked himself. None whatsoever. And yet he could not quite bring himself to insist that Caro must go home and face whatever punishment she had coming to her for having run away in the first place.

What if it were that bullying father she was running away from? Or the brutish husband? Either of whom would completely crush the spirit in Caro that Dominic found so intriguing …

She shook her head. ‘I am afraid that returning to my home is not an option at this point in time, my lord.’

He raised dark brows. ‘So you have already informed me. And between times, is it your intention to continue turning my hair prematurely grey as I worry in what scrape you will next embroil yourself?’

‘I do not see a single grey hair amongst the black as yet, my lord.’ Amusement glittered in those sea-green eyes as she glanced at those dark locks.

‘I fear it is only a matter of time.’ Dominic pulled a rueful face, only to then find himself totally enchanted as she laughed huskily at this nonsense. He realised, somewhat to his dismay, that he was as seriously in danger of falling under this woman’s spell as Butler and Ben—and possibly Osborne—so obviously were.

It was a spell Dominic had no intention of succumbing to. Bedding a woman was one thing; allowing his emotions to become engaged by one was something else entirely. It was about time he changed his tactics; if he couldn’t persuade Caro to leave London by simply asking her, he would have to try a more direct approach …

Caro took an involuntary step back, her eyes widening warily, as Dominic rose slowly to his feet, his movements almost predatory as he moved around the desk to cross over to the door and slowly turn the key in the lock.

‘So that we are not disturbed,’ he murmured as he moved so that he now stood only inches away from her.

She moistened suddenly dry lips as she tilted her head back so that she might look up, fearlessly, she hoped, into that arrogantly handsome face. ‘It is time I was leaving—’

‘Not quite yet, Caro,’ the earl murmured huskily as one of his hands moved up to cup the side of her face and the soft pad of his thumb moved across the pouting swell of her bottom lip.

‘I— What are you doing, my lord?’

‘You called me Dominic earlier,’ he reminded her huskily.

Caro’s throat moved convulsively as she swallowed. ‘What are you doing, Dominic?’ she repeated breathlessly.

He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘Endeavouring, I hope, to show you there could be certain … benefits to becoming my mistress.’

Caro’s knees felt weak just at the thought of what method this man intended using to demonstrate those ‘benefits’. She so easily recalled the feel of that hard and uncompromising mouth against her own the night before, the feel of his hands as they ran the length of her spine to cup her bottom and press the hardness of his body intimately into hers. ‘This is most unwise, my lord.’

He made no answer as he moved to rest back against the edge of the desk, taking her with him, those strange, silver-coloured eyes fixed caressingly upon Caro’s slightly parted lips, the warmth of his breath stirring the tendrils of hair at her temples.

Dominic was standing much too close to her. So close that she could feel the heat of his body. So close that she was aware of the way that he smelt; the delicate spice of his cologne, and a purely male smell, one that appeared to be a combination of a clean male body and musky heat, uniquely his own.

Caro made every effort to gather her scattered senses. ‘Dominic, I have no intention of allowing you to—oh!’ she gasped as he encircled her waist and pulled her in between his parted legs, her thighs now pressed against him, as her breasts were crushed against the firm muscles of his chest. She placed her hands upon his shoulders with the intention of pushing him away.

‘I think not,’ Dominic murmured as he realised her intention, his arms moving about her waist to hold her more tightly against him, quelling her struggles as he looked to where her hair was secured in that unbecoming nunlike bun. ‘Remove the pins from your hair for me, Caro.’

She stilled abruptly. ‘No!’

‘Would you rather that I did it?’ He quirked dark brows.

‘I would rather my hair remain exactly—oh!’ She gave another of those breathless gasps as Dominic reached up and removed the pins himself. It was a breathless gasp that he found he was becoming extremely fond of hearing.

‘Better.’ He nodded his approval as he reached up to uncoil her hair and allow it to cascade in a wealth of golden curls over her shoulders and down the length of her spine. ‘Now for the buttons on this awful gown—’

‘I cannot possibly allow you to unbutton the front of my gown!’ Caro’s fingers clamped down over his, even as she glared up at him.

Dominic found himself smiling in the face of this display of female outrage. ‘It has all the allure of a nun’s habit,’ he said drily.

‘That is exactly what it is supposed to—’ Caro broke off the protest as she saw the way those silver eyes had narrowed to shrewdness.

‘Do … ?’ Dominic finished softly for her. ‘As no doubt the wearing of that unbecoming bonnet was designed to hide every delicious golden curl upon your head?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted.

He shook his head as he resumed unfastening the buttons on the front of her gown. ‘It is a sacrilege, Caro, and one I am not inclined to indulge.’ He folded back the two sides of her gown to reveal the thrust of her breasts covered only by the thinness of her shift above her corset.

Caro had no more will to protest as she saw the way those silver eyes glittered with admiration as Dominic gazed his fill of her. Indeed, she found she could barely breathe as she watched him slowly raise one of his hands to pull aside that gauzy piece of material and bare her breast completely. Her cheeks suffused with colour as, even as she watched, the tiny rose-coloured nub on the crest of her breast began to rise and stiffen.

‘You are so very beautiful here,’ he said huskily, the warmth of his breath now a tortuous caress against that burgeoning flesh. He looked up at her enquiringly. ‘I wish to taste you, Caro.’

She found herself mesmerised by the slow flick of Dominic’s tongue across his lips. Mesmerised and aching, the tip of her breast deepened in colour as it became firmer still. In anticipation. In longing, she knew, to feel that hot tongue curling moistly over it.

Where had these thoughts come from? Caro wondered wildly. How was it that she even knew the touch of Dominic’s lips and mouth against her breast would give her more pleasure than she had ever dreamt possible? Woman’s intuition? A legacy of Eve? However Caro knew these things, she surely could not allow Dominic to—

All thought ceased, any hope of protest dying along with it, as he gave up waiting for her answer and instead lowered his head to gently draw the now pulsing tip of Caro’s breast into the heat of his mouth. His hand curved beneath it at the same time as he laved that aching bud with the moist heat of his tongue, and sending rivulets of pleasure into her other breast and down the soft curve of her abdomen to pool between her thighs.

Caro was filled with the strangest sensations, her breasts feeling full and heavy under the intimacy of Dominic’s ministrations, the muscles in her abdomen clenching, that heat between her thighs making her swell and moisten there. She discovered she wanted to both squeeze her thighs together and part them at the same time. To have Dominic touch her there and ease that ache, too.

Her back arched instinctively as his hand moved to capture her other breast, the soft pad of his thumb now flicking against that hardened tip in the same rhythm with which he drew on its twin.

Dominic’s lovemaking had been intended as a way of showing Caro that she did not belong here in London, that she was no match for him or other experienced men of the ton. Instead he was the one forced to recognise that he had never tasted anything quite so delicious as her breast, the nipple as sweet as honey as he kissed her there greedily, the hardness of his erection pulsing in his pantaloons testifying to the strength of his own arousal.

He drew back slightly to look at that pouting, full nipple, stroking his tongue across it before moving slightly to capture its twin, drawing on it hungrily before looking up at her flushed face and feverishly bright eyes. ‘Tell me how you wish me to touch you, Caro,’ he murmured against her swollen flesh.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. ‘Dominic!’ she groaned a throaty protest.

He took pity on her shyness. ‘Do you like this?’ He swept his thumb lightly over that pouting nipple.

‘Yes!’ she gasped, shuddering with pleasure.

‘This?’ He brought his mouth down to her breast once more, even as he allowed his hand to fall to her ankle and push her gown aside and began a slow caress to her knee.

‘Oh, yes!’

‘And this?’ Dominic ran his tongue repeatedly over that swollen nipple even as his hand caressed higher still to weave a pattern of seduction along her inner thigh, the heat of her through her drawers, her dampness, telling him of her arousal.

Nothing in Caro’s life had prepared her to be touched with such intimacy. How could it, when she had never realised that such intimacies existed? Such achingly pleasurable intimacies that she wished would never end.

‘I would like you to touch me in the same way, Caro,’ Dominic encouraged gruffly.

She swallowed hard. ‘I—’ She broke off her instinctive protest as someone rattled the door handle in an effort to open the locked door.

‘My lord?’ Drew Butler sounded both disapproving and concerned at this inability to enter his own office.

Dominic turned his head sharply towards the door. ‘What is it?’

‘I need to speak with you immediately, my lord.’ The other man sounded just as irritated as Dominic.

He scowled his displeasure as Caro took advantage of his distraction to extricate herself from his arms before turning away to begin fastening the buttons of her gown with fingers that were shaking so badly it took her twice as long as it should have done. What had she been thinking? Worse, how much further would she have allowed these intimacies to go if not for Drew’s timely intervention?

‘Caro—’

‘Mr Butler requires your attention, my lord, not I!’ Caro protested, her cheeks aflame.

Dominic’s gaze narrowed in concern on her flushed and disconcerted face, knowing, and regretting, being the obvious cause of her discomfort. He had not meant things to go so far as they had. As for demonstrating to Caro how ill equipped she was to withstand the advances of the gentlemen of the ton, Dominic knew full well that he had been the one seriously in danger of overstepping that line! ‘Caro—’

‘Mr Butler requires you, my lord,’ she reminded him.

Dominic stood up impatiently to stride over to the door and unlock it, his expression darkening as the other man’s gaze instantly slid past him to where Caro stood with her back towards the door. Dominic deliberately stepped into the other man’s line of vision. ‘Yes?’

Speculative blue eyes gazed back at him. ‘There is … something in the main salon I believe you should see.’

Dominic frowned. ‘Can it not wait?’

‘No, my lord, it cannot,’ Drew stated flatly.

‘Very well.’ He nodded before turning to speak to Caro. ‘It appears that I have to leave you for a few minutes. If you will be so kind as to wait here for me—’

‘No.’

Dominic’s eyes widened. ‘No?’

‘No.’ Caro rallied, still embarrassed by the intimacies she had allowed this man, but determined not to allow that embarrassment to render her helpless. She carefully lifted her cloak and bonnet from the chair she had placed them on earlier. ‘Mr Butler, is Ben available to escort me home now?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘I would prefer that you wait for me here, Caro,’ Dominic insisted firmly.

She met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘And I would prefer that Ben be the one to accompany me to my lodgings.’

A nerve pulsed beside that savage slash of a scar on Dominic’s left cheek. ‘Why?’

Caro looked away as she found she could not withstand the probing of that narrowed silver gaze. ‘I would simply prefer his company at this time, my lord.’

‘Drew, could you wait outside for a moment, please?’ Dominic did not even wait for the man’s compliance before stepping back into the room and firmly closing the door behind him.

‘I have nothing more to say to you, my lord—’

‘Dominic.’

Caro gasped. ‘I beg your pardon?’

The earl gave a graceful shrug. ‘You did not seem to have any difficulty calling me Dominic a few minutes ago,’ he reminded her wickedly.

Caro’s cheeks burned with mortification as she recalled the most recent circumstances under which she had called this man by his first name. ‘I do not even wish to think about just now—’

‘Do not be so melodramatic,’ Dominic interjected. ‘Or perhaps, on consideration, it is the hideousness of my scars you would rather not dwell upon?’ His voice hardened even as he raised a hand to his scarred cheek.

‘I trust I am not so lily-livered, my lord,’ Caro protested indignantly. ‘No doubt you obtained that scar during the wars against Napoleon?’

‘Yes.’

She nodded. ‘Then it would be most ungrateful of me—of any woman—to see your scar as anything less than the result of the act of bravery it undoubtedly was.’

Dominic was well aware that some women found the scar on his face unsightly, even frightening. He should have known that the feisty Caro was made of sterner stuff. ‘I will endeavour to conclude my business with Butler as quickly as is possible, after which I will be free to escort you home. No, please do not argue with me any further tonight,’ he advised wearily as he saw that familiar light of rebellion enter those sea-green eyes.

‘You are altogether too fond of having your own way, sir.’ She frowned her disapproval at him.

And his efforts to frighten this young woman into leaving London had only succeeded in alarming himself, Dominic recognised frustratedly. ‘And if I once again add the word please?’

‘Well?’ she prompted tartly as he added nothing further.

Dominic found himself openly smiling at her waspishness. ‘Please, Caro, will you wait here for me?’ he said drily.

Her chin remained proudly high. ‘I will consider the idea whilst you are talking to Mr Butler.’

Dominic shot her one last exasperated glance before striding purposefully from the room. He forgot everything else, however—kissing and touching Caro, her response to those kisses and caresses, his own lack of control over that situation—the moment he entered the main salon of the club and saw a bloodstained and obviously badly beaten Nathaniel Thorne lying recumbent upon one of the couches there …

Chapter Five

‘Dominic, why—?’

‘Not now, please, Caro,’ he cut in as he sat broodingly across from her inside the lamp-lit coach.

Not that the lamp was really necessary, dawn having long broken, and the sun starting to appear above the rooftops and chimneys of London, by the time they had delivered Nathaniel safely to his home. The two of them had remained long enough to see him settled in his bedchamber and attended by several of his servants before taking their leave.

Caro had given a horrified gasp earlier when she’d ventured from Drew’s office and entered the main salon of the club to see a group of men standing around Lord Thorne as he lay stretched out upon one of the couches, with blood covering much of his face and hands and dripping unchecked on to his elegant clothing.

Not that Dominic had spared any time on the pallor of her cheeks or her stricken expression as he’d turned and seen her standing there. ‘Someone take her away from here!’ he had ordered as Caro stood there, simply too shocked to move.

‘Dom—’

‘Stay calm, Nate.’ His voice softened as he spoke soothingly to the injured man, some of that softness remaining in his face as he turned back to Caro. ‘It really would be better for all concerned if you left, Caro.’

‘I’ll take her back to my office,’ Drew offered before striding across the room to take a firm hold of her arm and practically drag her from the room.

She barely heard the older man’s comforting words as he escorted her to his office before instructing Ben to remain on guard outside the door. Caro had paced the office for well over an hour whilst the two men obviously dealt with the bloody—and Caro sincerely hoped not too seriously injured—Nathaniel Thorne.

Dominic had grimly avoided answering any of her questions when he’d finally arrived to escort her home. Caro had gasped in surprise as he had thrown his cloak over her head just as she was about to step outside. ‘What are you doing?’

He had easily arrested her struggles to free herself. ‘Continue walking to the coach,’ he had instructed.

Caro had thrown that cloak back impatiently as soon as she’d entered the carriage, any thought of further protest at Dominic’s rough handling of her dying in her throat as she saw Lord Thorne reclining upon the bench seat opposite, the dressings wrapped about both his hands seeming to indicate that he had received the attentions of a doctor since she had seen him last. His face had been cleansed of the blood, revealing his many cuts and bruises, injuries that could surely only have been inflicted by fists and knives.

Caro felt herself quiver now as she remembered the full extent of those numerous gashes and bruises, and the imagined violence behind them. ‘How—?’

‘I am in no mood to discuss this further tonight,’ Dominic rasped, the attack on Nathaniel having been a brutal awakening, a timely reminder that there was no place for a vulnerable woman like Caro in his world.

Sea-green eyes gazed back at him reproachfully. ‘But why would someone do such a thing to Lord Thorne?’

‘I should have realised that asking you for silence, even for a few minutes, was an impossibility.’ Dominic sighed heavily. ‘The simple answer to your question is that I do not know. Yet,’ he added grimly. But he had every intention of discovering who was responsible for the attack on Nathaniel and why.

Caro flinched. ‘He appeared to be badly injured …’

Dominic nodded curtly. ‘He was beaten. Severely. Repeatedly. By four thugs wielding knives as well as their fists.’ He knew more than most how strong a fighter Nathaniel was, but the odds of four against one, especially as they had possessed weapons, had not been in his friend’s favour.

She gasped as her suspicions were confirmed, one of her hands rising to the slenderness of her throat. ‘But why?’ She appeared totally bewildered.

Nathaniel had remained conscious long enough to explain that he had been set upon the moment he’d stepped outside the club earlier, the wounds on his hands caused both from the blows he had managed to land upon his attackers, and defensively as he’d held those hands up in front of him to stop the worst of the knife cuts upon his face. Once he’d fallen to the ground, he had not stood a chance against the odds, as he was kicked repeatedly until one of those blows had caught him on the side of the head. After which he knew no more until he awoke to stagger back inside the club and ask for help.

Considering those odds of four against one, Dominic was sure that if murder had been the intention, then Nathaniel would now be dead. Also, his purse had still been in his pocket when he’d regained consciousness, the diamond pin also in place at his throat, so robbery was not the motive, either. From that Dominic could only surmise that the thugs had achieved what they had set out to do, and that the attack had been a warning of some kind.

But a warning to whom exactly … ?

The words of caution Gabriel had given Dominic before he’d left Venice, in regard to Nicholas Brown, the previous owner of Nick’s, had immediately come to mind. Dominic was well aware of the other man’s violent reputation; while publicly Brown behaved the gentleman, privately he was known to be vicious and vindictive, his associates mostly of the shady underworld of London’s slums. Also, the other man had been most seriously displeased to lose Nick’s in that wager to Dominic.

No, the more thought he gave to the situation—when Caro allowed him the time to think about it, that was—the more convinced he became that Nicholas Brown was somehow involved. That tonight’s attack might not been meant for Nathaniel at all …

Dominic had left for Venice only days after winning the wager that had cost Brown his gambling club, only returning back to London two days ago, a fact that would no doubt have reached the other man’s ears as early as yesterday. As such, it would have been all too easy for the four thugs lying in wait outside the club to have assumed that the gentleman leaving alone, long after the last patron had left, with his face hidden by both the darkness and the hat upon his head, was Dominic himself.

He had discussed the possibilities briefly with Drew, the older man having agreed that his previous employer was more than capable of sending some of his paid thugs to attack Dominic. Except those thugs had not dealt the lethal blow to the man they had attacked. Drew had offered the possibility that it might not have been a case of mistaken identity at all; that Brown could well be deliberately hurting people known to be associated with Dominic, as both a threat and a warning, before later extracting his revenge from Dominic himself.

Dominic gave a grimace as he anticipated Caro’s reaction to what was to be the subject of their next conversation. ‘I have no idea as yet. But in view of the fact that the attack occurred outside Nick’s, it has been decided that, for the next few days at least, all of us associated with the club should take the necessary precautions.’

Caro stared across at him blankly. ‘But surely I am in no danger? No one except you, Lord Thorne, Drew Butler, and Ben Jackson has even seen the face of the masked lady singing at Nick’s. That is the reason you threw your cloak over me when we were leaving the club earlier!’ she realised suddenly, looking shocked.

He nodded grimly. ‘It is not my intention to frighten you, Caro.’ He frowned darkly as she obviously became so. ‘But, until we know more, Drew and I are agreed that the masked lady must disappear completely, whilst at the same time every precaution taken to ensure the safety of Caro Morton.’

‘Perhaps I might go to stay with Mr Butler and his family?’

‘Drew and I dismissed that possibility,’ Dominic explained. ‘Unfortunately, Drew and his family share their modest home with both his wife’s parents and his own so there is simply no room.’

‘Oh.’ Caro frowned. ‘Then perhaps I might move to the obscurity of an inexpensive hotel—’

The earl gave a firm shake of his head. ‘A hotel is too public.’

She sighed her frustration with this situation. ‘Is there any real danger to me, or is this just another way for you to ensure that it is impossible for me to do anything other than return from “whence I came”?’

Dominic looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Would you even consider it if I were to suggest it?’

‘No, I would not,’ she stated firmly.

‘No,’ Dominic conceded flatly. In truth, it was no longer an option; if Brown really were responsible for tonight’s attack, there was also every possibility he was already aware of Caro’s identity as the masked lady. He undoubtedly had informers and spies everywhere. As such, Caro returning to her home unprotected could put her in more danger than if she were to remain in London. ‘Drew and I have come up with another solution.’

Caro eyed him warily. ‘Which is … ?’

‘That I now escort you to your lodgings, where you will pack up your belongings and return to Blackstone House with me.’ Not an ideal solution, he allowed honestly, but one that more easily enabled him to ensure her safety. The fact that she would at the same time be all too available to the desire he was finding it more and more difficult to resist was something he had tried—and failed—not to think about.

No wonder Caro stared at him so incredulously!

He raised an eyebrow. ‘If you choose to accompany me to Blackstone House, then I will do all in my power to ensure your stay there is a temporary one. If it appears that it is to be longer than two, or possibly three days, then I will endeavour to find alternative accommodations for you. In any event, my offer of protection is one of expediency only. A desire, if you will, not to find one, or more, of my employees dead in a doorway during the next few days.’

Caro felt her face grow pale. ‘You truly do believe those thugs will attack again?’ She was totally confused as to what she should do. She had managed her escape from Hampshire easily enough, but she knew her older sister well enough to realise that Diana would not allow that situation to continue for long. That, despite Caro’s letter of reassurance, once Diana had ascertained she was nowhere to be found in Hampshire, then her sister would widen her search, in all probability as far as London.

Diana’s wrath, if she should then discover Caro living in the household of a single gentleman of the ton would, she had no doubt, be more than a match for this arrogant man!

She shook her head. ‘Surely Mr Butler did not agree with this plan?’

‘On reflection Drew agreed with me that at the moment your safety is of more importance than your … reputation.’ Dominic’s mouth twisted derisively.

She shook her head. ‘I simply cannot—’

‘Caro, I am grown weary of hearing what you can or cannot do.’ He sat forwards on the seat so that their two faces were now only inches apart, his eyes a pale and glittering silver in the weak, early morning sunlight. ‘I have told you of the choices available to you—’

‘Neither of which is acceptable to me!’

He gave her a hard smile. ‘Then it seems you must choose whichever you consider to be the lesser of those two evils.’

Caro understood that Dominic was overset concerning the injuries inflicted upon his friend this evening, and the damage also caused to his gambling club before the attack, that he was genuinely concerned there might be another attack on those working or associated with the gambling club. But having already suffered twenty years of having her movements curtailed out of love and respect for her father, she had no intention of being told what she could or could not do, either by her guardian, or a man she had only met for the first time yesterday. ‘And if I should refuse to do either of those things—go home or accompany you?’

Dominic had admired this young woman’s courage from the start. Appreciated that feistiness in her, her lack of awe, of either him or his title, as well as her willingness to disagree with him if she so chose. But at this moment he could only wish she was of an obedient and compliant nature! ‘It is late, Caro—or early, depending upon one’s perspective.’ He sighed wearily. ‘In any event, it has been a very long night, and as a consequence perhaps it would be best if we waited until later today to make any firm decision one way or the other?’

She nodded. ‘Then we are in agreement that once you have returned me to my lodgings I will remain there until we are able to talk again?’

Caro had all the allure of a prim old maid in that unbecoming brown bonnet that once again hid most of her hair, Dominic decided dispassionately. In fact, she looked nothing at all like the delicious, half-naked woman he had made love to earlier. Which was perhaps as well, given the circumstances! Dominic had thought to teach her a lesson earlier, and instead he had been taught one—that at the very least, Caro Morton was a serious danger to his self-control.

‘We are not agreed at all,’ Dominic contradicted, making no effort to continue arguing with her, but instead tapping on the roof of the carriage and issuing instructions to his groom to drive directly to Blackstone House. ‘I will send to your lodgings for your things later today,’ he informed her.

‘You—’

‘Caro, I have already assured you that should my enquiries take longer than those two or three days, then I will make other arrangements for you; let that be an end to the matter,’ he said as he relaxed back in his seat, one dark brow raised in challenge.

A challenge she returned. ‘It is seriously your intention to introduce me—even temporarily—into your household?’

‘Seriously,’ Dominic said.

She gave a disgusted snort. ‘As what, may I ask?’

‘Should any ask for an explanation—’ his tone clearly implied that there were few who would dare ask the Earl of Blackstone for an explanation concerning any of his actions! ‘then I will suggest that you are my widowed and impoverished cousin—so many young women were left widowed after Waterloo. That you are newly arrived from the country on the morning coach, with the intention of staying with me at Blackstone House whilst I arrange a modest household for you in London.’

‘Without clothes or a maid?’ Caro scorned.

Dominic shrugged unconcernedly. ‘An impoverished widow cannot afford to employ a maid until I arrange for one, and your trunk will be delivered later today.’

She eyed him impatiently. ‘Does the Earl of Blackstone even have a widowed and impoverished cousin?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have any cousins?’

‘No.’

She eyed him quizzically. ‘Any family at all?’

‘Not a single one.’

Caro could not even imagine a life without her two sisters in it. Admittedly she had put a distance between them now, but it had been done in the knowledge that she could return to them as soon as Gabriel Faulkner had been convinced by Diana that none of the Copeland sisters had any intention of ever marrying him.

‘Do not waste any of your pity on me.’ Dominic’s tone was laden with warning as he obviously saw that emotion in her expression. ‘Having witnessed the complications that so often attend having close family members, I have come to regard my own lack of them as being more of a blessing rather than a deprivation.’

Could that really be true? Caro wondered with a frown. Could Dominic really prefer a life derelict of all family ties? A solitary life that allowed for only a few close friends, such as Lord Thorne?

She was given no more time to dwell on that subject or any other as the coach came to a halt, a glance outside revealing a large town house in an obviously fashionable district of London. Mayfair, perhaps. Or St James’s? Whatever its location, Blackstone House was a much grander house than any she had ever seen before.

Shoreley Hall was a rambling red-bricked house that had been erected for the first Earl of Westbourne in the sixteenth century. It had been built upon haphazardly by succeeding earls until it now resembled nothing more than a rambling monstrosity surrounded by several thousand acres of rich farmland.

In contrast, Dominic Vaughn’s home was of a mellow cream colour, four storeys high, with gardens all around covered in an abundance of brightly coloured spring flowers, the whole surrounded by a high black wrought-iron fence.

‘Caro?’

She had been so intent on the beauty of Blackstone House, so in awe of its grandeur, that she had not noticed that one of the grooms had opened the door and folded down the steps, and was now waiting for her to alight. ‘Thank you.’ She accepted the aid of the young man’s hand as she stepped down on to the pavement, Dominic’s obvious wealth making her more than ever aware of her own drab and unfashionable appearance.

Vanity, her sister Diana would have called it. And she would have been right. But that did not make Caro feel it any less!

Again, she was allowed no more time for protest as Dominic took a firm hold of her arm to pull her along beside him as he ascended the steps up to the front of the house. The door opened before they reached the top step—despite it being barely past dawn—by a footman in full livery. If he was in the least surprised to see his employer accompanied by a drably clothed young woman he introduced as his cousin, Mrs Morton, then the man did not show it.

The inside of Blackstone House was even grander than the outside, if that were possible—the floor of the entrance hall a beautiful mottled green-and-cream marble, with four alabaster pillars either side leading to the wide staircase and up to a gallery that surrounded the whole of the first floor. High above them, suspended from a domed and windowed ceiling, a beautiful crystal chandelier glittered and shone in the sunlight. Caro had every expectation that the rest of Dominic’s home would be just as beautiful.

‘Would you take Mrs Morton up to the Green Suite, Simpson?’ Dominic ignored Caro’s awestruck expression as he turned to address the butler who had now appeared in the entrance hall. ‘And provide her with whatever refreshment she requires.’ He turned away with the obvious intention of passing her into the care of the servants.

‘My lord!’

He was frowning slightly as he turned. ‘What is it now?’

She nervously ran the tip of her tongue across her lips before answering him. ‘I—you recall my trunk will not be arriving until later today …’

Dominic’s frown deepened at this further delay. ‘I am sure that Simpson will be only too happy to provide you with anything that you require.’ He nodded abruptly to the attending butler before turning on his heel and striding down the hallway to where his study was situated at the back of the house.

Dominic needed time in which to think. Time, now that both he and Caro were safely ensconced in Blackstone House, in which to try to make some sense of everything that had occurred during these past few hours.

And unfortunately, he recognised darkly, he was unable to think in the least bit clearly whilst in Caro Morton’s company …

It was Caro’s indignation at the abruptness of Dominic’s departure that helped her through the next few minutes, as she was shown up to a suite of rooms on the first floor, that indignation not in the least mollified by the delightful private sitting room that adjoined the spacious bedchamber. Both rooms were decorated in a warm green and cream—the reason it was named the Green Suite, no doubt!—with cream furniture in the sitting room and a matching four-poster in the bedchamber, the latter surrounded by the same beautiful cream-brocade curtains that hung at the huge windows overlooking the front of the house and the square beyond.

Yes, it was all incredibly beautiful, she acknowledged once she had been left alone with warm water in which to wash, and a maid had delivered a pot of fresh tea to revive her flagging spirits. But the beauty of her surroundings did not change the fact that she should not be here.

Running away to London and posing as Caro Morton in order to avoid her guardian’s marriage proposal was one thing, but chancing the possibility of ever being found out as Lady Caroline Copeland was something else entirely, and had certainly never entered into any of her hastily made plans.

It was not a part of her plans now, either. Just because Dominic had chosen to bring her here, supposedly for her own protection, did not mean that she had to remain. As such, she would escape at the first opportunity—

‘I would seriously advise against it …’

Caro was so surprised to hear the softness of Dominic’s voice behind her that she almost dropped the cup she had been nursing in her hands. As it was, some of the hot tea tipped and spilled over her fingers as she turned to find him lounging in the open doorway of the sitting room. ‘Advise against what, may I ask?’ she demanded crossly even as she placed the cup back in its saucer before inspecting her scalded fingers.

‘What have you done now?’ The concern could be heard in the deep timbre of Dominic Vaughn’s voice as he threw something down on a chair before striding across the bedchamber towards her.

She turned to glare at him at the same time as she clasped her hands tightly together behind her back. ‘What have I done? You were the one who startled me into spilling my tea!’

‘Let me see your hands.’ Those silver eyes glowered down at her even as he reached behind her to easily pull her hands apart before bringing them both forward for his minute inspection.

Caro’s protest died in her throat as she saw how pale and tiny her hands looked as he cradled them gently in his much larger ones. He was also standing far too close to her, she realised a little breathlessly, the light from the candelabra giving his hair that blue-black sheen as he bent over her so attentively, his strong and handsome face appearing all savagely etched hollows and sharp angles in the candlelight.

‘Why are you here, Dominic?’

‘Why?’ He could no longer remember the reason why as he felt his response to the way she spoke his name so huskily; his chest felt suddenly tight, his arousal stirring, rising, inside his pantaloons. ‘It was certainly not with the intention of hurting you,’ he murmured ruefully as he lifted her hand to sweep the moistness of his tongue soothingly over that slightly reddened skin, even as he looked up and held her gaze captive.

‘I—it was an accident.’ Her lips were slightly parted as she breathed shallowly.

‘One that would not have happened if I had not startled you,’ he apologised ruefully as he continued to stroke his tongue against her silky soft skin.

The slenderness of her throat moved convulsively. ‘I—I believe my hand is feeling better now, my lord.’ But she made no effort to release her fingers from either Dominic’s hand or the attentions of his lips and tongue.

She tasted … delicious, he recognised achingly as he placed delicate kisses between each individual finger, a combination of lightly scented soap and the natural saltiness of her skin, the trembling of her hand as he held it gently in the palm of his an indication of the pleasure she felt from his caressing attentions.

Dominic’s thighs ached now, throbbed, his arousal more engorged and swollen just from the eroticism of kissing Caro’s fingers than he had ever known it to be under the ministrations of the most accomplished of courtesans.

She had removed her bonnet and cloak since he’d last seen her, several golden curls having escaped the confinement of the pins designed to keep them in place, those curls shining like the clearest gold in the mellow candlelight. Her eyes had grown dark and misty, her cheeks slightly flushed, the full swell of her lips slightly parted as if waiting to be kissed.

She snatched her hands from his now before stepping back, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘I believe we are already agreed that I have no intention of ever becoming your mistress, my lord.’

Dominic drew in several deep and controlling breaths as he acknowledged he had once again fallen under the sensuous spell of this woman. A woman who refused to tell him anything about herself other than her name—and he suspected even that was a fabrication!

He gave a slight shake of his head as he straightened. ‘It would appear, Caro, because Butler and Jackson make no effort to hide their admiration of you, that you are under the misapprehension that every man you meet must necessarily be as smitten as they are,’ he drawled mockingly.

Caro’s cheeks flushed a fiery red at the accusation. ‘Of course I am not—’

‘Perhaps that is as well.’ He looked down the length of his arrogant nose at her with those pale and glittering eyes. ‘I assure you, my own jaded tastes require a little more stimulation than the touch of a woman’s fingers—moreover, a woman with an eye for fashion that would surely make even a nun weep!’ That silver gaze raked over her critically.

Caro had no idea why, but she felt that he was being deliberately harsh with her. Not that this green gown was not as unbecoming as the brown one she had worn the night before, because she knew that it was. But that had been the purpose in buying them, had it not? Besides, Dominic had not seemed to find her gown so awful when he’d made love to her earlier! ‘I chose my gowns to suit myself, my lord, and not you,’ she said calmly.

‘Your choices are deplorable.’ His top lip curled. ‘I will arrange for a dressmaker to visit you later today. Hopefully she will have some suitable day dresses already made that can easily be altered to fit you, but you will also need to choose some materials for an evening gown or two.’ He scowled. ‘If I must have you as a guest in my home for the next few days, then I can at least ensure you are a decorative one.’

‘I am your unwilling guest, remember?’

Dominic shrugged. ‘Your reasons for being here are not important—what is far more pressing is not having the delicacy of my senses constantly offended by your drab appearance, even for the short time you will reside here!’ He was being deliberately cruel, he knew. Because he had not cared earlier, or even a few minutes ago, how unbecoming Caro’s gown was, or even who she might be; he had only been interested in the alluring curves of the silken body he knew lay beneath that gown.

Those sea-green eyes sparkled up at him angrily now. ‘You are offensive, sir!’

He looked completely unaffected by her annoyance. ‘If you choose to find the truth offensive, then who am I to argue?’ He turned to walk over to the door, coming to a halt halfway across the room as the garment he had thrown on the chair earlier drew his attention. ‘In view of your earlier reticence, it occurred to me that you might feel uncomfortable asking Simpson to find you something suitable in which to sleep, and so I brought you this.’ He indicated the white robe draped across the chair.

The thought was a kind one, Caro acknowledged—the offhand method of bestowing that kindness was not! Any more than she appreciated having Dominic Vaughn arrange for a dressmaker to call on her here later today. ‘I cannot possibly—’ She broke off abruptly as she recalled this man’s scathing comment earlier when she’d stated what she could and could not allow. ‘I am afraid, where my gowns are concerned, that your “delicate senses” will just have to continue to be offended, my lord!’

He eyed her incredulously. ‘You are saying you do not care for pretty gowns?’

Of course she liked pretty gowns—did she not secretly long for all the beautiful gowns she had left behind at Shoreley Hall? If only so that she could wear one of them to show Dominic Vaughn how fashionable she really was!

But she did not long for those pretty confections of silk and lace enough to agree to have a dress maker attend her here—almost as if she really were about to become Dominic’s mistress! ‘Not at the moment, no,’ she said mendaciously, only realising the error of answering so unguardedly as she saw the earl’s eyes narrow shrewdly.

‘And why is that, Caro?’ he prompted slowly. ‘Could it be because you believe yourself to be less conspicuous in those shabby gowns?’

She instantly bridled at the description. ‘I will have you know that these gowns cost me several crowns.’

‘Then it was money obviously wasted,’ he drawled, before adding softly, ‘I should warn you, Caro, that every attempt you make to hide your true identity from me only makes me more curious to learn exactly what or who it is you are hiding from …’

A shiver of apprehension quivered down her spine. ‘You are imagining things, sir!’ Her scorn sounded flat—and patently untrue—even to her own ears.

‘We shall see,’ Dominic said as he continued his stroll to the doorway before looking back at her briefly. ‘I trust you will bear in mind what I said to you earlier?’

She gave a weary sigh, as tired now as he had claimed to be earlier. ‘You have said so many things to me tonight—to which nugget of wisdom do you refer?’

‘I also seem to recall we have said a great many things to each other—and most of them impolite.’ The earl’s mouth twitched ruefully. ‘But the advice I am referring to now is not to attempt to leave here without my knowledge. As I have said, it is not my wish to alarm you,’ he added more gently as she visibly tensed. ‘But, until I know more about the events of this evening, I cannot stress strongly enough your need for caution.’

Her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed. ‘Truly?’

‘Truly,’ he echoed grimly.

Caro could only stand numbed and silent as Dominic closed the door softly behind him as he left, the walls of the bedchamber instantly seeming to bear down on her, making her their captive.

No—making her Lord Dominic Vaughn’s unwilling captive …

Chapter Six

Caro awoke refreshed, a smile curving her lips as she felt the sun shining upon her face while she lay snuggled beneath the warmth of the bedclothes. That smile swiftly faded as she remembered exactly where she was. Or, more exactly, who owned the bed she had been asleep in. That arrogant, silver-eyed devil Lord Dominic Vaughn, Earl of Blackstone!

Her eyes opened wide and she looked about her in alarm as she tried to gauge what time of day it was. The sun had not been shining in the bedchamber when she’d finally drifted off to sleep earlier, and now it completely lit up and warmed the room, meaning that she must have slept for several hours, at least.

Sleeping during the day had seemed decadent to her a week ago, but she had quickly learned that it was impossible for her to do anything else when the gambling club did not open until—

No, Nick’s would now not be opening at all for several days, according to Dominic, which meant she could not work there in the evenings, either. She had enough money for the moment, courtesy of Drew Butler having paid her when she’d arrived for work the previous evening. But how was she supposed to fill her time now, incarcerated at Blackstone House for several days at least?

Caro had always disliked the usual pursuits expected of women of her class; her embroidery work was nondescript, and she had no talent for drawing or painting. She rode well, but doubted she would enjoy the sedateness of riding in the London parks. Perhaps Dominic had a decent library she might explore? She had always liked to read—

What was she doing? she wondered with disgust; as she had realised earlier this morning, she was not to be a guest here, but held virtually as a prisoner, albeit in a gilded cage, until Dominic Vaughn deemed it was safe for her to leave.

She threw the bedclothes back restlessly and swung her legs to the floor before standing up, only to become instantly aware of the garment the earl had provided for her to sleep in. White in colour, and reaching almost down to her knees, with buttons from the middle of her chest to throat and at the cuffs of the long sleeves, the garment could only be one of Dominic’s own silk evening shirts.

A sensuously soft and totally decadent gentleman’s white silk evening shirt. A garment that, once it had slid softly over Caro’s nakedness, had evoked just as sensuous and decadent thoughts of the gentleman it belonged to …

Caro dropped down upon the side of the bed as she recalled the wickedness of her thoughts before she had drifted off to sleep. Of how those memories, of Dominic’s lips and tongue upon her bared breasts earlier, had once again made her breasts swell and the strawberry tips to become hard and engorged, evoking a warm rush of moisture between her thighs that had sent delightful rivulets of pleasure coursing through her when she’d clenched them tightly together. She—

‘You’re awake at last, madam.’ A young maid had tilted her head around the slightly opened door, but she pushed that door completely open now before disappearing back into the hallway for several seconds.

Long enough, thankfully, for Caro to climb quickly back beneath the bedclothes and pull them up to her chin before the maid reappeared carrying a silver tray she dearly hoped had some tea and toast upon it; she had not eaten for some time and just the thought of food caused her stomach to give an unladylike growl. She grimaced self-consciously as the smiling maid bustled about opening up the small legs beneath the tray before placing the whole across Caro’s thighs above the bedclothes.

Not only was there tea and toast, Caro realised greedily, but two perfectly poached eggs and several slices of sweet-smelling ham. ‘This looks delicious.’

‘I’m sure it will be, madam.’ The young girl bobbed a curtsy. ‘His lordship surely has the best cook in London.’

Unfortunately Caro’s appetite had suddenly deserted her. The maid’s continual use of the title ‘madam’ was a timely reminder that she was supposed to be Dominic Vaughn’s poor and widowed cousin, a deception that did not please her at all. She didn’t want to be connected to Dominic in any way, even in a falsehood!

‘Eat up, madam,’ the maid encouraged brightly as she hovered beside the bed. ‘The dressmaker has been waiting downstairs for quite some time already.’

The dressmaker Caro had told the earl she did not require. She should have known that the arrogant man would completely disregard her instruction. Just as she fully intended to disregard his!

She smiled up at the maid. ‘What is your name, dear?’

‘Mabel, ma’am.’

Caro nodded. ‘Then, Mabel, could you please go downstairs and inform the dressmaker that there has been a mistake—’

‘No mistake has been made, Caro,’ Dominic drawled as he strolled uninvited into the bedchamber, crossing the room on booted feet until he stood beside the bed looking down mockingly at a red-faced Caro. That silver gaze raked over her mercilessly before he turned to the blushing young maid. ‘That will be all, thank you.’

‘My lord. Madam.’ The young girl bobbed a curtsy to them both before hurrying from the room.

Caro wished that she might escape with her, but instead she once again found herself the focus of those chilling silver eyes as the earl stood tall and dominating beside the bed. And looking far too handsome, she thought resentfully, in buff-coloured pantaloons above black Hessians, a severe black superfine stretching the width of those wide shoulders, with a grey waistcoat and snowy white shirt beneath.

No doubt a white silk shirt similar to the one that she now wore as a nightgown!

‘Impoverished widowed cousin or not, I do not believe that entitles you to enter my bedchamber uninvited, my lord,’ Caro hissed when she at last managed to regain her breath.

Dominic could not help but admire how beautiful Caro looked with her golden curls loose upon the pillows and the pertness of her breasts covered only by the white silk of one of his own dress shirts, the nipples standing firm and rosy beneath the sheer material.

His jaw clenched now as he once again resisted the urge to push that material aside and feast himself on those firm and tempting buds. ‘Eat up, Caro; the dressmaker does not have all day to waste while you laze about in your bed.’

Her cheeks coloured with temper. ‘I distinctly remember telling you that I did not require the services of a dressmaker.’

‘And I distinctly recall telling you that I refuse to see you dressed in one of those drab gowns a moment longer.’ Dominic bent calmly to pluck a slice of ham from the plate upon the laden tray after making this announcement.

Caro found her gaze suddenly riveted upon his finely sculptured lips and the white evenness of his teeth, as he took a bite of the delicious-smelling ham, unsure if the moisture that suddenly flooded her mouth was caused by that mouthwatering ham or the unexpected sensuality of watching Dominic eat …

Those lips and teeth had been upon her breasts only hours ago, the tongue he now used to lick his lips having swirled a delicious pattern of pleasure on her flesh.

She wrenched her gaze away from the earl’s dangerously handsome face as the contents of the tray placed across her thighs rattled in rhythm with her trembling awareness. ‘I fear I am no longer hungry.’ Her fingers curled about the handles of the tray as she attempted to remove it.

‘Careful!’ Dominic Vaughn took the tray from her shaking fingers to lift it and place it on the dressing-table before turning back to face her, the sunlight shining in through the window once again giving his hair the blue-black appearance of a raven’s wing as that silver gaze narrowed on her critically. ‘Speaking as a man who prefers a little more meat on the bones of the women he beds, I do believe you need to eat more,’ he finally drawled.

Her chin rose challengingly. ‘Speaking as a woman who has no interest in your preferences regarding “the women you bed”, I prefer to remain exactly as I am, thank you very much!’

Dominic gave an appreciative grin; Caro had obviously lost none of her feistiness in the hours since he last saw her.

They had been busy hours for him, as he first set some of his associates from the army ranks, now civilians, the task of investigating Nicholas Brown’s dealings over the past few days, before dispensing with his own household and estate business, and then returning to Nathaniel’s home to see how his friend fared. Dominic’s mouth tightened grimly as he thought of the other man’s discomfort and obvious pain.

‘Before you dismiss the dressmaker so arbitrarily, I believe you should be made aware that when your things were brought from your lodgings earlier, I instantly instructed one of the maids to consign all of the gowns inside into the incinerator,’ he announced with satisfaction.

Caro gasped. ‘All of them?’

‘All.’

Her startled gaze moved to the chair where she had placed her green gown earlier, only to find that chair now empty apart from her underclothes. And if the earl had indeed sent all her other gowns to be burned, then he must have included the three fashionable gowns Caro had brought to London with her two weeks ago. She turned back to him accusingly. ‘You had no right to touch my things!’

‘You were refusing to replace them.’ Dominic gave an unapologetic shrug. ‘It seemed easier to leave you with no choice in the matter rather than continue to argue the point.’

Her eyes sparkled indignantly. ‘And I suppose I am now expected to go down to the seamstress dressed only in my shift?’

It was a pleasant thought, if an impractical one, Dominic accepted. ‘She will come up here to you, of course. With, I might add, two gowns at least that you should be able to wear immediately.’ He had personally instructed the dressmaker to bring a gown of sea-green and another of deep rose, the one reminding him of Caro’s eyes, the other the tips of her breasts when they were aroused.

‘Have you received word on how Lord Thorne fares?’

Dominic’s thoughts of the anticipated changes to Caro’s appearance completely dissipated at this reminder of the attack on one of his two closest friends. Not that he would ever forget that first moment of seeing Osbourne covered in blood in the early hours of this morning.

How could he, when it was such a stark reminder of the last memories Dominic had of his mother sixteen years ago?

He moved away from the bed to stand in front of one of the picture windows, his back to the room, his hands clasped tightly together behind his back as he fought back those memories. Memories that had returned all too vividly after Caro had questioned him concerning his family …

He breathed in deeply before answering. ‘I have done better than that; I have been to see him.’ He went on to explain that Nathaniel’s aunt, Mrs Gertrude Wilson, having learnt that her nephew had suffered injuries and was confined to his bed, had wasted no time in having her own physician visit him, and fully intended removing Osbourne to her own home in St

James’s Square later this afternoon. An occurrence that aided Dominic’s determination to ensure the future protection of his friend.

Dominic hoped to have some news later today concerning the enquiries into last night’s attack, but if those enquiries should prove unhelpful, then he had plans of his own for later this evening that may give him some of the answers, if not all of them.

‘And?’ Caro prompted with concern as Dominic fell broodingly silent.

‘And the physician has discovered he has two cracked ribs to go with his many cuts and bruises.’

Caro knew by the harshness of the Dominic’s tone that he was far from happy at this news of his friend’s condition. ‘I am sure that he will recover fully, my lord.’

He did not look in the least comforted by her reassurances. ‘Are you?’

‘He is otherwise young and healthy,’ Caro nodded. ‘Now if—if you would not mind, I should like to get out of bed now.’ She had not had time to deal with her morning ablutions before her bedchamber was invaded, first by the maid, and then Dominic Vaughn, and that need was becoming more pressing by the moment.

He raised dark brows. ‘I was not aware I was preventing you from doing so?’

‘You know very well that your very presence here is preventing me from getting out of bed.’

He gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘You have flaunted yourself in a gambling club for this past week, in front of dozens of men, but now take exception to my seeing you clothed in one of my own shirts?’

Caro gave a pained frown. ‘The gown I wore at those performances covered me from neck to toe.’

‘And titillated and aroused the interest of your audience all the more because of it!’

Had it titillated and aroused this man’s interest? she wondered breathlessly. Obviously something had, if his passion earlier this morning was any indication. A passion she had responded to in a way that still made her blush. ‘Then it would seem the sooner I am clothed in one of my new gowns, the better it will be for everyone.’

His gorgeous mouth curved into a pleased smile. ‘You are sufficiently recovered from your previous outrage to now accept the new gowns?’

Caro bristled. ‘I believe it is more a case of having little choice in the matter when you have had all of my own gowns burned. I should become a prisoner of this bedchamber rather than just the house if I did not accept the new gowns, would I not?’

He winced. ‘You are not to be a prisoner here, Caro, only to take the precaution of being accompanied if you should decide to go about.’

‘I do not even know where “here” is!’ she snapped caustically.

‘Blackstone House is in Mayfair,’ he elaborated. ‘And as soon as you are dressed, and the seamstress has gone about her business, I will be only too happy to take you out for a drive in my carriage.’

‘Accompanied by the maid I do not have?’ she came back derisively.

‘We are believed to be cousins, Caro,’ he reminded her drily. ‘Making such a fuss about the proprieties would be a nonsense.’

‘In that case, if you would send the dressmaker up to me now I should very much like to go out for a drive.’

Her tone, Dominic noted ruefully, was almost as imperious as Osbourne’s Aunt Gertrude’s. Further evidence, if he should need it, that Caro Morton was a woman used to instructing her own servants and having those instructions obeyed. Because she was, in fact, a lady of quality?

He crossed the room to once again stand beside the bed. ‘Have you considered the possibility, Caro, that I might be more … amenable, if you did not constantly challenge me?’

‘I have considered it, my lord—and as quickly dismissed it.’ Her expression was defiant as she glanced up at him. ‘It goes completely against my nature, you see.’

Dominic could not prevent his throaty chuckle as he looked down at her admiringly. No, he never found himself bored in Caro’s company, even when he was not making love to her! ‘I will arrange for the carriage to be brought round in an hour’s time.’ He gave her a brief bow before taking his leave.

Caro did not move for several minutes after he had left the bedchamber, still slightly breathless from the transformation that had overcome his austere features when he laughed. Those silver eyes had glowed warmly, with laughter lines fanning out at their sides, the curve of those sculptured lips revealing the white evenness of his teeth. Even that savage scar upon his cheek had softened. The whole rendered him so devastatingly handsome that just looking at him had stolen her breath away …

‘Relax, Caro,’ Dominic drawled softly as she sat tensely beside him as he controlled the reins of his curricle, his two favourite greys stepping out lively in the sun-dappled park. ‘By this time tomorrow, all of society will be agog to know who was the beautiful young lady riding in the park with Blackstone in his curricle.’ And she looked every inch a lady of quality in her rose-coloured gown and matching bonnet, with several golden curls framing the delicate beauty of her face, and her hands covered in pale cream gloves.

‘How disappointed they will be when they learn it is only your impoverished and widowed cousin up from the country,’ she came back tartly. ‘And the last thing I desire is to become the talk of London society,’ she added with a delicate shudder.

It was rather late for that, when to Dominic’s certain knowledge the male members of the ton, at least, had been avidly discussing the masked woman who had sung at Nick’s for the past week! Not that any of those men would recognise the blonde woman sitting so demurely beside him in his curricle as the same masked and ebony-haired siren who had entertained them so prettily at Nick’s; several of those gentlemen had already greeted Dominic as they passed in their own carriages, with no hint of recognition in their gazes as they’d glanced admiringly at the golden-haired beauty at his side.

‘A beautiful woman, impoverished or otherwise, is always a source of gossip amongst the members of the ton,’ he said.

Caro glanced at him beneath long golden lashes, noting how easily he kept the two feisty greys to a demure trot as he drove his elegant curricle through the park. She had also noted the admiring glances sent his way by all of the ladies in the passing carriages, before those covetous glances had shifted coldly on to Caro, no doubt due to the fact she was the one sitting beside the eligible Earl of Blackstone in his carriage.

Wearing a beautiful gown, and being driven through a London park in a fashionable carriage, with a wickedly handsome man at her side, had long been one of Caro’s dreams. But in those girlish dreams the man had been totally besotted with her, something she knew Dominic would never be with regard to her.

Admittedly, the circumstances under which they had first met had been less than ideal, but if Lady Caroline Copeland and Lord Dominic Vaughn, Earl of Blackstone, had met in a fashionable London drawing room, he would certainly have behaved more circumspectly towards her.

Except she was not, at this moment, Lady Caroline Copeland, and the earl’s casualness of manner towards her was reflective of that fact. ‘I believe I would like to return to Blackstone House now, if you please,’ she said stiffly.

Dominic glanced down at Caro, frowning slightly as he saw the way her lashes were uncharacteristically cast down. ‘There is a blanket beside you if you are becoming chilled?’

‘I am not in the least chilled; I would just prefer to leave now.’ Her voice was huskily soft, but determined.

Dominic transferred both reins to his right hand before reaching down with his left to lift Caro’s chin so that he might look into her face. Far from invigorating her, she seemed to have grown paler during the drive, and, unless he was mistaken, the glitter in her eyes was not due to her usual rebellion. ‘Are you about to cry?’ His voice sounded as incredulous as he felt.

‘Certainly not!’ She wrenched her chin out of his grasp and turned away. ‘I merely wish to return home, that is all. To Blackstone House, I meant, of course,’ she added awkwardly.

Dominic had known exactly what Caro meant. Strange, in all the years he had been the Earl of Blackstone, he had never particularly regarded any of his houses or estates as being his home—how could he, when all of them were a reminder of the parents who had both died when he was but twelve years old?

Or how, along with those memories, came the nightmare reminder of the part he had played in their deaths! Memories that were usually kept firmly at bay, but had haunted him this past few hours …

‘Of course.’ Dominic gave a curt nod before turning the greys in front of the curricle back towards Blackstone House. ‘Perhaps you should go to your bedchamber and rest before dinner?’

‘I am simply grown bored of driving in the park, Dominic; I am not decrepit!’

He gave an appreciative smile as Caro answered with some of her usual spirit, all trace of what he had thought were tears having disappeared as she glared up at him. ‘I assure you, Caro, I would not have brought you out driving with me at all if I thought you decrepit.’

‘Is that because only women you consider beautiful are allowed in your curricle?’ she asked, regarding him with a scornful purse to her mouth.

Dominic dearly wished to kiss that expression from her lips. Damn it, he had wanted nothing more than to kiss her again since she had appeared downstairs earlier looking breathtakingly beautiful in the rose-coloured gown and bonnet!

‘No woman, beautiful or otherwise, has ever been invited to accompany me to the park in my curricle before today,’ he admitted after a moment of silence.

She eyed him curiously. ‘Should I feel flattered?’

‘Do you?’ Dominic asked.

‘Not in the least,’ she said with a return of her usual waspishness. ‘No doubt, as far as the gentlemen of the ton are concerned at least, it will only add to your considerable reputation if you are believed to have the ebony-haired masked lady from Nick’s in your bed at night, and a golden-haired lady in your curricle by day.’

Dominic gave her a mocking glance. ‘No doubt,’ he agreed.

Caro’s eyes flashed deeply green. ‘You—Dominic, there is a dog about to run in front of the carriage!’ She reached out to grasp his forearm, half-rising in her seat as the fluffy white creature ran directly in front of the hooves of the now-prancing greys, quickly followed by a young girl in a straw bonnet who seemed to have the same disregard for her own welfare as the dog as she narrowly avoided being trampled under the hoofs of the rearing horses before following the animal across the pathway, and on to the grass, and then running into the woodland in hot pursuit without so much as a glance at the occupants of the carriage.

It took Dominic several minutes to bring the startled greys back under his control, by which time the dog and the girl had both completely disappeared, leaving Caro with the startled impression that the young girl in the straw bonnet had looked remarkably like her younger sister, Elizabeth!

Chapter Seven

‘Bring brandy into the library, would you, Simpson?’ Dominic instructed the butler as he kept a firm hold of Caro’s arm, unsure as to whether or not she might faint away at his feet if he did not.

Admittedly, the near-miss in the park had been of concern for several seconds, but even so he had been surprised to see Caro so white and shaking after the event. Damn it, she was still white and shaking!

His hand tightened on her arm. ‘At once, if you please,’ he said to the butler briskly before taking Caro into the library and closing the door against curious eyes. He led her gently across the room and saw her seated in the chair beside the fireplace.

Ordinarily, he would have been impatient with a woman’s display of nerves. But having already witnessed Caro’s fortitude several times—when faced with the ribaldry of three young bucks, in the midst of a brawl, and then again when Osbourne had received a beating by those four thugs—Dominic could only feel concern that a minor incident, such as the one that had happened in the park just now, should have reduced her to this trembling state.

He moved down on to his haunches beside the chair in which she now sat, before placing one of his hands on top of her clasped and trembling ones. ‘No harm was done, Caro. In fact,’ he continued drily, ‘I believe that young girl to be completely unaware of the near-accident that she caused.’

The young girl who had reminded Caro so much of her younger sister, Elizabeth …

For it could not really have been Elizabeth, could it? No, the young and ebony-haired girl in the blue gown and spring bonnet could not possibly have been Elizabeth, only someone who looked a little like her—because Elizabeth was safely ensconced at Shoreley Hall with their sister, Diana.

Caro had been reminding herself of that fact for the ten minutes or so that it had taken Dominic to drive the curricle back to Blackstone House—all the while shooting her frowning glances from those silver-coloured eyes, at what he obviously viewed to be her overreaction to the near-accident.

An assumption she dared not refute, for fear he would then demand an explanation as to what had really upset her.

She pulled both her hands from beneath his much larger, enveloping one. ‘Do not fuss, Dominic. I assure you I am now perfectly recovered!’

Dominic straightened to step away and lean his arm casually upon the top of the mantel as he looked down at her; this caustic Caro was much more like the one he had come to know these past two days. ‘I am glad to hear it.’ He gave a mocking inclination of his head, giving away none, he hoped, of his own disturbed emotions with regard to the near-accident.

It was difficult, nearly impossible after all that had already happened this past twelve hours, for the incident not to have once again reminded Dominic of the carriage accident that had killed his mother sixteen years ago, and resulted in the death of his father, too, only days later. Especially when Caro had obviously been rendered so upset by it all.

‘Ah, thank you, Simpson.’ He turned to the butler as he entered to place the tray containing the brandy decanter and glasses down upon the table in the centre of the room.

‘I trust Mrs Morton is feeling better, my lord?’ The remark was addressed to Dominic, but the elderly man’s gaze lingered in concern on Caro as she sat so white and still beside the fire.

She turned now to bestow a gracious smile upon the older man. ‘I am quite well now, thank you, Simpson.’ She continued to smile warmly as she removed her bonnet.

Dominic listened incredulously to the exchange—when, by all that was holy, had Caro managed to beguile his butler? An elderly man who was usually so stiffly correct he was in danger of cutting himself from the starch in his collar. ‘That will be all, Simpson,’ he dismissed the servant curtly.

Caro waited until the two of them were alone before speaking. ‘I believe, Dominic, that you might find your servants were happier in their work if you were to treat them with a little more politeness.’

Brought to task by this little baggage, by damn! ‘And what, pray, would you know about servants’ happiness in their work?’ Dominic decided to attack rather than defend, and was instantly rewarded with the flush that coloured her cheeks. ‘Unless, of course, you were once a servant yourself?’

Her chin rose. ‘And if I were?’

Then Dominic would be surprised. Very surprised! ‘I will know the story of your past one day, Caro,’ he warned softly as he moved to pour brandy into two glasses.

She eyed him coolly. ‘I doubt you would find it at all interesting, my lord.’

He moved to hand her one of the bulbous glasses. ‘Oh, I believe that I might …’

Rather than answer him, Caro took a sip of her brandy, her eyes widening as the fiery alcohol hit the back of her throat and completely took her breath away. ‘My goodness … !’ she gasped, her eyes watering as the liquid continued to burn a path down to her stomach.

Dominic eyed her with amusement. ‘I take it that you have never drunk brandy before?’

She placed the glass carefully down upon the table beside her. ‘It is dreadful stuff. Disgusting!’

‘I believe it may be something of an acquired taste.’ He took another appreciative sip.

Caro gave a delicate shudder, her stomach still feeling as if there were a fire lit inside it. ‘It is not one I ever intend to acquire, I assure you.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ he smiled. ‘There is nothing so unattractive to a man as an inebriated woman.’

Caro wrinkled her nose delicately. ‘Really? In what way?’

‘Never mind. Would you care for some tea, instead?’

‘That will not be necessary—oh. Do you play?’ Caro had taken the time to glance about the comfortable library as the two of them talked, spotting the chess pieces set up on the table beside the window.

Dominic followed her line of vision. ‘Do you?’

‘A little,’ she answered noncommittally.

His brows rose. ‘Really?’

‘You do not sound as if you believe me?’ Her eyes sparkled with challenge.

He shrugged. ‘In my experience, women do not usually play chess.’

‘Then I must be an unusual woman, because I believe I play rather well.’

Dominic didn’t doubt she was an unusual woman; she had been the source of one surprise after another since he had first met her.

‘Would you care for a game before dinner?’ she challenged lightly.

He grimaced. ‘I think not. I was taught by a grand master,’ he explained as Caro looked up at him enquiringly.

As the undisputed chess champion in her family and that included her father, she felt no hesitation in pitting her own considerable ability against Dominic Vaughn’s or anyone else’s. She was certainly a good enough player that she would not embarrass herself.

She stood up to cross over to the chess-table. The pieces appeared to have been smoothly carved out of black-and-white marble, the table inlaid with a board of that same beautiful marble. She glanced back to where Dominic still stood beside the fireplace. ‘Surely you cannot be refusing to play against me simply because I am a woman?’

‘Not at all,’ Dominic drawled. ‘I simply prefer to play against an opponent I consider to be my equal in the game.’

Her eyes widened. ‘How do you know I am not until we have played together?’

He quirked a brow. ‘A game in the nursery with your nanny does not equip you to play a champion.’

Caro bristled. ‘You are being presumptuous, sir!’

‘Concerning your game or the nanny?’

‘Both!’ Caro was all too well aware how determined Dominic was to learn more of her past. ‘But being a gentleman of the ton, perhaps you would find it more of a challenge if I were to propose a wager?’

He eyed her guardedly. ‘What sort of wager?’

‘Are you any further forwards in your enquiries concerning the attack upon Lord Thorne?’

Dominic’s expression became even more cautious. ‘I am hoping to receive news on the subject later today.’

‘But you are not sure?’ she pressed.

Dominic’s mouth tightened. ‘At this precise moment, no.’

Caro nodded briskly. ‘In that case, if I win, I would like for you to find me other accommodation sooner rather than later.’

Those silver eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

‘I do not have to state a reason, my lord, merely name a forfeit,’ she pointed out primly. ‘And if you win—’

‘Should I not be allowed to choose your own forfeit for myself?’ Dominic interjected softly, those silver eyes glittering in challenge.

She drew in a deep breath, not at all sure she had not ventured beyond her depth, after all; Dominic seemed utterly convinced that he would win any game of chess between them. But she could not back down now; she owed it to other females who played chess to defend their reputation against such obvious male bigotry! Besides which, she dearly wished to escape Blackstone House. And the disturbing Lord Dominic Vaughn … ‘Name your forfeit, my lord.’

‘Dominic.’

Her eyes widened. ‘That is your forfeit?’

‘That is only an aside request, Caro, and not the actual forfeit,’ he said. ‘I am sure you will not find it too difficult to do; you seem to have no trouble at all in calling me Dominic before launching yourself into my arms!’ Those silver-coloured eyes openly laughed at her now beneath long dark lashes.

Caro’s cheeks burned, not at all sure which occasion he was referring to—there had been so many, it seemed! ‘Very well, name my forfeit … Dominic.’

He seemed to give the matter some thought. ‘You will reveal something of your true self to me, perhaps?’

Caro looked at him warily. She knew of her own ability in playing the game of chess, but Dominic’s self-confidence could not be overlooked, either; he was so obviously sure of his ability that he had not even attempted to dispute the forfeit she would demand of him if she were the victor. To agree to tell him something of her true self was not something she had ever intended doing, either now or in the future. But then, neither did she intend allowing him to win this game of chess … ‘Very well, I agree.’ She gave a haughty inclination of her head.

Dominic lounged back in his chair, his expression one of boredom as the game began, sure that he was wasting both his own time and hers by playing at all.

After only a few more moves in the game he knew that victory was not going to be so easily won. Caro’s opening gambit had been an unusual one, and one Dominic had put down to her lack of experience in the game, but as he now studied the pieces on the board he saw that if the game continued on its current path, then she would have him in check for the first time in only three more moves.

‘Very good,’ he murmured appreciatively as he moved his king out of danger.

Caro could see that, instead of continuing to lounge back uninterestedly, she now had all of Dominic’s attention. ‘Perhaps we might play in earnest now?’ Her heart did a strange leap as he looked up to smile across the table at her. A warm and genuine smile that owed nothing to his usual expression of mockery or disdain, and instead leant a boyish charm to the usual severe austerity of his face.

‘I am looking forward to it, Caro,’ he replied, his attention now fully on the chessboard.

The maid, Mabel, had come in and attended to the fire, and Simpson had arrived to light several candles whilst the game continued, but neither opponent had even been aware of their presence as they concentrated completely on the chessboard between them.

It had become more than a game of chess to Caro; it had come to represent the inequality of the relationship that currently existed between the two of them. An equality that would not have existed between Lord Dominic Vaughn and Lady Caroline Copeland, but which most definitely existed between Lord Dominic Vaughn and Caro Morton. As such, it had become more than a battle of wills to Caro, and she played like a fiend in her determination not to be beaten.

Something that Dominic was well aware of as he studied her flushed and determined face between narrowed lids. Her eyes were more green than blue in their intensity, and the flush added colour to her otherwise porcelain white cheeks and down across the full swell of her breasts. Those rosy tips were no doubt deeper in colour, too, and were perhaps swollen and begging for the feel of his—

‘Check!’ Caro announced with barely concealed excitement.

Dominic’s attention was reluctant to return to the board rather than considering the taste of Caro’s breasts. He moved his own piece out of danger.

Irritation creased Caro’s brow before clearing again as she made another move. ‘Check.’

Dominic studied the board intently for several seconds. ‘I believe that we will only continue in this vein ad nauseam, and that this game, therefore, must be declared a draw.’

She eyed him mockingly. ‘Unless you were to concede?’

‘Or you were?’

She sat back in her chair. ‘I think not.’

‘Then we will call it a draw.’ Dominic said. ‘And hope that one of us will be the victor on the morrow.’

‘We could play again now—’

‘It is time for dinner, Caro,’ he murmured after a glance at the clock on the mantel, surprised to learn that a full two hours had passed since they had began to play. Surprised, also, at how much he had enjoyed those two hours.

Caro did not talk as she played, but neither was the silence awkward or uncomfortable. More, despite the fact they were in opposition to one another, it had been a companionable and enjoyable silence. And he, Dominic, decided as the realisation caused him to rise abruptly to his feet, was not a man to be domesticated to his fireside by any woman. Least of all a woman who steadfastly refused to reveal anything of her true self to him!

‘Does this mean that we both concede our forfeit or that neither of us does?’ she asked.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed as he glanced back to where Caro had now risen gracefully from the table. ‘Stalemate would seem to imply that neither of us do,’ he replied. ‘As we are so late I suggest that neither of us bothers to change before dinner.’

‘Oh, good.’ She gracefully crossed the room on slippered feet as she confided, ‘I am so ravenously hungry.’

Dominic found himself laughing despite his earlier uncomfortable thoughts concerning domesticity. ‘Has no one ever told you that ladies are supposed to have the appetite and delicacy of a sparrow?’ he drawled.

‘If they did, then I have forgotten,’ Caro retorted as they strolled through the hallway and into the small candlelit dining room together, another fire alight in the hearth there to warm the room.

‘I take it you are now, out of pure contrariness, about to show that you have the appetite and delicacy of an eagle.’ Dominic pulled her chair back, lingering behind her a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary as he enjoyed the floral perfume of her hair.

Caro, in the act of draping her napkin across her knee, paused to give the matter some thought before answering. As far as she was aware, she had eaten nothing so far today. ‘Perhaps a raven.’ Not a good comparison, she realised with an inner wince, when the colour of Dominic’s hair reminded her of a raven’s wing …

Dominic was chuckling softly as he took his seat opposite hers at the small round table. Not so intimate that their knees actually touched beneath it, but certainly enough to create an atmosphere Caro could have wished did not exist.

She ignored Dominic to smile at Simpson as he entered the room with a soup tureen and began to serve their first course. It was a delicious watercress soup that Caro enjoyed so much that the butler served her a second helping.

‘As I said, an eagle …’ Dominic muttered so that only she could hear, wincing slightly, but not uttering a sound, as she kicked him on the shin beneath the table with one slipper-covered foot; no doubt it had hurt her more than it had hurt him!

He inwardly approved of the fact that she made no effort to hide her appetite; he had spent far too many evenings with women who picked at their food, and in doing so totally ruined his own appetite. In contrast to those other women, Caro ate just as heartily of the fish course, and her roast beef and vegetables, all followed by some chocolate confection that she ate with even more relish than the previous courses.

So much so that Dominic found himself watching her rather than attempting to eat his own dessert. ‘Perhaps you would care to eat mine, too?’ He pushed the untouched glass bowl towards her.

Her eyes lit up, before she gave a reluctant shake of her head. ‘I really should not …’

‘I believe it is a little late for a show of maidenly delicacy,’ Dominic teased as he placed the bowl in front of her before standing up to pour himself a glass of the brandy Caro had so obviously disliked earlier. He sat down again to study her as he swirled the brandy round in the glass, easily noting the colour in her cheeks. ‘I was commenting on the subject of food, of course …’

That colour deepened. ‘If you are going to start being ungentlemanly again—’

‘I was not aware that in your eyes I had ever stopped?’ Dominic said, raising dark, mocking brows.

Perhaps not, Caro conceded, but there had been something of a ceasefire during and since their game of chess. In fact, she had believed she had even seen a grudging respect in those silver-coloured eyes when the game had ended in a draw. ‘What shall we do with the rest of the evening?’ She opted for a safer subject.

‘I, my dear Caro, am going out—’

‘Out?’ She frowned after a glance at the gold clock on the mantel. ‘But it is almost eleven o’clock.’

He gave an inclination of his head. ‘And if Nick’s were open, you would still have a second performance of the evening to get through.’

True. But having spent most of the day sleeping, Caro was not ready to retire to her bedchamber just yet. ‘Are you going to see Lord Thorne? If so, perhaps I might come with you?’

‘No, on both counts, Caro,’ Dominic said; engrossed as he had been in their game of chess, and much as he had enjoyed his dinner, he had nevertheless been continually aware of the fact that the news he had been waiting for concerning Nicholas Brown had not been delivered, leaving him no choice but to now instigate his own plans for the evening. ‘I have already visited Osbourne once today, and doubt that a second visit this late in the day would be welcome.’ Mrs Gertrude Wilson would most definitely frown upon it! ‘And where I am going tonight you definitely cannot follow.’

‘Oh.’

Dominic quirked one eyebrow as he saw how flushed Caro’s cheeks had become. ‘Oh?’

Caro frowned her irritation, with her own naïvety as much as with Dominic Vaughn. Just because he kissed her whenever the mood took him did not mean that he did not have a woman he occasionally spent the night with. That he was not going out in a few minutes to spend the rest of the night in bed with such a woman!

Strange how much even the idea of that should seem so distasteful to her …

She had, Caro realised in dismay, enjoyed Dominic’s company this evening. The verbal exchanges. The challenge of trying to best him at chess. Even the teasing in regard to her appetite. She now found it more than unpleasant to be made aware of the possibility he might be spending the rest of the night in bed with some faceless woman.

Which was utterly ridiculous!

She stood up abruptly. ‘In that case, with your permission, I believe I will go back into the library and choose a book to read.’

It wasn’t too difficult for Dominic to guess what Caro’s thoughts had been during these last few minutes of silence: that she imagined it was his intention to spend the night in some willing woman’s bed. Much as the idea appealed—it had been some time since Dominic had bedded a woman; those few unsatisfactory forays with Caro did not count when they had left him feeling more physically frustrated than ever—it did not actually enter into his plans for the rest of the night.

No, Dominic’s immediate destination had absolutely nothing to do with bedding a woman and more to do with personally paying a visit to Nicholas Brown … ‘Do not bother to wait up for me, Caro. I expect to be very late,’ he said after he emptied the last of the brandy before placing the glass down upon the table.

Her cheeks were flushed with temper. ‘As if I have any interest in what time it will be when—or even if—you should return!’

Dominic chuckled softly as he strolled over to the door. ‘Sweet dreams, Caro.’

‘As long as they are not of you then I am sure they will be!’ she snapped.

He paused in the doorway to glance back at her. ‘I very much doubt that I shall ever have the dubious pleasure of featuring in any young girl’s dreams,’ he said drily before closing the door softly behind him.

Dominic could not be sure, but he thought he might have heard the tinkling sound of glass shattering on the other side of that closed door …

Chapter Eight

It was some hours later when Dominic finally returned to Blackstone House, and he could not help smiling slightly as the attentive Simpson opened the door for him as if it were three o’clock in the afternoon rather than the morning.

‘Mrs Morton is in the library, my lord,’ the butler advised softly.

Dominic came to an abrupt halt halfway across the marble entrance hall and turned back sharply. ‘What the devil is she still doing in there?’

The butler turned from locking and bolting the front door. ‘I believe she fell asleep whilst reading, my lord. She looked so peaceful, I did not like to wake her.’

Dominic felt no such qualms as he glanced in the direction of the library, his expression grim. ‘Get yourself to bed, man. I will deal with Mrs Morton.’

‘Very good, my lord.’ The elderly man gave a stiff bow. ‘I—I believe that Mrs Morton may have been upset earlier, my lord.’ he added as Dominic walked in the direction of the library.

Dominic was slower to turn this time. ‘Upset?’

‘I believe she was crying, my lord.’ Simpson looked pained.

What the hell! The last thing he felt like dealing with tonight was a woman’s tears. Or, as was usually the case, having to guess the reason for those tears. Whatever could have happened to reduce the indomitable Caro to tears? Perhaps the danger he had warned her of had become all too real to her once she was left alone for the evening?

Whatever the reason it gave him a distinctly unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach to think of Caro alone and upset …

He could see the evidence of her tears on the pallor of her cheeks once he had entered the library and stood looking down at her as she lay curled up asleep in the wing-backed armchair beside the fire, the book she had been reading still lying open upon her knees.

He was also struck by how incredibly young and vulnerable she looked without the light of battle in her eyes and the flush of temper upon her cheeks. So young and vulnerable, in fact, that Dominic questioned how she could ever have survived her first week in London without falling victim to some disaster.

Not that he imagined for one moment that Caro would have succumbed quietly—she did not seem to do anything quietly!—but she wasn’t physically strong enough to fight off a male predator, and her youth and lack of a protector would have made her easy prey for the seedy underworld of a city such as this one. As it was, he had no doubt that Caro had Drew Butler’s visible protection to thank for her physical well being this past week, at least.

If Dominic had needed any reassurance that he had done the right thing in now placing Caro in his protection, then he had received it this evening when he’d visited Nicholas Brown at his home in Cheapside.

The bastard son of a titled gentleman and some long-forgotten prostitute, Brown, whilst now giving the appearance of wealth, had in fact grown up on the streets of London, and was as hardened and tough as any of the cut-throats that walked those darkened streets. A toughness he had taken advantage of by building himself a lucrative business empire that often catered to the less acceptable excesses of the ton; Nick’s had been the more respectable of the three gambling clubs the man owned.

Within minutes of Dominic being admitted to Brown’s house earlier, the other man had had the unmitigated gall to offer to allow the masked lady to sing at one of his other clubs, until such time as Nick’s reopened. An offer Dominic had felt no hesitation in refusing on Caro’s behalf!

Looking down at her now as she slept the sleep of the innocent, he could only shudder at the thought of her ever being exposed to the vicious and seedy underbelly of Nicholas Brown’s world. At the same time Dominic feared that Brown, with his many spies in the London underworld, might already know that the young woman now staying with him and masquerading as his widowed cousin was that same masked lady …

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