A

Regency

Collection

ISABELLE GODDARD was born into an army family and spent her childhood moving around the UK and abroad. Unsurprisingly it gave her itchy feet and in her twenties she escaped from an unloved secretarial career to work as cabin crew and see the world.

The arrival of marriage, children and cats meant a more settled life in the south of England, where she’s lived ever since. It also gave her the opportunity to go back to ‘school’ and eventually teach at university. Isabelle loves the nineteenth century and grew up reading Georgette Heyer, so when she plucked up the courage to begin writing herself the novels had to be Regency romances.

A Regency Earl’s Pleasure

The Earl Plays with Fire

Society’s Most Scandalous Rake

Isabelle Goddard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

The Earl Plays with Fire

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Society’s Most Scandalous Rake

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Endpage

Copyright

The Earl Plays with Fire

Isabelle Goddard

Chapter One

London—1816

‘Have you heard the latest?’ The voice came out of nowhere.

Christabel Tallis, aimlessly fanning herself, stopped for a moment and glanced at the mirror which hung on the opposite wall. She knew neither of the women reflected there. Perched uncomfortably on one of the stiffly brocaded benches that lined the Palantine Gallery, she had been wondering, not for the first time that morning, why she’d ever agreed to her mother’s suggestion that they meet Julian here. Lady Harriet had insisted they attend what was billed as the show of the Season, but for Christabel the delights of London society had long ago palled. The salon was overheated and far too crowded, and her delicate skin was already slightly flushed.

‘About the Veryan boy, you mean?’ one of the women continued.

The name hovered in the air, menacing Christabel’s shield of calm detachment. The buzz of inconsequential chatter faded into the distance and every fibre of her body became alert.

‘He’s hardly a boy now, of course.’

‘Indeed no. How long has it been? Lady Veryan must be overjoyed that he is returning home at last.’

Suddenly Christabel longed to be far away from this conversation, away from this room. A shaft of sunlight streamed through the gallery’s long windows, breaking through a lowering sky and burnishing her auburn curls into a fiery cloud. The warming light was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but to her it seemed to beckon escape. Escape to where, though? To a country of grey slate and blue seas, a landscape of moor and rocks? To Cornwall, to home? But that could not be; she knew well that her future lay elsewhere.

‘One can only hope that he actually arrives,’ the woman opined in a hushed voice.

The other shuddered theatrically. ‘I understand the journey from Argentina is very long and most dangerous.’

‘My dear, yes. You must remember The Adventurer—just a few years ago. It sailed from Buenos Aires …’

The women moved away and she heard no more. That was sufficient. Richard’s name reverberated through her mind. After all these years—five, six it would be—he was coming back. Her deep green eyes stared into the distance and saw only memory.

She was seated on a stone bench in the garden of the Veryan town house, the lush fragrance of rose blossoms tumbling in the air. Richard was standing straight and tall in front of her, his mouth compressed and his face white and set. She had just told him that she could not marry him and was offering his ring back. She could not marry him because she was in love with Joshua. And Joshua just happened to be one of Richard’s closest friends. What a wretched business that had been. She and Richard had drifted into an engagement, more to please their parents than from any passionate attachment, and Joshua was the result. The family estates bordered each other and she’d known Richard all her life. It felt natural to be planning to spend the rest of it together. But her visit to London to buy bride clothes had vouchsafed a different perspective: Cornwall and their shared childhood vanished in a sea mist. Instead there was a thrilling round of parties, balls, picnics, assemblies and, at the end of it, Joshua. No, she couldn’t marry Richard. She was too young and too passionate and friendship was not enough.

‘Miss Tallis, please accept my sincerest apologies for arriving so late.’

A well-dressed man in a puce tailcoat and fawn pantaloons stood before her. He took her shapely hand in his, kissing it with elaborate courtesy, and bowed politely to Lady Tallis, who had broken off her conversation with a chance-met companion just long enough to smile benignly at the man she hoped would become her son-in-law.

Sir Julian Edgerton’s pleasant face wore a rueful smile. ‘I fear the Committee took longer than expected. There is always such a deal to do for the Pimlico Widows and Orphans. I hope you’ll forgive me.’

‘Naturally, Sir Julian, how could I not? You lead a truly benevolent life!’ Christabel’s musical voice held the suspicion of a laugh, but her face was lit with the gentlest of smiles.

‘Now that I am here, may I get you some refreshment?’

‘What a good idea! It’s so very hot in this room. Lemonade, perhaps?’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said gallantly, ‘and when we are once more comfortable, would you care to make a quick tour of the paintings with me? I am anxious to hear your views. You have such a refined sensibility.’

She sighed inwardly, but nodded assent while her mother beamed encouragement. She knew Lady Harriet was counting on Sir Julian’s proposal. At nearly twenty-five Christabel was already perilously close to being on the shelf and she could no longer delay the decision to marry. Sir Julian might not be the most exciting man of her acquaintance, but he was solid and dependable and would make a restful husband.

More than that, he would be an adoring one. And she could trust him. After the bruising experience of her girlhood, such a man was surely worth any amount of excitement.

If she made this marriage, it might help repair some of the destruction she’d wreaked all those years ago. Her parents had loved Richard as a son and his dismissal had hit them very hard. As for Richard, she was sure he’d remained heart whole. He’d never loved her with the passion she had craved. Instead he’d been angry and humiliated. It was the gossip he had loathed, being on everyone’s tongue, the jilted suitor. Within a sennight he’d escaped England and was on a boat to Argentina. Lord Veryan had told the world it was needful that his son administer the family’s growing estates in South America, but the world had known the real reason for Richard’s sudden departure. So he’d escaped, but she’d paid the price for her indiscretion. Jilting a man three weeks before the wedding was the height of bad ton and scurrilous gossip had swirled around her head for months. It was difficult to recall six years later just how vulnerable she’d felt. Today she was an acknowledged leader of fashion, an ice-cold beauty who’d remained impregnable despite countless suitors. But then she’d been a raw, passionate girl, in the throes of a thrilling infatuation, and unable to dissemble.

‘I’m afraid the lemonade is as warm as the salon.’ Sir Julian had emerged from the crush and was at her elbow, proffering the glass he’d procured with some difficulty.

For a moment she looked blindly up at him. Past distresses were crowding in on her and, for the second time that morning, she looked for escape. She needed distraction, needed to be on the move.

‘I think I would prefer to view the pictures after all, Sir Julian.’

She rose from her seat as she spoke and, smoothing the creases from her amber silk walking dress, took her suitor’s arm. They began slowly to stroll around the gallery. As always her elegant figure drew glances of frank admiration from those she passed and Sir Julian, feeling pride in his possession, held her arm even more tightly. While they walked, he spoke sensibly about the paintings they inspected and she tried hard to conjure interest in his carefully considered opinions. He was a good man, she told herself severely, and she must not hanker for more. That way lay disaster. She had learned that lesson well. It had taken little time to discover that Richard was worth twenty times the man who’d displaced him. The relationship with Joshua had petered out, destroyed by her guilt and his inevitable betrayal.

‘I must say that I find these colours a little too forceful. They jangle the nerves rather than soothe.’

Sir Julian was standing before a group of canvases whose landscapes pulsated with lurid crimsons and golds, an anarchic depiction of the natural world.

‘What do you think, Miss Tallis—am I being old fashioned?’

‘Not old fashioned precisely, Sir Julian, but perhaps a little traditional? One needs to open one’s mind to different possibilities,’ she hazarded, thinking that just one of the pictures on her bedroom wall would be enough to keep her awake at night.

‘As always you are right. I will look with your eyes and endeavour to see these canvases anew.’

Why did he always have to agree with her? Richard would have mocked her pretensions, laughed openly at her and they would have ended sharing the joke together. But Richard’s companionship was long gone. How strange to think that he would soon be in England, but this time returning as the new Earl Veryan. It was three months since Lord Veryan’s life had been brutally cut short by a riding accident. Richard would have left for home the minute he’d received the dreadful news, but a long and treacherous journey meant his father had been buried while he was still on the high seas. At the funeral Lady Veryan had been beyond grief; it was certain to be a very sad homecoming for her son. Her escort continued to talk, but Christabel’s thoughts were elsewhere, straying inevitably towards a lone man adrift on a distant ocean. With a great effort she forced herself to return to Sir Julian and his enthusiastic recital; the small successes of Pimlico’s deserving poor had never seemed less riveting.

A few hundred miles away, the new Earl Veryan gazed blankly over the sea as it threaded itself swiftly past the ship. He was deep in thought and not all of it was pleasant. The last image of his father played through his mind, the stocky figure waving from the dockside, a bright red handkerchief in his hand, growing smaller and smaller as the ship made its way to the open sea. He had been away from England for too long; he had not been there for his father when he needed him. Now at last he was returning home, but to an unknown life. The Great Hall would no longer echo to Lord Veryan’s greeting and the task of administering a large estate was now his. He knew himself well capable, but he was sorry to be leaving Argentina behind. The country had been good to him. A rugged outdoor life had taught him authority and decisiveness. It had honed him physically and created an inner strength he’d not known he possessed. And life there had not been all hard work. The social round was lively and largely free of the stifling conventions of London society, and the tall, handsome Englishman was a popular guest. There had been music and laughter and plenty of beautiful women happy to engage in a light flirtation or more. He’d enjoyed their favours freely and indifferently, determined to consign love to the vault of history and simply enjoy the physical pleasures of the moment. It had become a way of life for him, demanding little emotion and no commitment.

The moon cut a path across the surface of the small waves so bright that it made him blink. His eyes focused on the expanse of ocean, at the different shades of silver and black stretching to the horizon, then to the lanterns which hung above him, swinging comfortingly to the rhythm of the ship. The crew were engaged elsewhere and he had the deck to himself. He wondered if he dared to smoke a cigar, a disastrous habit he’d contracted in Argentina, but decided that he’d better keep that delight for later. Dinner would be served soon and he did not want to escort Domino to the table smelling of tobacco.

The boat gave a louder creak than usual with the sudden swell of the ocean, but the vessel soon recovered its peaceful passage. A sailor appeared from the deck below and waved a greeting.

‘Fine weather, sir, and the forecast’s good. Should be a quiet landfall, I’m thinking.’

It had not always been so calm; they had suffered tempests aplenty since leaving Buenos Aires and there had been times when he’d wondered if they would ever make it to land again. But it was tranquil now and he had leisure to think. The grey eyes were expressionless, his dark straight brows furrowed. The meeting with his mother would be painful, he knew, but there would be joy too. To be home again; to feel Cornish air on his skin once more and to awake to the sound of Cornish surf breaking on the rocky cove below Madron Abbey. He saw in his mind’s eye the winding path from the house across the green headland and then the sudden dramatic fall of cliffs tumbling into the wild seas. He’d walked that pathway so many times in memory. In just a few weeks he would be walking it in reality.

Immediately the ship berthed in Southampton, he would post up to London and ensure that Domino was safely consigned to the care of her aunt. The sooner he could do this, the sooner he could travel on to Madron.

‘There you are, Richard. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

The speaker was a diminutive brunette who barely came up to his chest. She raised a pair of soft brown eyes to his hard grey ones and smiled sweetly. Richard smiled back in response.

‘Not quite everywhere, it seems. I’m not exactly invisible.’

‘I didn’t expect you to be behind the lifeboats! Were you thinking of leaving the ship without telling me? Or, more like, you were just about to smoke one of those noxious cigars of yours.’

He looked guilty and she crowed with delight, clapping her hands together and doing a little dance around him.

‘You see, I know you so well.’

He doubted that, but it would hardly be surprising if she thought so. They’d been cooped up together in this small vessel for nigh on a month. When he’d first been asked to escort the Spanish ambassador’s daughter to London, he’d been aghast. His mind was beset with worries over his mother and grief for his father and he had no wish to assume the responsibility of a seventeen-year-old girl.

But Señor de Silva had been persuasive. Domino had been invited by the English branch of her family to spend a Season in London and then to make the journey on to Spain and her paternal home in Madrid. Alfredo de Silva was insistent that his daughter should experience something of European society.

‘Argentina is pioneer country, you know, Richard, not the place for a young girl.’

‘She seems to have thrived on life in Buenos Aires,’ Richard protested, trying to escape the fate he saw coming.

But Señor de Silva was adamant. Domino must be launched on society and not in a rough-and-ready place like Buenos Aires. As a considerable heiress, and charmingly pretty, his daughter could look to the highest for a husband.

‘It’s a very long journey for a young girl. There are dangers.’ Richard made a last attempt, but to no avail.

‘Yes, yes, I have considered well,’ Señor de Silva reassured him. ‘The time is right—Napoleon is captive and confined on the island of St Helena where he can do no further harm. Domino will be able to travel in safety to England and then on to Spain. And you will be with my darling to protect her on the long journey.’

And so he’d agreed with reluctance to chaperon the girl aboard ship. He would see her safely on land and delivered to an aunt in Curzon Street, but after that his role would end.

Domino was speaking again. ‘When we get to London, Richard, will there be many parties and balls?’

‘Almost certainly,’ he smiled teasingly. ‘Otherwise why would you leave all your admirers in Buenos Aires and come to London?’

‘My father says I must make good use of my time there. I can have fun, but I must make sure that I meet lots of gentlemen too. Eligible gentlemen.’ She rolled the syllables off her tongue and pulled a face.

‘That will be for your aunt to decide. She is your chaperon and she’ll tell you who is eligible and who is not.’

‘Are you eligible, Richard?’

‘For you, no. I’m far too old and a deal too worn.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-eight.’

‘That’s not old. My father was ten years older than my mother. And I like the way he looked in his wedding pictures. Worldly and experienced.’

She looked up at him trustfully, the melting brown eyes smiling a clear invitation. He was taken aback. This was one outcome he had not foreseen. He’d no wish to be part of any emerging adolescent fantasy. He knew too well the pain which could accompany the insubstantial dreams of youth.

The image of a pale-faced girl with a torrent of red curls and glinting green eyes swam suddenly into his vision. He was startled. It was years since he’d thought of Christabel, really thought of her. It must be that he was nearing England, coming home after so many years. She would be settled amid the London society he hated, probably married with a pair of children to her name.

He didn’t know for sure. His parents, mindful of his feelings, had never kept him informed of her whereabouts or her doings. And he had not wanted to know.

It had been enough to know that she had betrayed him, and with a man he’d considered one of his closest friends. That moment when he’d realised, known for certain that he’d been blind and a fool, came rushing back to him. The whispers which he’d ignored, the sympathetic looks which he’d refused to see, and then the two of them—Christabel and Joshua—a secret smile on their faces, secret murmurs on their lips, emerging from the darkened terrace into the lighted ballroom, walking side by side, bound together as one. The sharpness of that moment still cut at him. He’d looked around the room and realised that every pair of eyes was fixed on him, wondering what he would do, what he would say. He’d left the ball abruptly, incensed and distraught in equal measure. The next day she’d told him. A little late, he’d thought bitterly, just a little late. Three weeks to their wedding and she was sorry, she loved another.

Sorry! Sorry for betraying him with a fly-by-night, a professional second-rater who’d pretended friendship only to get closer to his prey. And she, she’d been willing without a second thought to betray people she had professed to love and to expose him to the most shameful tittle-tattle.

He had drifted into the engagement with Christabel. Their two families had been friends for as long as he could remember and as youngsters they’d been constant companions. It wasn’t difficult to do what their parents had been dreaming of, not difficult to imagine a life lived with each other in the Cornish homeland they shared.

But in the end it had not felt that way. He had begun the affair in nonchalance and ended in love. He had wanted to marry. He had wanted her: her russet curls tickling his chin as they walked together in the gardens, the sensation of her body moulding to his as they dared to learn the waltz together, the softness of her skin to his touch, the softness of her mouth to his lips when he’d first ventured to kiss her. It had been a revelation. Now standing on this weathered deck, the empty ocean spread before him, her beautiful sensual form seemed to envelop him once more and he felt himself grow warm and hard with longing. He cursed silently. To feel passion after all these years was ridiculous. Surely it was only an image of the past that aroused such feelings, only an image, not reality that still had the power to hurt.

‘Are you all right, Richard? You look quite angry.’

Domino’s eyes held a troubled expression and he pulled himself back abruptly to the present.

‘I’m fine,’ he replied easily, ‘I’m not at all angry. But we mustn’t stay on deck any longer—it’s grown far too cold for you.’

‘But I love it here. The moonlight is so beautiful, isn’t it?’

He had to agree. The moon had risen fully now and the world was bathed in silver. Against his will his mind refused to let the memories go, for it had been a night like this when they’d gone swimming in the cove. Forbidden, thrilling, an intimation that Christabel was no longer the child she’d once been. And he had gloried in it. The water contouring itself around her slim form. The long shapely legs glimmering through a gently rippling surface. All he’d wanted to do was wind himself around her and stay clasped, fast and for ever.

‘Dinner is served, Lord Veryan, when you’re ready.’

Neither of them had heard the captain as he approached from the saloon behind. They had been caught up in their own thoughts, standing motionless before the beauty of the ocean.

‘Thank you. We’ll come now,’ Richard replied swiftly and offered his arm to the petite young lady beside him.

‘Lord Veryan? That sounds so grand, Richard.’

‘It should do. Take heed and obey!’ She giggled and made haste to the table that had been prepared for them. The smell from the kitchen was not encouraging. She pulled another face and her eyes glinted mischievously. Her aunt would have to stop her showing her feelings quite so evidently, he thought. It would not do to be too natural in London society. In his experience the Season involved nothing but artificiality and sham. He heaved a sigh without realising he was doing so.

‘Something troubles you, Richard? You’re not looking forward to going home?’

‘Indeed I am. I’m going to the most beautiful place on earth. How could I not be looking forward to it?’

‘More beautiful than Argentina?’

‘To my mind, Domino, but everyone thinks their own home is the best in the world.’

‘Tell me about Cornwall.’

‘Let’s see, what can I tell you? It’s wild and free. Its colours are green and grey—granite cliffs and slate-roofed houses, but rolling green fields. Above all the sea is blue within blue and never still. I can hear the sound of the surf breaking on the beach from my bedroom window and smell the salt on the air.’

‘You make it sound a paradise. And what about your house?’

‘The Abbey is very old and built of grey stone. It has mullioned windows and a massive oak front door studded with iron. Every room is panelled in the same dark oak.’

‘That sounds a bit gloomy—but perhaps abbeys always are?’ Domino puckered her forehead in disappointment.

‘It could be, but in the summer the garden is a cascade of colour—some of the flowers as vivid as those in the tropics because Cornwall is so warm—and in the winter, the rooms are lit by the flicker of open fires and the house is filled with the sweet smell of burning apple wood.’

‘Ah, then it does sound wonderful after all. And do you have many friends there?’

‘A few.’ His tone was indifferent.

‘No one in particular?’

‘No one,’ he reiterated, this time with certainty. And the image of flying red hair and shining emerald eyes was once more banished from his conscious mind.

Christabel returned early that night from a supper party and sat quietly in front of her mirror while her maid carefully untangled the knot of auburn curls. The evening had been insipid and she’d been glad of the excuse of a headache to leave for home. Although her face had maintained a calm detachment throughout the day, her mind was troubled. Ever since hearing his name that morning, she’d not been able to put Richard out of her thoughts. There’d always been a part of her, buried deep, that held his memory, but the passage of the intervening years had soothed the raw pain of his departure and the collapse of the world she’d trusted. She’d done all she could to forget him. Now a random conversation between two unknown women had brought his memory throbbing back to life.

She scolded herself. He would be so changed that she would hardly know him, nor he her. In all probability he would sail into Southampton with a new Lady Veryan on his arm. They were bound to meet again at some time in the future, given the proximity of their homes, but not for many months. He would be certain to post down to Cornwall as soon as he could, to be with his mother. And she, where would she be? No doubt by the end of the Season preparing to be Lady Edgerton, and packing her valise for a protracted stay at Sir Julian’s Berkshire estate. She sighed involuntarily and Rosa stopped brushing her hair for a moment, thinking that she had hurt her mistress. Christabel was smiling at her reassuringly when the bedroom door opened.

‘I’m so glad I’ve found you still up. I wanted a brief word with you, my dear.’

She nodded dismissal to her maid and looked warily at her mother. She knew well the likely nature of the brief word.

‘I was so pleased today at the gallery to see you on such good terms with Sir Julian. You do like him, darling, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course, Mama, what is there not to like?’

‘I mean,’ her mother said doggedly, ‘that it’s not simply a case of not holding him in aversion—you do positively like him?’

‘I think so.’

Lady Harriet tried to restrain her irritation with this lovely but obdurate daughter. ‘You don’t sound very certain.’

‘That’s because I’m not. Sir Julian is kind and charming and obviously a very good person, but perhaps he’s just a little too good for me.’

‘Stuff,’ her mother exclaimed unexpectedly. ‘How can you talk so, Christabel! You deserve the very best.’

Her daughter remained silent, gazing gravely at her reflection in the mirror.

‘Are you still thinking of that business with the Veryans?’

Even her mother, she noted, did not dare to speak Richard’s name. Lady Harriet came close and put her arms around her daughter.

‘Bel, my darling, that’s over and has been for years. It’s nonsense to let it determine the rest of your life. It was a bad affair at the time, but you must put it out of your mind and make a fresh start.’

Whether it was her mother’s hug or simply because she’d had a jarring day, she couldn’t say, but Christabel found herself dissolving into tears.

Lady Harriet soothed her lovingly and then spoke to her as if to a weary child. ‘The time has come, Christabel, to make a sensible decision which will affect the rest of your life. You have received many offers of marriage and have refused them all. In a few months you will be twenty-five and in our society that is not a good age to be single still. If you really dislike the idea of marriage to Sir Julian, you know we will not try to persuade you otherwise. Your father and I have profited from painful experience. But if you feel you could live comfortably with him, then I would urge you not to wait too long. He is obviously deeply in love with you and you have only to “throw the handkerchief”—a vulgar saying, I know, but a perfectly true one none the less—and he will pick it up with alacrity.’

‘I know, Mama.’ Her daughter’s woebegone expression raised a smile on Lady Harriet’s face.

‘Do not look so miserable about it. You will have a splendid life. You will never want for anything and will have a man by your side whose only wish is to make you happy.’

How to tell her mother how she felt? How to explain it even to herself? Her head told her that a tranquil life with Sir Julian was the best possible compromise she could make, but her heart murmured traitorously that tranquillity would not satisfy. What did she want, then? Gaiety, exhilaration, adventure even? But she knew her mother was right. She was a mature woman and she must behave like one. That meant making a sensible decision about her future.

Thinking that her homily had gone home, Lady Harriet continued. ‘Promise me, my love, that when the moment comes you will listen to whatever Sir Julian has to say and consider his words favourably.’

‘I promise, Mama.’

She made the undertaking in good faith. She must try not to disappoint Sir Julian, nor let her family down again.

Her pledge was put to the test the following Saturday morning. She was quietly engaged with Rosa, selecting dresses from her wardrobe that needed attention and listing the new gloves and slippers she must purchase now that the Season was well advanced, when the second footman appeared at her bedroom door.

‘Milady would like to see you in the drawing room, Miss Christabel.’

She wondered what was toward and made haste downstairs. Her heart sunk when she saw Sir Julian perched rather unsafely on one of the decorative but spindly chairs her mother had recently hired for the drawing room.

‘Miss Tallis, how good to see you. And how well you look in that ensemble.’

She looked blankly at the old dress she was wearing and wondered if her potential spouse needed glasses.

‘But then,’ he continued, ‘you always contrive to look amazingly elegant.’

Her mother beamed appreciatively. ‘Sir Julian has been speaking of the new floral exhibition in Hyde Park. It sounds truly magnificent and has been especially designed as part of the celebrations arranged for the French Royal Family.’

‘In fact,’ Sir Julian interjected eagerly, ‘they are actually to celebrate the Prince Regent’s own assumption of power, but since his father is so very ill, it would be bad form for him to broadcast it, I dare say.’

Christabel looked from one to the other in some puzzlement, wondering where she fitted into this conversation. Her mother was at hand to help.

‘Sir Julian has very kindly called to discover if you would care to see the display. I know you have no engagements this morning, my dear.’

Sir Julian added his voice to the petition, ‘I hope I do not importune, Miss Tallis, but I would welcome your company. And I am sure you will be charmed, knowing your highly developed sense of beauty. The southern tip of the park is a sheer blaze of colour.’

Christabel had no alternative but to agree, only stopping to change her gown and unpack the new bonnet which had just been delivered by Celeste, her favourite milliner. It was a charming confection, a light-green cottager style tied beneath the chin with an enormous chiffon bow. It set off to perfection a gown of pale primrose silk. If she was to be wooed, and she had no doubt that this was Sir Julian’s plan, she would at least look the part.

Hyde Park was unusually busy for a Saturday morning and for some time they had little leisure to converse, their attention distracted by the need to avoid a constant parade of slowly moving barouches and their elderly occupants, baby carriages with their nursemaids and schoolboys bowling their hoops. It seemed the whole world and his wife had come out to play this early April morning. And it wasn’t hard to see why. The sun streamed down from an almost cloudless blue sky and spring was in the air.

Richard was also in the park that morning, carefully shepherding Domino through its north gate towards Rotten Row, which was already busy with riders. It would be a good opportunity, he thought, for the young girl to experience one of the more popular pursuits of London life. Annoyingly he had been forced to kick his heels in the capital for some days while legal papers were being prepared for his signature. But he could at least enjoy this heavensent morning.

He glanced sideways at his companion, an amused expression on his face. She was in high gig now that he’d unexpectedly remained in town and her aunt had agreed to his chaperonage. Lady Blythe’s horror at the notion of a male escort the younger side of thirty had evaporated the moment Richard presented himself in Curzon Street. His manners were excellent and he showed an avuncular affection for Domino that not even her worst nightmare could translate into any threat to her charge. She was only too pleased to accept his protection for her young niece whose company she was already finding exhausting.

They had hired hacks from the stables around the corner from Aunt Loretta’s house, but had almost instantly regretted it. Neither had any hesitation in characterising their respective mounts as out-and-out slugs. Domino had already begun to feel irked by the restraints her aunt had found it necessary to place on her; after weeks of confinement on board ship, she was restless for the kind of unfettered gallop she had been accustomed to in Argentina. Her horse was unlikely to provide that. Yet the morning shone with perfection and the greensward stretched invitingly in front of her. She could not resist the attempt, and before Richard could stop her she had dug her spurs hard into the horse’s flanks. Startled out of his wits, Firefly was for once in his life true to his name. He shot off across the park at breakneck speed to the shocked outrage of those sedately taking their morning promenade. Forced to ride sidesaddle, Domino crouched low over the horse’s neck in order to keep her seat, with her hair streaming inelegantly behind. After a frozen instant of shock Richard urged his mount into an unwilling gallop and rushed after her, fearful for her safety and intent on stopping her from creating the kind of scandal of which she had no notion.

Firefly hit the dust of Rotten Row, choking nearby strollers and scattering them to the winds as they leapt for safety, just as Sir Julian had worked himself up to the point of a declaration.

‘I shall be leaving for Rosings in the morning, Miss Tallis, and had hoped to depart with one very important question answered. It is a question dear to my heart and only you can settle it. I do not, of course, require an immediate answer, but I would be truly grateful if you would agree to think over what I have to say. You see, Miss Tallis, Christabel—’

He was forced to break off mid sentence and take drastic action as Firefly thundered towards him and his lovely companion. In a trice he had swept Christabel up and literally jumped her out of harm’s way. A second later another horse galloping headlong in pursuit caught up with the runaway and grabbed hold of Firefly’s bridle.

‘Never, ever do that again!’

Richard’s voice expressed his cold fury. Badly jolted by the headlong flight of her horse and realising that she had committed a serious social sin, Domino slipped from the saddle, her face white and frightened. She had never seen Richard so angry and she wasn’t certain whether she should shout or cry. He gave her no chance to decide. Turning to the couple who had narrowly escaped Firefly’s thundering hooves, he bowed in apology. Sir Julian inclined his head at the irate stranger before him. He had no idea of his identity for he had been travelling on the Continent when Richard Veryan had first come to the capital.

‘Please forgive my companion,’ Richard offered stiffly. ‘She is a visitor to London and unaware of the rules governing riding in Hyde Park. I trust that you have received no harm.’

‘I’m glad to say that we haven’t,’ stuttered Sir Julian, now very shaken by the incident, ‘but your charge—for I take it that she is your charge—needs to be given a summary lesson.’

‘She shall have it,’ he said crisply, glaring at Sir Julian with annoyance. Domino had put him in the wrong and he did not like it.

He turned to apologise to the woman he had only glimpsed from the corner of his eye and for the first time in the encounter was struck dumb. For what seemed endless time, he stood motionless and without expression, absorbing the picture before him, hardly believing what he saw.

He had not visualised the moment when he would meet Christabel again. He’d made quite sure that his imagination never strayed into such dangerous territory. But if he’d been tempted to speculate, it would not have felt like this. He would have felt nothing—the meaningless liaisons of years would have done their work—and any carefully suppressed images that still remained in the recesses of his memory would have, should have, shrivelled in the cold light of reality. He ought to feel nothing. But that, it seemed, was not so. He stood and looked and his heart received a most painful jolt.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. The glinting green eyes and the sensual tumble of red locks against translucent skin were arousing all his senses. He looked searchingly at her ungloved hand. Astonishingly she was not married, at least not yet. That popinjay with her was no doubt the intended.

Christabel had known him immediately. He was still the same tall, athletic man that he had always been, but he seemed stronger now, more muscular, his face lean and tanned. There was an authority about him that had not been there before. His grey eyes as they fixed her in an unwavering stare beneath black, straight brows were lacking in all emotion. There was no warmth, no answering response to her tentative smile.

His voice was as indifferent as his expression. ‘Miss Tallis? Your servant, ma’am.’

How hateful of him to speak to her thus, stiff and formal as though they had met for the first time only yesterday. Sir Julian looked questioningly between the two of them and Christabel forced herself to perform the social niceties.

‘Sir Julian, may I introduce Earl Veryan. Lord Veryan, Sir Julian Edgerton.’

The two men eyed each other askance, instinctively hostile. Domino, abandoned at a distance, walked her horse towards them and Richard was compelled to make her known to her erstwhile victims. She smiled sunnily at them.

‘I’m so sorry, please forgive me for frightening you.’ Her accent was marked as though she hoped that this might produce a swifter forgiveness.

‘I don’t know the rules,’ she continued, ‘and Richard never told me, did you, Richard?’ And she smiled up at him, her eyes glowing with affectionate entreaty.

But Richard was still looking at Christabel and saw those extraordinary green eyes half-close. Was that perhaps unhappiness at Domino’s youthful adoration, an attempt to erase a discomfiting image? It seemed unlikely given her ruthless rejection of him. Yet undoubtedly she’d flinched at Domino’s display of fondness. The girl meant nothing to him, but Christabel was not to know that. He hoped that she was suffering at least a little of the agonising jealousy that he’d once known.

He was shocked by the vindictive thought, shocked that his emotions were surging out of control. That he should be so susceptible, so easily disturbed, after six long years was dismaying. He schooled his face to remain expressionless as he bowed his formal farewell, but his mind was deep in tangled thought. He walked swiftly away and Domino had almost to skip to keep up with his long stride.

The unexpected meeting had unnerved him. He’d felt his body invaded by unwanted desire and his mind battered by conflicting impulses. He was bewildered by his reactions for they made no sense. But of one thing he was certain. He could not allow himself to be drawn to Christabel again; he had to overcome a weakness that had come out of nowhere. As he walked a vague sense grew upon him that if he could prove to himself, prove to the world, that her beauty was only skin deep, she would cease to bother him. The veriest shadow of an idea began to form in his mind.

Chapter Two

Christabel allowed herself to be escorted home, Sir Julian steering her expertly along the pavement while remonstrating at length on the licence given the very young these days. She hardly heard him for her mind was in turmoil. The unexpected meeting with Richard would have been difficult enough but his cold aloofness had at first amazed her and then upset her deeply. Years had passed since she’d broken their engagement and she’d imagined that whatever anger he’d felt towards her would have cooled long ago. But it was clear that it was not so. Those steely grey eyes had expressed—what, indifference, aversion, even enmity? Richard, of all people, the boy who had meant most to her for most of her life.

Sir Julian continued his monologue as they made their way through the busy crowds that thronged Mayfair that morning.

‘I am only glad, Miss Tallis, that you sustained no lasting injury. How I could have reconciled myself to that I do not know. It was I who invited you to view the floral display—if it had not been for me, you would never have been in danger.’

She roused herself to reassure him. ‘Please don’t blame yourself, Sir Julian. The incident was in no way your fault. You could not have foreseen such a thing happening.’

‘That is true, but I still feel a heavy responsibility. And tomorrow I must go away. I cannot delay my visit to Rosings any longer. I have already put it off once and my bailiff remains most anxious to consult me.’

‘Of course, you must not delay. Why ever should you? As you see, I am perfectly unharmed. My nerves may be a little jangled, but they will soon recover.’

‘Miss Tallis, you are a pearl among women. Others would have had hysterics. You are so cool and admirable under adversity.’

Sir Julian’s fussing was becoming an irritant. She might well have succumbed to hysterics, but not from the possibility of being crushed by a runaway horse. She could hardly admit that the shock she’d sustained was in encountering Richard’s hostility, and she was desperate for her well-meaning companion to drop the topic. Thank goodness he was to journey to his estates tomorrow and she would be free of his company for the next few days. But how dreadful that she should feel this way about the man she was considering taking as a husband.

‘I shall be back very shortly—’ he had almost read her mind ‘—and then, Miss Tallis, I hope to renew our conversation which was so violently terminated.’

They had reached the house in Mount Street that Lady Tallis rented every year and Sir Julian bounded up the white stone steps and knocked sharply on the front door with his cane. Christabel wasn’t sure if this was to impress since there was a perfectly good door knocker. However, he was beaming down on her with a gentle kindliness and she tried to look suitably grateful for his care. As soon as she could, she would send him on his way and seek refuge in her bedroom. She needed time to think, time to digest all that had happened that morning.

The bright blue door of Number Six finally swung open after an unusual delay and the two of them made to enter, but were pulled up sharply on the threshold by a scene of rampant confusion. The hall was overflowing with trunks, cases, holdalls of all kinds and a decidedly sulky-looking parrot in a white ironwork cage that Christabel recognised instantly.

‘Sophia? Sophia is here?’

‘Yes, Sophia is here.’

A strident voice emanated from behind the furthest stack of parcels. The young lady who emerged, smiling triumphantly at her sister, was not ill favoured, but against Christabel’s pure beauty she appeared unexceptional.

‘What on earth are you doing in Mount Street? Why have you left Cornwall?’ Christabel exclaimed.

Before her sister could answer, a cheery male voice called out from the adjoining library, ‘Hey, Sophy, you could hang the bird here.’

‘Benedict? He’s here too?’

Christabel was dumbstruck at this sudden eruption into her life of the two siblings she had supposed to be fixed at Lamorna Place for the next few months. Lady Harriet floated into the hall, waving her hands ineffectually over the assorted baggage as though by doing so it would miraculously order itself and march away.

‘Christabel, my darling, I’m so glad you’re back. The servants are being amazingly slow at sorting this mountain and I need your help.’

‘I’m not surprised they’re slow—why on earth is there so much?’

Sophia drew herself up with an indignant puff and was just about to launch into an impassioned response when she spied Sir Julian hovering just behind her sister. Christabel had not introduced him immediately and he took the chance to excuse himself, saying in a rather nervous voice that he could see the family was extremely busy at this time and he would take his leave.

‘May I call on my return, Miss Tallis?’

‘Yes, of course, you may.’ It was her mother who replied so readily.

Sir Julian bowed himself elegantly out of the door and down the steps, but not before he heard Sophia’s accusing voice. ‘Why didn’t you introduce us to your fiancé, Christabel?’

The door shut behind him.

‘He is not my fiancé.’

‘That’s very strange. We understood that you were engaged. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it, Benedict?’

Benedict smiled in a superior fashion. ‘It may be why you’re here, but I’m here to have fun,’ he returned.

‘Mama, may I speak privately with you for a moment?’ Christabel asked in a tight voice as she ushered her mother into the library.

Lady Harriet looked flustered. ‘Shouldn’t we get the hall cleared first, my dear? The house is at sixes and sevens and the staff really do not like it.’

‘In a minute, Mama. This is more important.’

Once in the library, she wasted no time. ‘Why are Sophia and Benedict here?’ she asked, fixing her mother with a minatory look.

‘They are family. It is quite natural that they should come to stay with us,’ her mother responded defensively.

‘But why now, Mama? You know that it was decided they would both remain in Cornwall for the next few months.’

‘That was certainly the initial plan, but things have changed a little.’

‘What things precisely?’

‘Sophia is eighteen and should have the opportunity to partake of at least some of the Season.’ Her mother appeared unwilling to answer her directly.

‘She was eighteen when we left Lamorna, so I ask you again—what has changed?’

‘Sir Julian has changed.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean that he is ready to make you an offer, Christabel. You cannot deny it and if, as I hope, you will see fit to accept him, Sophia must be introduced to the ton at the earliest possible moment so that she, too, has the chance of contracting an eligible alliance.’

‘But it was agreed that she would come out officially next year.’

‘That was before we knew about Sir Julian.’

‘What do we know about Sir Julian? Sophia said that he was my fiancé. Why should she say that?’

‘He is—almost,’ her mother ventured.

‘He has not asked me to marry him.’

‘But he will. And I cannot think why he did not do so this morning. It was clearly what he intended.’

Christabel ignored this and pursued her own enquiry relentlessly.

‘Have you told Sophia that I am engaged?’

‘I may have mentioned in letters to your father that it was possible you were on the point of accepting a proposal.’

‘And Papa has repeated this to Sophia?’

‘He may have mentioned it.’

‘May have? He obviously let it slip and, knowing Sophia, she will have plagued him to death until he agreed that she could come to London. Isn’t that so?’

Her mother hung her head guiltily.

‘I thought so. And I am to be coerced into agreeing to this marriage so that my sister can have her way.’

‘No one is talking of coercion, Bel. You know that you must be married, if not to Sir Julian, then to someone else. We’ve had this conversation a hundred times before. And it’s only fair to Sophia that she be allowed her place in the sun.’

‘And is Benedict also to be allowed his place in the sun?’

‘Don’t be foolish. Benedict is still a stripling and only just down from Oxford. Your father thought it wise to let him gain some town bronze before he settles to learning the management of the estate.’

‘What you mean is that he also plagued Papa until he was allowed to come.’

‘He will be here only a month, my dear, and someone had to escort Sophia. I cannot understand why you are so cross.’

Christabel took a deep breath and said with deliberation, ‘I am cross because I feel my hand is being forced. I understood that we would be here on our own for this Season and expected to have time and peace to consider my future. Now I have virtually the whole of my family breathing down my neck and pushing me into a marriage I don’t want.’

‘You don’t want it!’

Her mother looked scandalised and Christabel felt stunned. She hadn’t meant to acknowledge such troublesome feelings so starkly, even to herself, let alone express them aloud. She tried to recover her composure as best she could.

‘I understand my position, Mama, and I will do what is expected of me. But don’t demand that I am glad.’

And with that she turned on her heel and threaded her way swiftly through the still-cluttered hall and up the stairs to her room without another word. Brother and sister, still standing amidst the clutter of baggage, looked after her in surprise.

Once in her room, Christabel flung herself down on the satin counterpane and closed her eyes. The morning had been full of shocks and she was not coping well with them. She needed to pull herself together. Sophia was an unfriendly presence that she could have done without, but nothing more. As for Benedict, he would be filling Mount Street with noise and disturbance. Maybe that would be beneficial; it would help to distract her from the reality of her life. Which was what, exactly? Marriage to a man she did not love and hatred from the man she had once loved. The near-fatal accident, her siblings’ unwelcome arrival, her mother’s pretence, could all be forgotten. It was Richard’s undisguised hostility that stayed with her.

Early the next morning she woke to a household already on the move. She’d slept badly and wanted nothing more than to stay curled in bed. But very shortly Sophia bounced into her room, more than happy to explain the bustle.

‘Mama has said that I am to go shopping and you are to accompany me,’ she announced peremptorily.

Christabel blinked sleepily and reached for her cup of chocolate. ‘Don’t you already have enough clothes?’

‘No, I don’t. I shall need a completely new wardrobe to make a splash in London. You have a rail of exquisite dresses, so don’t be selfish, Bel!’ Her sister was at her most indignant.

She flounced out of the room only to be replaced by a second morning visitor.

‘Bel, my darling, I know you’re not happy about accompanying Sophia, but I would count it a great favour.’

‘I will go, of course, Mama, but I won’t be able to stop her buying the most dreadful clothes. She will listen to your advice far more readily than to mine.’

‘My dear, Sophia listens to no one, as you well know. And you have such elegant taste—I’m hoping some of it will rub off on her.’

Christabel did not share that hope, but felt it only right she attempt to help. Her mother was looking unusually tired and harassed by the sudden eruption of two youthful and demanding offspring into her hitherto peaceful household.

Within the hour they were in the carriage and on their way to Lady Harriet’s favourite modiste. The morning that followed was one Christabel never wished to repeat. Again and again she sought to dissuade the younger girl from unwise purchases: heliotrope was not on the whole an immensely flattering colour; a bonnet sporting six ostrich plumes and a cluster of brightly coloured gemstones might be thought a trifle vulgar; a dress of gauze worn over a transparent petticoat was unlikely to ingratiate her with the most illustrious members of the ton. But she was helpless against the onslaught of Sophia in full cry and could only watch in despair as the carriage gradually filled with an array of packages containing the most unsuitable attire.

The clothes had been costly and eaten up most of the very generous allowance bestowed by Lord Tallis and still they had not purchased gloves, slippers, reticules—all the myriad accessories necessary for a young lady about to embark on a social whirl. Christabel’s tentative suggestion that they go to the Pantheon Bazaar where she’d heard there were bargains to be had was received with surprising enthusiasm and they drove immediately to Grafton House. Very soon they found themselves immersed in stalls displaying an abundance of coloured muslins, ornate trimmings, silk stockings, fine cambric handkerchiefs, all at astonishing prices. The bazaar was not generally visited by ladies of high fashion, but within minutes of entering the emporium Sophia was exclaiming loudly over the bargains to be had. The only drawback to the shop was its popularity for by noon it was completely full and shopping had become a tedious business of jostling elbows. Both young ladies were heartily relieved when the last piece of lace and the last pair of kid slippers had been chosen. Their relief was short-lived, however, for the increasing crowds made it necessary to wait a considerable time to pay at the final counter.

Sophia had at last reached the head of the queue when Christabel heard a voice that was faintly familiar. She turned her head and caught a glimpse of a stylishly gowned woman holding in her hand a collection of colourful loo masks.

‘They will be just the thing, Aunt Loretta, if we go to Vauxhall—and you did promise!’ The woman’s younger companion was almost jumping with enthusiasm.

‘I think you’re stretching the word promise, Domino. I said we might go.’

But Domino had lost interest in the masks and was staring instead at Christabel. She darted forwards eagerly and offered her hand.

‘Miss Tallis, isn’t it? How are you feeling? I’m so sorry about the accident yesterday—I was worried about you.’

‘Thank you for your concern, but I’m perfectly well.’

‘Richard said that you would be fine and he’s always right. He said that you were the coolest of women and unlikely to suffer any disordered feelings. You see, I’ve remembered his words exactly.’

‘What accident, Domino?’ her aunt interjected.

‘Only a small one, Aunt, a little frightening at the time, but over in a moment.’

She looked from one to the other, a pleased expression on her face. ‘I must introduce you immediately. Aunt Loretta, this is Miss Christabel Tallis—I have it right?—such a difficult name for my tongue! Miss Tallis, this is my aunt, Lady Blythe.’

‘How do you do,’ Christabel responded in her musical voice, ‘I’m very happy to meet you.’

Lady Blythe smiled anxiously as she shook hands. ‘Domino said nothing to me of an accident.’

‘Please don’t be concerned—I have taken no harm from yesterday’s adventure, as you see.’ And she smiled reassuringly at aunt and niece. She had no wish to get this vivacious young girl into any further trouble.

‘Is not this shop the most wonderful you’ve ever seen, Miss Tallis?’ Domino’s eyes were lit with pleasure.

She glanced around her rapturously and Christabel glimpsed a uniformed footman standing a few paces away already loaded with packages. Lady Blythe saw the direction of her glance and said wryly, ‘As you see, Miss Tallis, we have had a busy morning.’

‘You know you’ve enjoyed it as much as I,’ Domino protested. ‘And I did need to add to my wardrobe, didn’t I? I’ve been invited to so many parties.’

Her aunt smiled indulgently as her niece, still prattling happily, turned to Christabel.

‘I’ve been in London only a very short while, Miss Tallis, but already I must have been to a dozen entertainments. It’s been splendid. And Richard has been a wonderful escort. He’s been wonderful, hasn’t he, Aunt Loretta?’ and she turned impulsively to the older lady, her cheeks glowing.

‘Lord Veryan has certainly been a good friend to us,’ her aunt agreed.

The girl’s soft brown eyes were smiling and she looked the picture of happiness. She obviously revered Richard and just as obviously knew nothing about Christabel. He had not told her of their shared history. It was as though he wished to wipe the slate clean and obliterate that part of his life. The Christabel he’d known in his youth had ceased to exist for him. Instead a callous and unfeeling woman, a woman whose emotions were never disordered, had taken her place.

She was saved from making any further conversation by Sophia, who had finally finished paying for her goods. Before Christabel knew what was happening, her sister had seized her hand and was dragging her towards the entrance of the shop without a glance at the couple standing nearby.

‘Come, Bel, or we’ll be late for luncheon.’ Christabel had time only to execute a hasty bow before she was bundled outside.

‘Really, Sophia, there is little point in buying smart dresses and clever fripperies if you lack manners to match,’ she remonstrated, as they emerged into the fresh air and once more climbed into the waiting carriage.

‘I had to get out of that shop. It was so hot that I thought I’d melt. And I must go home this minute and try on all my new outfits.’

Her sister demurred. ‘Before we return to Mount Street I’d like to call in at Hatchards to collect the book I ordered. Mansfield Park is being spoken of everywhere and I’m most anxious to read it.’

‘You can pick the book up tomorrow,’ her sister complained. ‘At this hour of the day Piccadilly will be blocked with traffic and it will take an age to get home.’

Christabel remained unmoved. ‘I particularly wish to begin Miss Austen’s novel today and we’ll only be in the shop a few minutes. You owe me a little time after this morning, don’t you think?’

Sophia looked sulky, but did not dispute further. The traffic was lighter than expected and very soon they were standing outside Hatchards’s impressive bow windows. The smell of leather greeted them as Christabel trod briskly across polished wood to a large counter where a stack of volumes of different shapes and sizes was awaiting collection.

Already bored with the errand, Sophia began an immediate prowl around the lines of high-sided bookshelves in the hope of seeking out possible acquaintances. Soon she had disappeared from view so completely that when Christabel went to look for her, she was nowhere to be seen, even in the furthest recesses of the shop. A carriage full of new dresses had been too much of a temptation, Christabel thought, and Sophia must have ordered the groom to drive her home and left her sister to make her own way back. It was a nuisance, but not a disaster. Mount Street was a ten-minute walk away and she had no fear of undertaking the journey on her own.

She began to make her way to the shop entrance, zigzagging around the rows of tall shelves, and was just turning the corner of one particularly high stack of books when she looked up to find Richard Veryan barring her way. For a moment she froze. He was the last person she expected to see. He wore a drab riding cape over a tightly fitting coat of blue superfine and what looked to be a recent purchase, a cut Venetian waistcoat and the palest of fawn pantaloons. His air of elegance was subtly enhanced by the powerful muscularity of a body long hardened by physical activity.

He smiled sardonically as he swept her a bow. ‘Good morning, Miss Tallis. I trust I find you well. I hope that you haven’t suffered unduly from yesterday’s unfortunate incident.’

For a moment she was mesmerised, unable to speak, unable to take her eyes from the figure who stood in her path. It was as though she were seeing him for the very first time. Yesterday his sudden appearance, when she’d imagined him still on the high seas, had sent her mind into disarray. She had been conscious only of those crystal-hard eyes raking her down. Now the full force of his masculine attraction hit her hard. She struggled to find words.

‘I’m well, Lord Veryan, thank you, and have suffered no lasting effects,’ she managed at last.

‘I’m very happy to hear that. I would not have anyone injured because of my lack of foresight. But I could not have anticipated Miss de Silva’s actions—it was sheer recklessness, I fear, on the part of my young companion.’

‘This is her first visit to London and she can surely be excused,’ Christabel returned gently. ‘She would not know the regulations governing riding in Hyde Park.’

‘She does now, however, and will in future follow them strictly. Then we should go on well enough. Rules are a necessary part of civilised society, don’t you think? Myself, I’ve always placed a good deal of trust in observing them, but I imagine you must know that.’

Christabel said nothing. He was clearly intent on upsetting her.

‘You’re silent—perhaps you’re unwilling to criticise the young lady in question? Rest assured that I’ve already done so. She’s received a trimming she’ll not forget. But she has youth on her side and youth has one great advantage, I find—it can learn from its mistakes.’

‘I’m sure Miss de Silva will. No doubt you are a proficient teacher, sir,’ she replied sharply.

‘I trust so. I certainly should be. I was lucky enough in my own youth to have an equally proficient teacher who taught me to learn from my biggest mistake.’

His face was grim and she had an overpowering desire to flee, but he was barring her way and escape was impossible. She steadied her nerves and refused to be intimidated.

‘I hardly know the young lady, of course, but she seemed well able to manage her own affairs.’

‘She gives that impression to the uninitiated, but to those who know her well,’ he said meaningfully, ‘the case is otherwise. Her spontaneity is certainly entrancing, but is like to run away with her. She needs someone to exercise a firm control.’

‘I hope she sees the situation as you do.’

‘And if she does not?’

‘Then she will reject that control and simply be herself,’ she threw at him.

‘Naturally I should have expected you to say that, Miss Tallis. But for the moment I’d forgotten that you are an arch advocate of self-expression, no matter what the cost.’

His smile was belied by the frost in his cold, grey eyes and she felt her stomach twist into knots. It seemed he’d accosted her quite deliberately in order to bait her, but she could not let him ride roughshod.

‘You misunderstand me, sir. I was not encouraging Miss de Silva to break rules, simply proposing that everyone must have the freedom to make some mistakes.’

‘Ah, yes, you would know a deal about such freedom. Dare I suggest that restraint is a more admirable quality?’

‘Restraint and youth do not sit easily together,’ she retorted.

‘Yet for most they can be negotiated. Dishonour is a powerful deterrent, would you not say?’

She was weary of the cat-and-mouse game he seemed to relish and made to walk forwards. ‘If you will excuse me, I am meeting my sister here and would not wish to keep her waiting.’

He made no move to allow her to pass, but instead looked around him mockingly. ‘I don’t see her. She is certainly nowhere in the shop. Are you sure you were supposed to meet her here?’

‘Yes, indeed. She will no doubt be outside.’

‘And if she is not, you will have no companion to accompany you home. May I offer my escort?’

‘I thank you, but no,’ she said hastily, ‘I have my carriage.’

‘I fear you’re out of luck. There was no sign of a carriage on the road when I entered the shop. It must have left without you—but then perhaps Sir Julian Edgerton is close by to take you home?’

She shook her head.

‘No? I made sure that he would be. From our meeting yesterday, he seemed a most attentive gentleman.

Our untimely descent on you perhaps interrupted an important conversation. I do apologise if this was so—I wouldn’t want to frighten him away. Where is he now?’

She was angered by his insinuations and also bewildered. How had he known that Sir Julian was about to propose?

‘He is visiting his country estate,’ she said in a ruffled tone. ‘If you wish to see him, I suggest that you call at his town house in a few days’ time. It is in Brook Street, I believe.’

‘There you are, Bel. I’ve been looking for you every where.’

Sophia bounced suddenly into view, almost running around the adjacent bookcase and only just preventing herself from cannoning into Richard. He turned round with annoyance; the interview had just been getting interesting. He’d followed Christabel into the shop on impulse, feeling an overpowering need to confront her with the words he’d kept suppressed for so long. Even more compelling had been the need to protect himself from her, to keep her at a safe distance, by wielding ugly recriminations. ‘Good gracious, are you who I think you are?’ Sophia had been just twelve when Richard quit England and had only a vague memory of her sister’s former fiancé.

‘Whatever are you doing here?’ Sophie continued a trifle too bluntly.

Christabel intervened. ‘Lord Veryan is newly arrived in town. We met yesterday in Hyde Park when there was a slight accident. He has been kind enough to enquire how I am, but I think it’s time for us to go.’

Richard glanced at Sophia with disfavour. She had never been an appealing child with her insistence on frills and furbelows and the constant preening in every mirror she could find. To his jaundiced eye she looked very little improved. Christabel as a child had been so different—a skinny, reckless tomboy of a girl with a tangle of red hair and freckles to match. She had always been ready for adventure and just as always ready to drag him into whatever trouble she had been brewing.

Looking at her now, a slender vision in eau-de-nil silk, a matching ribbon threaded through those wonderfully fiery curls, he smiled inwardly, forgetting for the moment his purpose in accosting her. No greater contrast between past and present could there be. He remembered the day he’d returned from Oxford to find his one-time playmate transformed, a butterfly fluttering the hearts of all the local beaux. He had gazed at her in wonder, drinking in her beauty, spellbound.

His reverie came to an abrupt end as he became aware of Sophia still scowling at him from a few feet away. With a brief bow, he moved aside for the sisters to make their exit.

‘Where were you? I’ve been an age looking for you,’ Sophia scolded as she marched forcefully towards the glass-paned doors. ‘The carriage was causing an obstruction and Stebbings has had to move it. We’ll have to walk the whole of Picadilly now.’

Christabel made no reply, but moved swiftly along the flagged thoroughfare in deep thought. Richard had appeared in Hatchards at the very time that she’d chosen to call at the shop. It was as though he’d been shadowing her, waiting for an opportunity to confront her. And it had been a confrontation. She recalled the ice in his eyes and the anger in his voice, as he sought to remind her of her crime.

And he’d been at pains to emphasise his new-found intimacy with Domino de Silva, while a few hours earlier the young girl had made it clear that she admired Richard greatly and that in her eyes he could do no wrong. Christabel didn’t blame her for that idolisation. Richard was the perfect hero for an adolescent dream—a honed body, a handsome face alight with intelligence and an air of innate strength, which more than matched his elegance. And, if she were honest, he was a hero for more than adolescent girls. When he’d appeared so suddenly before her, polished and powerful and blocking her escape, she’d felt a charge of pure sexual magnetism. But it was momentary and quickly evaporated as it became plain that he intended only to distress her. She must not dwell on his beautiful form and face, nor on his seeming desire to exact some kind of retribution. Her life would soon resume its normal peaceful rhythm. Sir Julian was returning and, she told herself severely, she would look forward to that. By dint of repetition she was sure she would come to believe it.

Chapter Three

‘You’ve not forgotten that Lady Russell is to collect you at eleven o’ clock?’ her mother prompted the next morning, whisking through the hall on her way to consult with the housekeeper.

‘Lady Russell?’ Christabel grappled with the name for a moment.

‘Sir Julian has arranged it, has he not? The tickets for Montagu House?’

‘Ah, yes, I remember now,’ she said heavily, ‘He was keen that we view the Marbles that Lord Elgin has brought back from Greece.’

‘A stuffy museum and Lady Russell all in the same morning,’ interjected Sophia as she emerged from the breakfast room in one of the eye-opening ensembles she had purchased yesterday. ‘Rather you than me!’

Her mother rounded on her sharply. ‘You’re becoming far too pert for your own good, Sophia. You must learn to keep a check on your tongue or you will fare badly in society.’

This was an important consideration for an aspiring belle and Sophia looked suitably contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Mama, but, from what I hear from friends who are already out, Lady Russell is a gorgon.’

‘That’s as may be, but you had much better keep your opinions to yourself. And, Christabel, you must hurry. You will need to dress in something a little more demure.’ Christabel glanced down at the low neckline and French trimmings of the apricot sarcenet and sighed. Her mother was right. Lady Russell was a stickler for correctness and only a simple day dress of sprigged muslin with a high neck and a matching spencer would satisfy that matriarch.

It was weeks ago that she’d agreed to the visit. At the time she’d been feeling more guilty than usual at her lack of enthusiasm for Sir Julian’s company and he’d been so touchingly anxious that she become better acquainted with what small family he possessed that she’d felt forced to consent. Since then she’d acquired a genuine interest in the marble wonders that had travelled all the way from Athens and, were it not for Lady Russell, she would be looking forward to the morning’s expedition with pleasure.

Sir Julian’s sister was punctual to the minute, an erect figure in a heavy but serviceable barouche, awaiting Christabel outside the Mount Street house with scarcely concealed impatience. The severe grey kerseymere gown and dreary poke bonnet that she wore did nothing to lighten the atmosphere. Her greeting was perfunctory. She was not at all sure that this young woman was a suitable wife for her brother. She was altogether too beautiful, and beautiful women usually meant trouble. And there was that unfortunate business years ago when her name had been bandied around the town as a tease and a jilt by every wicked rattlejaw. Her modest behaviour since had done much to redeem this unsatisfactory reputation, but still one never knew when old habits would surface.

You only had to look at that hair—wild to a fault. But Julian was evidently head over heels in love with her and you could hardly blame him. Men could be very stupid, never seeing beyond what was in front of their eyes.

‘Are you looking forward to viewing the Marbles, Miss Tallis?’ she eventually asked her companion as the barouche rolled smoothly forwards. Her smile was one of gracious condescension.

‘Indeed, ma’am, I am. I have been reading a good deal about them and my interest has been greatly stirred.’

Lady Russell unbent slightly. At least the girl had some intelligence, which was all to the good. It was necessary that Julian marry a woman who was serious enough to understand and tolerate his charity work. As far as Lady Russell was concerned, her brother’s projects for the labouring classes remained wholly inexplicable.

‘I have learned,’ she remarked magisterially, ‘that a special gallery has been built for these statues at a vast cost so we must hope that they warrant such expenditure.’ The faltering conversation was effectively closed down.

Once the carriage left Mayfair and was bowling towards Bloomsbury, the roads became a great deal clearer and they reached the entrance of the British Museum only a few minutes later than expected. It did not stop her ladyship tutting loudly at her groom, who had made the journey to Montagu House in record time and was even now negotiating a difficult manoeuvre to bring the carriage exactly to the bottom of the flight of steps which led up to the impressive panelled entrance.

A steep staircase, a spacious entrance hall and they were upon the Marbles almost before they realised. Two long whitewashed galleries had been constructed for the purpose with exhibits laid out on either side. The monumental size of many of the statues was staggering and both ladies paused on the threshold to adjust their perspective. Then they began a slow inspection of the initial gallery, first down one side and then the other, with Lady Russell insisting on reading aloud every handwritten label the curators had provided.

During this prolonged examination, the room had been gradually filling up and by the time Christabel was ready to tackle the second gallery a considerable crowd had gathered. She looked across at Lady Russell, who appeared weary and a trifle disenchanted, and was not surprised to hear her excuse herself, saying that she would await Christabel in the spacious hall beyond. The carriage, she reminded her severely, would leave promptly at one o’clock.

Christabel nodded assent, happy to be rid of the older woman’s irksome presence. With a new sense of purpose she crossed into the adjoining room; almost immediately her attention was caught by the statue of a woman, a large sculpture of Iris which had once decorated the west pediment of the Parthenon.

She stood enthralled, marvelling at the precision with which the intricate folds of the goddess’s dress had been carved—the marble seemed to sing out life. The harmony of the carving and the sheer exuberance of the goddess was a joy. Lost in thought as she was, the voice at her elbow startled her.

‘It’s so sad, isn’t it, that she has lost her legs and her arms?’

She turned to her questioner. It was Domino, looking freshly minted in primrose-figured muslin and carrying a matching frilled parasol.

‘She may not be complete,’ Christabel agreed, ‘but it doesn’t seem to matter. She possesses such enormous vitality, don’t you think?’

Domino gave a small laugh. ‘What must she have been like as a whole woman, Miss Tallis!’

‘Very powerful, I imagine, particularly as she enjoyed such a prominent position on the top of the Parthenon.’

‘Poor thing, she must find it very cold in London.’

‘No doubt.’ Christabel gave an answering smile. ‘But if she’d been left to bask in her native sun, we wouldn’t have been able to see her today in all her glory.’

‘I don’t think I would have minded too much,’ the younger girl divulged. ‘There are so many statues to see and some of them are just fragments. I don’t find them particularly inspiring.’

‘You didn’t wish to come to the exhibition?’

‘Not really, but Aunt Loretta said I should as all of London is talking about it. She said that if I’d seen the statues I would be able to join in conversations and not sound too silly.’

‘Aunt Loretta has a point.’

‘I know, but to be honest I would much rather have gone to Astley’s,’ she confided naïvely. ‘I’ve heard they keep troops of horses there who can re-enact scenes of war and that there are daring equestriennes who perform the most amazing acrobatics on horseback!’

‘I believe so,’ Christabel answered her seriously, though she was amused by the young girl’s enthusiasm for the less-than-refined pleasure. ‘The equestrian ballet of Astley’s is famous.’

‘A ballet on horseback?’ Domino’s eyes grew round with amazement. ‘I must see that.’

‘What must you see?’

A man’s voice broke through the female weavings of their conversation. It was Richard. He bowed unsmilingly at Christabel. He was looking exceedingly handsome in a claret-coloured waistcoat and light grey pantaloons, which fitted to perfection. The folds of his snow-white cravat were precisely arranged and held in place by a single small diamond stud.

‘Miss Tallis says there’s an equestrian ballet performed at Astley’s. Can we go, Richard?’ In her eagerness Domino tugged hard at her companion’s immaculate coat sleeve.

‘You must ask your aunt to take you. In the meantime, where is your taste for higher culture?’ and he waved his hand carelessly towards the statues on either side of them.

‘Aunt Loretta will never agree to go to Astley’s. It will be much too vulgar for her. Now she is even saying that she doubts we will go to the fireworks at Vauxhall.’

‘Then you must be content with more refined pastimes, child.’

Christabel was disconcerted by his tone. He sounded almost like a parent. The surprise she felt must have shown on her face because almost immediately he sounded a softer, even caressing note.

‘By all means put Astley’s on your list, Domino, and we will make every endeavour to get there.’

She clapped her hands in pleasure watched by Richard, an indulgent expression on his face, but his words were for Christabel.

‘Books yesterday, statues today, Miss Tallis. You appear to be an avid follower of cultural pursuits.’

‘I partake in them only as much as any other rational woman, Lord Veryan.’

‘But then how many women are as rational as you?’

She made no answer, but his eyes remained fixed on her. ‘Very few, I make sure,’ he continued sleekly.

‘I bow to your vast experience, my lord.’

‘Hardly vast, but enough—sufficient to suggest that logic and reasoning are not always becoming to a woman.’

She felt herself being forced into another confrontation and when she spoke, her tone was cold but measured. ‘I cannot imagine why you should find fault with rationality. My sex is usually criticised for precisely the opposite.’

‘In general it’s an excellent quality for a female to possess, I agree, but taken to extremes rationality can destroy a woman’s natural affections.’

‘I think that unlikely,’ she retorted.

‘Do you? Then consider the case of a woman who decides “rationally” to prefer one man to another on the grounds that he is likely to be a bigger matrimonial prize. When logic leads, a woman’s heart is prone to wither.’

Fire began to simmer within the green depths of her eyes and her whole body tensed for combat.

‘By that reasoning, sir, only women who are witless can know affection.’

‘That’s a trifle crude, but the sentiment is not entirely without merit. I think it likely that many men, including Sir Julian Edgerton, would agree with me. By the way, does he accompany you this morning?’

‘He is still out of town.’

‘Dear me, he appears to spend an inordinate amount of time away from London.’

Christabel took a deep breath and replied as levelly as she could, ‘Rosings is a large estate and takes a good deal of his time.’

‘Of course, he would have to have a large estate.’ His expression was sardonic, a trace of a sneer on his unyielding mouth.

Domino looked from one to the other, aware of the tension which crackled between them, but bewildered as to its cause.

‘As you appear interested in the trivialities of my life, sir, you may wish to know that I am accompanied this morning by Sir Julian’s sister.’ Christabel’s perfectly sculpted cheeks were flushed an angry pink. ‘She is waiting close by so I must beg you to excuse me.’

And with a hasty bow to them both, she walked briskly towards the entrance hall, her mind seething and her form one of unexpressed anger. The frills on her muslin gown tossed as though caught in a tempest and the wayward auburn curls began to tumble out of the restraining satin bandeau she wore. It seemed she was to be followed at every opportunity and forced to submit to any taunt or goad he wished to aim. It was insufferable. She was truly reaping the whirlwind she had sowed all those years ago.

Still standing beside the figure of Iris, Domino wore a puzzled look and her tone was one of concern.

‘Do you not like Miss Tallis, Richard?’

‘I neither like nor dislike her.’

‘I think you made her angry.’

‘I would be sorry to give offence, but if she was angry, it was quite unnecessary.’

She frowned at this. ‘She was offended and I don’t think it was unnecessary. I think she had good reason. You seemed to want to upset her. But why?’

Richard contemplated pretending ignorance, but then said, ‘It’s an old story and not for your ears.’

‘Then you knew her before you came to Argentina—from when you were last in England?’

‘I’ve known her all my life.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Her family’s estate runs alongside mine in Cornwall. We played together as children—like brother and sister,’ he ended drily.

‘Then you should be friends.’

‘Oh, we were, very good friends.’

‘So what happened? Why are you so unhappy with each other now?’

‘A betrothal.’

‘A betrothal? Whose?’

‘My betrothal to Miss Tallis. We were to be married.’

‘You were betrothed to Christabel Tallis!’ Domino gaped with surprise. ‘What happened?’

‘We decided that after all we did not suit each other.’

‘But if you were both agreed, why are you still so unhappy with her?’

Richard sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘It doesn’t seem that complicated to me,’ she said with decision. He saw that he would have to tell her the full story or at least enough to satisfy her.

‘I was away at Oxford for three years,’ he began, ‘either at the university studying or staying with friends in the holidays, so I didn’t see her for a long time. When I finally returned home to Cornwall, I found her very changed. She’d always been a tomboy, a thin, gawky girl with her dresses usually torn and her hair in a tangle. But now she was this amazingly beautiful young woman. I could hardly believe my eyes the first night I saw her again. She was the toast of the county, worshipped by Cornish manhood from Penzance to St Austell—and that’s a long way, Domino.’

He paused for a moment, remembering that evening when he’d walked into the drawing room at Lamorna and found her waiting, a slender vision of cream lace and gold roses. When she’d glided forwards and laughingly put her arms around him in welcome, she’d taken his breath away.

‘I suppose I was irritated,’ he continued. ‘Whenever I visited Lamorna Place I tripped over some lovesick swain clutching a posy of flowers or reading her the latest bad poem he’d written in her praise. It was comical, but also annoying. She’d always been my particular friend and now I was supposed to share her company with all the fops and dandies from miles around. So I decided to woo her myself, win the prize and delight my parents—it was what they’d been hoping for since we were children.’

‘And Miss Tallis?’

‘I think she was flattered by my sudden interest. I was a welcome diversion from the cloying attentions of her local admirers, but only a diversion—until her come-out at the next London Season. But she never did come out that year. Her mother couldn’t leave the younger children to travel to London, so she deputed the task of presenting Christabel to a relative. Then the relative became ill quite suddenly and the plans were cancelled. Christy had to resign herself to staying in Cornwall and it was then that she agreed to marry me.’

‘So when did you find out that you had both made a mistake?’

‘When she made love with another man.’ Richard had not been able to stop his bitter denunciation. Domino looked shocked. ‘His name was Joshua,’ he said acridly, discarding any hope now of keeping the full story from his young admirer. ‘My mother had accompanied Christabel and myself to London to buy bride clothes. Instead Christabel purchased a very different item—the attention, for I cannot call it love, of a man I’d thought a friend. She confessed that she’d fallen in love with him. Perhaps she had: he was clever and handsome and the sole heir of a very wealthy uncle. She said that she could no longer marry me. I left for Argentina shortly afterwards. The rest you know.’

Domino considered his story for some time. Christabel Tallis had not seemed the kind of woman who would treat a man so shockingly, but there was no doubt Richard had suffered hurt.

She turned impulsively to him, but her question was tentative. ‘It happened such a time ago, Richard, can you not forgive her?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ he said in a breezy voice. ‘It’s over.’

But it wasn’t, he thought, as he escorted his young companion to Gunter’s for her favourite elderflower ice. It was far from over. Christabel had come back into his life and the world he’d built for himself had begun to shatter. He remembered how in those early months in Buenos Aires, he’d walked around a stunned man. He’d lost so much, not just the girl he loved, but his entire life. Early one blisteringly hot morning, he’d walked on the beach when the world was still asleep and he was alone. Looking out over the limitless ocean, he’d willed himself back to his beloved homeland. But friends and family had gradually faded from view and he’d been helpless to recall them. He’d borne the rupture calmly, stoically, never allowing a hint of trouble to show, and he’d grown to love Argentina. He’d put down new roots, made new friends, taken new lovers. So why was he allowing such furious resentment to seep into his life and destroy the pleasure of his homecoming? After his scourging from the Tallis affair, he’d become adept at sidestepping deep feeling and for the first time in years strong emotions were crowding in on him. Ever since he’d seen Christabel. His constant need to provoke her, to disturb her, was a signal that he’d never truly overcome her betrayal. He’d simply shut it away. Seeing her afresh had reawakened feelings that he’d thought dead.

His anger was directed as much at himself for still being in thrall to her. If he were to know any peace, he must exorcise that demon and do so as quickly as possible. The lawyers, he’d learned, would be ready within a fortnight and last night he’d written to his mother to expect him shortly. But how to free himself of this unwanted legacy from the past? In the heat of their first unexpected meeting, he’d entertained some wild thoughts. But were they that wild? If he could prove Christabel unchanged, prove that she was the same inconstant woman, surely that would get her from under his skin.

Instinctively he knew that she was not wholly indifferent to him. Her face might remain immobile, but her eyes gave her away. He had the power to rouse this cold and remote woman to strong feeling—anger and love were bedfellows, after all. There was a lingering tie between them, he was sure, and he’d taken every chance to play on whatever jealousy Christabel might feel towards the young girl who walked beside him. He had done so in the hazy belief that he might force her into showing her true colours. But there had to be more. He would have to entice her into his arms, tease her, goad her, until she was ready to say she loved him, ready to be disloyal. Ready to betray Sir Julian Edgerton as she’d betrayed him. The man who had taken her arm so proudly would be forced to recognise her for the jilt she was. And if he could learn the same lesson himself, her power to perturb would be over. He would be free of her—for ever.

The Tallis family ate an early supper, for Christabel and Lady Harriet were engaged to attend Almack’s. Christabel felt no joy at the prospect. This morning her pleasure in viewing the Marbles had been spoiled by Richard’s antagonism and an evening spent at the exclusive club was no compensation. It would be a tedious few hours although largely effortless. Several glasses of lemonade, a number of country dances, a nod or two at acquaintances and then they would be free to return home. She’d never understood what made the place exceptional, but her mother always held it to be good ton to attend regularly and made a point of escorting her elder daughter every week. Sir Julian, too, was a frequent visitor and Christabel derived some comfort at least in knowing that tonight he was safely lodged at Rosings many miles away and she would be free of any threat of a marriage proposal.

She had dressed with some care for the evening. After the unsettling events of the last few days she felt the need to look her best. The emerald silk gown opening to an underdress of the palest green gauze was a stunning creation, her hair flaming in contrast and the green of her eyes reflected in its deepest tones. A low bodice revealed the pale perfection of shapely breasts and shoulders as smooth as alabaster. Without immodesty, she knew from experience that she would attract the attention of most of the men there. Not Richard’s, though. He would certainly not be at Almack’s. Even in his youth it had been a place he’d always refused to attend, though she had often begged him to be her escort.

She looked across the table at her sister who was drinking soup with exaggerated care, intent on preserving her gown. With a start she realised that Sophia was dressed rather too elaborately for dinner at home and wondered why. The conundrum was soon solved.

‘Sophia will be coming with us,’ her mother announced with studied carelessness.

‘To Almack’s?’ Christabel asked blankly.

‘Yes, of course, to Almack’s.’

‘But what about vouchers?’

‘I have managed to obtain some. Lady Jersey was kind enough to bestow them on me at short notice. She understood the position and wanted very much to make Sophia’s acquaintance.’

‘Nobody gets tickets for Almack’s that quickly, Mama, so you must have known for some time that Sophia was coming to London.’

Her mother made no reply and the ruthless interrogation continued. ‘I thought you said that you and Papa had decided only recently that she should visit—in fact, you must have been plotting it together for weeks!’ The net seemed to be closing in on her ever more tightly.

Her mother’s telltale blush revealed her unhappiness at the deception while Sophia’s face was one of untroubled victory.

‘Hardly plotting, Bel. Sophia’s coming to stay was certainly not part of any grand plan. But when Sir Julian began to grow ever more particular in his attentions to you, it seemed sensible to introduce Sophia to ton society a little earlier than we planned. I heard only last week that your brother and sister were on their way, but said nothing. I knew you had a lot on your mind and thought it would be a delightful surprise.’

‘Delightful,’ Christabel offered drily. ‘But do you feel that the dress is quite right for the occasion?’

‘And what, pray, is wrong with my dress?’ Sophia asked combatively.

Lady Tallis, who had unsuccessfully tried to direct her younger daughter to one of the more modest creations hanging in her wardrobe, interjected gently, ‘Christabel has such refined taste, my dear, and she is familiar with what is most suitable for Almack’s. Why don’t you reconsider the magenta? The rose chiffon would become you so well.’

‘The rose is boring and I have no intention of being boring.’

‘You won’t be that,’ Benedict put in unhelpfully, ‘the whole world will see you coming at fifty paces.’

‘You have no notion of female dress, so hold your tongue,’ she spat.

‘I have no notion of going to Almack’s either so I won’t be the one who has to hand out the sunshades,’ her unrepentant brother grinned.

‘What is this, Benedict, of course you are to come with us,’ his mother chided. ‘You will need to put on evening dress. I assume that you brought it with you.’

‘But not to do the pretty at Almack’s,’ he grumbled.

After a good deal more in this vein he agreed reluctantly to squire his mother and sisters. Almack’s he stigmatised as being the waste of a good evening and issued a cryptic warning that he would be leaving pretty promptly as he had far more interesting prospects in view.

Almack’s was always crowded even at nine o’clock in the evening. The doors shut promptly at eleven and anyone arriving after that time, no matter how important, was barred. The patronesses controlled every aspect of the club with iron fists and Lady Jersey’s vouchers had been hard won. In the entrance hall Sophia stopped to preen herself in the Venetian mirror, which hung at the bottom of the red-carpeted stairs, but not for long. Her mother was soon ushering both girls upwards into the main salon, ablaze with a thousand candles hanging from crystal chandeliers and tucked into the wall sconces. People looked curiously at the small party, finding it difficult to believe that this new young woman was Christabel’s sister. There could be no greater contrast, one tall, willowy, an ice maiden with flaming hair, the other shorter, rounded and an undistinguished brunette. No wonder the gown had to be magenta. It was Sophia’s way of seizing some of the attention that always fell so unfairly to her sister.

In the event neither girl lacked for partners. For some Sophia’s was a new face and a likely diversion while for others she promised to be the means of an introduction to the peerless Christabel. Happily she had no notion of this and smiled benignly on the world as she passed down the rows of the country dance on the arm of one partner after another. Benedict had discovered a few choice spirits who had also been coerced into escorting family members and was content for the moment to bide his time. The evening was young and he felt sure that it could only get better.

Only Christabel felt depressed. This night was one like so many others. She smiled gracefully at her partners and diligently performed each dance. Between cotillions and quadrilles she sipped lemonade and made kind conversation with those young damsels sheltering by the wall and too shy to talk to anyone else. But there was emptiness in her heart. Soon it would be time to call the carriage and return home, but for what? In two days’ time Sir Julian would return and her future would be decided for ever. If she accepted him, this was one engagement that would have to stick.

A sudden flurry at the top of the stairs made her look up. A small brunette, her dark curls glistening in the candlelight, had just made it through the doors before they were locked. The girl looked around her with animation and then turned to her companion, grasping his arm and pointing out the glittering chandeliers and frescoed ceilings. Christabel drew a sharp intake of breath. It was Richard, of course. Richard, who had never before set foot in this hallowed place, now dancing attendance on the little Spaniard. She watched as though in a dream as he presented Domino first to Lady Sefton, one of the patronesses present that night, and then on to Mr Davenant, Lord and Lady Wivenhoe and the Misses Newcombe. The girl had an entrancing smile, Christabel thought, and though she beamed happily on everyone she met, it was clear that she smiled for Richard alone. She loves him—the thought struck her with explosive force. Her stomach began to churn sickeningly, but why she could not understand. Richard had been dead to her for six years. Why should it matter who his fancy now alighted on?

At that moment she was claimed for a country dance. Somehow she managed mechanically to perform the steps without making a mistake. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Richard and Domino take the floor. He’d always been a graceful dancer and she noticed that in this respect he hadn’t changed. Throughout he kept up a lively conversation with his partner and it was evident that he was delighted to be with her. Social rules dictated that they could not stand up together for more than two dances, but when they were not on the floor he talked to her; when she partnered other men, his gaze was never far away. And so it went on, dance after dance, while Christabel watched the clock and prayed for the carriage to arrive. She felt she could not bear to look at them a minute longer and yet her eyes were instinctively drawn in their direction. They made a handsome couple and it was clear that others thought so too. There were many admiring glances and much chatter behind opened fans.

When the orchestra struck up for a waltz she was relieved to be sitting out the dance. For some years she’d been permitted by the patronesses to waltz at Almack’s, but Sophia was not in that fortunate position and she had no desire to irritate her sister any further. She had deliberately kept her dance card free so that she could keep Sophia company.

‘Miss Tallis, I believe you waltz?’

Richard Veryan stood before her, immaculate in white ruffled shirt and black long-tailed coat. The crisp white folds of his silk neckcloth were tied in a perfect trône d’amour. Well-fitting black-satin knee breeches did nothing to disguise the muscular thighs beneath. His attire was that of the most fashionable of London gentlemen, but the lean, tanned face hinted at another story.

Christabel found herself once again struggling to maintain her composure.

His grey eyes, flecked with flint, were fixed penetratingly on her and without speaking he held out a hand and with the other gestured to the dance floor.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, recovering her wits a little, ‘but I do not care to waltz while my sister does not dance.’

Richard glanced indifferently at Sophia, who stared haughtily back at him.

‘I’m sure Miss Sophia Tallis would not wish to keep you from enjoying a dance she must know you love.’

It was true. Ever since she’d learned to waltz, she’d treasured the joy of floating light as thistledown across the ballroom, her feet skimming the floor and her whole body responding to the rhythm of the music. Her sister pursed her lips angrily, but said nothing. Richard was still holding out his hand, his cold eyes seeming now to blaze with something akin to fire. Christabel could not understand his persistence, but found herself mesmerised into accepting his invitation.

A slight pressure on her waist and he had led her into the dance. His arms encircled her body lightly at first, as, twisting and pirouetting, they became familiar with each other’s paces. They had always danced well together and soon they were in tune, step by step, movement by movement. The music’s lush strains trembled through her limbs and she lost herself to its rhythms.

Gradually his arms tightened around her and she was acutely aware of the warmth of his body pressing her close. The heady smell of his scent enveloped her as she was held ever more nearly, his face almost bruising her cheek. Carelessly his mouth brushed the top of her hair and without thinking she melted more closely into his embrace. They were dancing now as one, their bodies a rhythmical caress which shocked those who witnessed it. Yet the power of Christabel’s beauty held them spellbound. She looked magnificent, almost otherworldly in her splendour, the green silk of her dress swishing across the floor, little emerald slippers on her feet and that haze of red curls cascading downwards to meet her wonderful white skin.

Her mother, sitting on one of the small gilded chairs reserved for chaperons, looked up and caught her breath in distress. That was surely Richard Veryan!

She had no idea he had returned to England. And Christabel was dancing with him and in a fashion that could only be described as provocative! Richard’s hand was curved around Christabel’s waist and his face so close to hers that he could, if he’d wished, nuzzle and caress the soft skin almost touching his.

And he did wish. He felt his body hard against this woman he’d loved so well. He felt her soft pliable form fusing with his and rejoiced in the sheer physical exultation that was pulsating through him. He could have danced with her all night and then—no, he could not think like that. It was his mission to entice her and the dance must be part of that. His delight in her proximity was something he must not acknowledge.

The music stopped and for a moment they stood dazed. Then he led her back to the row of chairs, every eye in the room upon them.

‘Thank you, Miss Tallis, for a most enjoyable dance,’ he said formally.

‘It was a pleasure, my lord,’ she replied, equally formal.

‘We must waltz more—I hope to see you at Almack’s again very soon.’

‘I fear that is unlikely. I shall not be in London long and I imagine that you will be leaving shortly yourself.’

‘Why are you so sure?’ and he looked over to where Domino was standing, wide-eyed and apprehensive.

‘I beg your pardon, but I thought you would be returning to Cornwall to be with your mother.’ Christabel sounded puzzled.

‘One can return, and return again—if one has something worth coming back for,’ he replied smoothly.

Once more he looked meaningfully across the room at the young girl waiting patiently for his return. Christabel was bewildered. Seemingly he wished her to understand that Domino de Silva was the woman who held his heart, yet just seconds ago he had been dancing with her in so intimate a manner that together they’d shocked the assembled company. They’d danced as one body, man and woman, merged in a sensual unity. She’d felt his warm breath so close she could have reached out and tasted it. And now this.

‘I do believe that finally I have something to come back for,’ he continued, making it impossible to mistake his meaning.

She gathered up all her reserves of dignity and faced him with a studied calm. ‘You are indeed fortunate.’

‘I think so, Miss Tallis. And I trust that you too will know such good fortune.’

‘You are all kindness, sir.’

His answering bow was mocking. With a kiss of her hand, he turned around and walked across the room to Domino, who greeted him with a shy smile and outstretched hands.

‘Well!’ Sophia was at her elbow. ‘You’re a sly one. You seem to make a habit of meeting Richard Veryan—you must have known he would be here, but you never said a word. And to see you dancing with him! It was shameless! What would Sir Julian say?’

‘It really is none of your business,’ Christabel snapped.

‘It will be if you disgrace the family again by breaking a second engagement,’ her sister retorted.

‘There is no second engagement,’ she muttered though clenched teeth, ‘and rest assured that you would be the last person I’d ask for advice on my conduct.’

‘You could do worse. At least I haven’t made myself an object of scandal.’

She had an insane desire to scream at Sophia for her spitefulness, but, constrained by the hallowed portals of Almack’s, she kept silent, biting her lip so hard that she drew blood.

‘What were you thinking of, Christabel?’ Her mother was at her side, throwing more coals on a fire which was already burning brightly. ‘To dance in that fashion with a man, and with Richard Veryan of all people. What would Sir Julian have said?’

Her mother’s echo of the earlier taunt breached Christabel’s iron control. She broke free from Lady Harriet’s clasp and said in a stifled voice, ‘I’ll not wait for the carriage. I will walk home.’

‘But you cannot …’ Her mother’s words were lost in the distance as she turned swiftly and made for the door.

Richard watched her go. He had been badly disturbed by their dance. It had thrilled him to take Christabel’s glacial beauty in his arms and mould it to his desire. The feeling of her body against his still resonated. While they’d danced, the ardent girl of yesterday had broken through that frozen surface—and he had been the one to melt her. She was a magnificent creature and he had gloried in the moment. What was she doing contemplating a mediocre marriage with a milk-and-water nonentity? But he must think objectively, he told himself, and objectively his plan was working. He should be pleased. He had stirred the embers of passion in her and soon he would awake such a frenzy of feeling that she would be desperate to know his love. He would have proved her inconstancy and be free to walk away. That moment was a little way off, but he should be satisfied with what he’d achieved that night. He wasn’t sure why the victory felt forlorn.

Chapter Four

‘It’s time I took you home, Domino.’

Richard’s tone was decisive. Once Christabel had left, he had no inclination to remain at Almack’s and was anxious to return the girl to her aunt’s care. Loretta Blythe had been suffering from a chill for some days and this evening had finally succumbed to a fever and taken to her bed. It was inconvenient. He’d hoped to dispense with his escort duties before now, not least because Domino showed no sign of tiring of his company. He’d expected that once fully launched into the delights of London society she would cease to have an interest in him. Instead, the wider she spread her acquaintance, the more she seemed to cling.

Having reached Lady Blythe’s house, Richard stepped into the hallway and made ready to wish Domino goodnight, but instead of taking the hand he held out, she raised herself on to her toes to reach his cheek and planted a gentle kiss. Seriously disconcerted, he remonstrated with her.

‘You mustn’t do that, Domino. Remember that I stand in your aunt’s place. You must think of me as a friend—an elder brother, if you will.’

‘I don’t see why,’ she exclaimed rebelliously. ‘You’re by far the most attractive man I know!’

‘I thank you for the compliment, but I’m not a suitable partner for you.’

She shook her head as if to block out his words. ‘I don’t believe that. You think me too young to love truly, but you’re wrong.’

‘I am eleven years older than you and my situation is not a happy one.’

‘You mean that you’re still in love with Christabel Tallis.’

Surprise rendered him silent.

‘You see, I have her name at my fingertips. How could I not? She is a truly beautiful woman and I can’t blame you for caring for her still.’

There was a sparkle of tears and her voice was that of a chastened child. He felt a deep sympathy for her.

‘My relationship with Miss Tallis should not concern you,’ he rebuked her gently. ‘The situation I referred to was my father’s death. In a very short while I must return to Cornwall. My mother needs support and I have to get to grips with the management of the estate. It’s been allowed to drift since my father’s death and that can’t continue.’

‘I understand,’ she breathed eagerly. ‘Of course you must go to your mother. But I can wait until you’re settled. Then perhaps you’ll invite me to Madron Abbey. I would love to see your home.’

‘It will be a great pleasure to show both you and your aunt around. But you will come as a guest, Domino, not as a future bride.’

The girl lowered her head, a mulish expression on her face. Baffled by her obstinacy, Richard spoke more bluntly than he intended.

‘I am truly sorry that you have feelings I cannot reciprocate, Domino, but you must be sensible. You’re no longer a child. You have built a fantasy and started to believe in it. For your own sake, you must dismiss it from your mind. In time you will find the man that is right for you.’

‘I have found him,’ she said, gulping down unshed tears, ‘but he is too stupid to see.’

He strode to the front door, but before he could open it, she called out to him from the marble balustrade above, ‘Will I see you at Richmond Park tomorrow?’

‘Richmond? Ah, yes, the Wivenhoes’ alfresco lunch, otherwise known as a picnic.’

‘I believe the Park is charming—such a large space of countryside and so near the city. You are coming?’ she asked anxiously.

He didn’t answer directly. ‘I’m sure you’ll find your aunt a great deal better in the morning and she’ll be looking forward to accompanying you to Richmond.’

He felt too unsettled by their conversation to return immediately to his hotel. He had decided from the outset that he would put up at Brown’s rather than opening the house in Grosvenor Square. A solitary stay amid its lonely expanses did not appeal and the few days he planned to be in London would have meant unnecessary disruption for its skeleton staff. But tonight the hotel looked just as uninviting and he needed to clear his head. He would walk a while in the evening air and then look in on one of the gentlemen’s clubs that lined St James’s Street.

He’d been scrupulous never to suggest that he could be more than a friend to Domino, but he still felt guilty for causing her unhappiness. It hadn’t helped that he’d been her constant escort since they’d arrived in London. If he’d not spent so much time with her, what had been an incipient affection on board ship would have been nipped in the bud. But Lady Blythe had shown herself only too willing to delegate her duties whenever possible and now the wretched woman had taken to her bed. Surely she would be better in the morning.

Richard’s resolve that he would no longer be Domino’s escort was broken almost as soon as it was made. A loud banging at his door early the next morning woke him from a deep sleep. It seemed as though he’d hardly been to bed and his head ached from too much brandy the night before. But the hotel porter, breathing heavily in the doorway from his climb up the stairs, was waving a badly folded sheet of paper under his nose and clearly expected an answer.

‘Who brought this?’ Richard asked blearily. ‘A groom, my lord.’ The porter was disapproving. ‘Whose groom?’

‘That I couldn’t say, my lord.’ The porter held his face aloof, expressing in no uncertain manner that Brown’s Hotel thought poorly of such early morning intrusions.

Richard pulled back the curtain better to read the note and groaned as the morning light flooded the room.

‘Get me some coffee, for heaven’s sake.’

‘Certainly my lord. Shall I tell the groom to wait?’

‘If he wants an answer. But get me that drink.’

He spread the crumpled note out and saw at once that it was from Domino. He knew almost without reading that it would be a plea to accompany her that morning to the Wivenhoes’ picnic. It seemed that her aunt was still not feeling well enough to undertake a long drive. And Domino wanted so much to see Richmond Park. Could Richard please come and this would be the very last time she would ask, she promised. Aunt Loretta had signalled her willingness for Richard to be her escort.

I have no doubt she has, he thought savagely. He hardly knew Domino’s aunt, but from his few meetings with her she seemed to be the sort of woman for whom ill health, as long as it were not too severe, was entirely beneficial.

In an hour he had washed, shaved and dressed, and presented himself in Curzon Street complete with hired curricle. Domino had evidently been watching at the window for she appeared almost immediately, tripping lightly down the front steps, her face glowing with pleasure. Her patent delight in going on the expedition almost reconciled him to the prospect of attending an event he’d hoped to escape.

For Christabel there was no escape: she would have to join the family party. She sat at the breakfast table, listlessly toying with a piece of toast and looking tired and pale in the harsh morning light. Her mother had accepted the Wivenhoes’ invitation on her behalf weeks ago and at the last moment her siblings had been hurriedly included. Her heart felt leaden. She was certain that Richard would be there, squiring his new love and flaunting his happiness. She would have to endure their close proximity for hours without giving the slightest hint of discomfort. It would be necessary to put on a guise not only for her fellows, but also for her family.

Her mother was worried, she knew. Late last night after Sophia had danced her fill at Almack’s and the two had returned home to Mount Street, Lady Harriet had tiptoed into the bedroom. Christabel had pretended sleep and not answered her mother’s anxious query. Instead she had lain silent and still, the tears pricking at her eyes and her heart a confusion of pain. She didn’t understand what Richard was doing nor even why she felt so deeply upset by his conduct. It was evident that he’d not forgiven the broken engagement. But surely his humiliation could not still be so raw that he needed to wage a war against her. Yet that was exactly what was happening. One minute he was angrily haranguing her for past crimes, the next he was caressing her—with his smile, his voice, even his body. When last night she’d danced with him so freely, she had been careless of gossip, careless of her reputation. She had given no thought to guarding her feelings and she’d allowed herself to desire. She’d allowed him to stir emotions within her that she’d schooled herself never to feel again and now today she would have to face him once more. She would have to put on the performance of her life.

‘Where’s the ham?’ Benedict demanded as he breezed into the breakfast room and searched the side table anxiously. He looked fresh and full of energy, despite having slept little.

‘Bel, where’s the ham? Sophy, you’ve eaten it all,’ he accused as his younger sister appeared in the doorway, elaborately dressed in a bright green-velvet spencer over daffodil-yellow silk.

‘I’ve had a great many things to do other than eating breakfast, you stupid boy. If you want ham, ring the bell for more.’

‘Who’s stupid? At least I don’t look like a parrot,’ he said, gesturing to Sophia’s preferred apparel for driving in Richmond Park.

‘Someone should have told you that making personal remarks is offensive.’

‘Someone should have told you that dressing like a pantomime is even more offensive.’

‘Do stop, both of you!’ Christabel’s quiet voice intervened, the steely tone surprising them into silence.

‘Hoity-toity,’ said Benedict half under his breath. ‘By the way,’ he offered as he sat down at the table, his plate groaning with devilled kidneys and a couple of eggs he’d unearthed, ‘d’you know what they’re saying in the clubs?’

‘The rubbish that men bandy amongst themselves is of no interest to us,’ Sophia said haughtily.

‘It might be since it concerns a very close neighbour of ours.’

Both sisters looked at him, Christabel’s face devoid of expression, but even paler than before.

‘Rick Veryan, Richard. You saw him last night at Almack’s?’

‘Of course we saw him.’ Sophia was impatient. ‘He was with that pretty, dark-haired girl. She’s from Argentina.’

‘We know.’ Sophia’s tone was getting dangerous. ‘Bet you didn’t know that the odds are mounting on his marrying the girl within the year. Can’t be any earlier—he’s in mourning—bad ton.’

‘What do you know of bad ton?’

‘It might surprise you, Miss Superior, just how much I do know. Anyway a lot of money was changing hands last night, betting on the marriage. Lucky old Rick, eh? Comes back from some outlandish place and walks straight into a title and now a fortune.’

His sisters looked blankly at him.

‘Loaded,’ he said succinctly. ‘That’s the word. Full of juice and a good looker too. What more could a man ask? I talked to her myself last night. Introduced by the grande dame, Mrs Drummond-Burrell. I think she thought Domino—what a name—was in need of younger company.’

‘She certainly got it with you,’ Sophia said derisively.

‘And she enjoyed it, may I say.’ He ruminated for a while, chewing thoughtfully on the last kidney. ‘Taking little thing, I thought, though she never quite mastered the steps of the cotillion.’

‘And you, of course, are the supreme exponent of the dance.’

Christabel got up swiftly, unable to bear her siblings’ bickering a minute longer. Benedict’s words had washed away her earlier resolve. How could she possibly keep an impassive countenance when she knew for sure that Richard was planning to marry?

She would make her excuses. The family must go without her.

‘What’s the matter, Christabel?’ It was Sophia stopping her at the door. ‘Can’t face seeing your old beau getting wed? Why should it matter to you? After all, aren’t you marrying Sir Julian?’

Benedict gaped. He knew little of the events of six years ago, having been away at school, and had not realised the effect his news might have. But it was Sophia’s words that cut Christabel most deeply. In her spite, her sister had arrowed straight to the question which was causing her such agitation. Why did it matter so much to her that Richard was to marry? She must prove that it did not. She must prove Sophia wrong. There would be no evasions—she would go to the picnic.

It seemed that the Wivenhoes could not have chosen a better day for their alfresco party. An almost cloudless sky and an unusually warm April sun enabled their guests to view the beauty of the park from open carriages. Herds of red and fallow deer grazed undisturbed in a pastoral landscape of rolling hills, grassy slopes and woodland gardens. The fresh untouched green of springtime already clad most of the ancient trees and beneath their light shade shimmered daffodil gold. The company drove leisurely through this sylvan setting before arriving at a central pagoda where they were to be served refreshments.

Christabel, her mother and sister were soon ensconced on its terrace, sitting comfortably on a padded chaise and gratefully sipping tea. Servants bustled to and fro, some bringing additional cushions and blankets for the older members of the group, and others plates of dainty sandwiches and small iced cakes. Sophia made ready to plunder the dish of madeleines left temptingly on their table.

‘What a beautiful place,’ her mother murmured to her hostess as she passed by. ‘And such a wonderful day!’

‘Indeed—it seems that summer is already with us!’ Lady Wivenhoe happily mingled among the knot of people gathered on the terrace.

Christabel hardly heard them. The cream muslin gown she wore, trimmed with delicate chartreuse lace, might pay homage to the season, but her spirits remained locked in winter. She felt frozen in time, yet her mind was never still, never at peace. She thought she might be going mad. For the hundredth time she tried to understand why in that faraway summer she’d acted as she had. Richard had meant so much to her and yet, with hardly a thought, it seemed, she’d returned his ring and thrown herself at a man who even then she’d suspected was not to be trusted. Why, oh, why had she done that? Only the intoxication of first sexual awakening could explain the wilful breaking into pieces of the jigsaw of her life. But it was not quite the first awakening, was it? There was that evening in Cornwall when she and Richard had thrown themselves into the sea together. They’d been just a little crazy and the swim had sparked something deep and elemental between them, or so she’d thought. But almost immediately he’d turned away. He’d not wanted that intimate bond and she’d been left bewildered, ashamed of the physical ache that had taken hold of her. And then the trip to London with all its glamour, all its glories, had pushed everything else out of her mind. Joshua had swum into her presence, a man who was more than willing to set her body alight. She had loved him dreadfully. No, she corrected herself, she had lusted for him dreadfully. And lust had its own shameful penance. She thought she’d paid that price, but now, it seemed, she must continue to pay.

In the distance she could see Domino laughing and prattling with Richard. On occasions he responded in a similar vein, but there was a serious expression on his face which seemed at odds with the frolicking of his younger companion. At length the girl seemed to grow tired of entertaining him and turned to Benedict, who had just then emerged at her side and was making ready to reintroduce himself. When the two young people began to stroll together across the greensward towards King Henry’s mound, the highest point of the park, Christabel thought that Richard looked almost relieved. How strange. But she’d probably imagined it.

Sophia, meanwhile, was maintaining a critical commentary on her fellow guests as they strolled along the intersecting pathways which met at the pagoda.

As each new costume passed beneath the balcony, it duly received the full force of her disapproval. Her own ensemble had attracted a mixed response and she was still smarting from some of the remarks she’d overheard. Her mother, anxious to restore her to good spirits, extended a comforting arm but in doing so caught her hand in the intricate pattern of the lace tablecloth and spilled the contents of her teacup on to the disputed outfit.

‘Mama, just look what you’ve done—how clumsy!’

‘I am sorry for the accident, Sophia, but your rudeness does you no credit,’ her mother reproved.

For once Sophia looked abashed. Her nerves were on end. She had dreamed of making her mark in ton society, but so far society had shown an entire lack of interest. This morning she had tried particularly hard with her toilette, but it appeared that this effort was still not enough. To add to her misery her elder sister sat next to her, seemingly serene and unruffled, but looking effortlessly lovely and attracting frequent glances of open admiration from the other guests.

‘Come with me,’ Lady Tallis urged, making for the small cloakroom at the rear of the pagoda, ‘we must sponge your dress immediately.’

Sophia trailed miserably behind her and Christabel was left alone with her thoughts. But not for long.

The sound of firm footsteps on the stairway leading to the balcony made her look up.

‘I trust I see you well, Miss Tallis.’

‘Thank you, Lord Veryan, I am most well,’ she answered curtly.

‘And how are you enjoying Richmond Park?’ he pursued.

‘It is very beautiful.’

‘You have seen it only by carriage? It is even better viewed at close quarters.’

She nodded briefly, but said nothing, averting her glance. His shapely legs encased in well-fitting breeches and riding boots of dazzling gloss were an unnecessary distraction.

‘If you would care to take a stroll, I would be happy to escort you.’ He was smiling and for once the grey eyes smiled with him.

‘Thank you, but I have already walked a distance around the park,’ she lied.

‘Then you are before me.’ A slight flush crept into his lean cheek as he recognised the snub.

‘It would appear so.’

He had been studying her from a distance, seen the sadness in her face and felt his determination waver. But her flagrant rejection of courtesies hardened his heart again and spurred him once more into attack.

‘I’m surprised by your energy. I would have thought you had little left after last night’s magnificent display of dancing.’

‘I am not such a poor creature.’ And the flash in the emerald eyes was unmistakable. He remembered well that indomitable spirit and once more his heart softened a little.

‘You were never a poor creature, Miss Tallis,’ he said quietly. ‘Far from it, as I recall. I still have the scars to prove it!’

She looked at him, surprised.

‘I spent my childhood following you,’ he offered. ‘Jumping rocks, climbing trees, hacking my way through woods. It was a tough training.’

Her face broke into the shadow of a smile, the troubles of the present for the moment cast aside.

‘And were you always the follower?’

‘Always. I rarely saw more than a tangle of red curls in the distance.’

Her smile broadened. ‘I was always that far ahead?’

He looked quizzically at her. ‘There were times when I got to see the back of two skinny brown legs, but never much more.’

‘Why did you follow me if it meant suffering scars?’

‘Why wouldn’t I? Life was a daily adventure and the scars were simple ones. Childhood was the easy part. It was growing up that was difficult.’

Her smile vanished. ‘How sad it is that we cannot stay children,’ she almost blurted out.

‘Unfortunately we cannot. Nor can we undo life.’

‘But surely we can start again.’ Their reminiscence had emboldened her and her voice now held a definite plea.

‘I fear not,’ he said sternly. ‘We are prisoners of the life we make and we must live with that knowledge.’ His face had entirely lost its earlier warmth.

‘I cannot agree,’ she said vehemently. ‘That would be to underestimate the human spirit and its capacity for change.’

‘I have never underestimated you, Miss Tallis.’

His words were oblique, but she knew well their meaning. Nothing had altered and she felt sick to her stomach. He was still her implacable enemy.

‘Nor I you, Lord Veryan,’ she managed at last.

‘It seems that we are agreed on one thing at least.’

‘It matters not to me whether we agree or disagree. If you will excuse me …’

And with that she rose in one fluid movement, pushed back her chair and was tripping down the steps before he realised her intention. The breeze caught her mane of red curls and tangled them wildly into a fiery haze. He felt a momentary madness to rush after her and take hold of that hair, smooth it, caress it, cover it in kisses. It deserved to be worshipped.

‘Richard? I thought it must be you. I am very pleased to see you again. You were at Almack’s last night, I believe, but there was no opportunity to speak to you.’

Lady Tallis had appeared from the rear of the pagoda and was now standing beside him looking, despite her words, not at all pleased. She had glimpsed the figure of Christabel in the distance walking rapidly away towards the lake and drawn her own conclusions. In her short absence the sky had begun to cloud alarmingly.

‘Lady Harriet! How good to see such an old friend.’ Richard felt genuine pleasure at meeting the woman who for much of his life had been a second mother to him.

‘I have to admit some surprise at seeing you in London,’ Lady Tallis returned. ‘I had no idea you were in the country.’ Her tone verged on reproof. ‘But naturally I am delighted that you have returned safely. I make no doubt that the voyage was a testing one. Your mother must be overjoyed.’

He looked a little self-conscious, but felt there was no point in dissembling.

‘She will have learned only recently that I landed safely.’

Lady Tallis raised her eyebrows. ‘Forgive me, but should you not have apprised her of that fact immediately?’

‘I’ve been a little delayed in London, but intend to leave for Cornwall within the week. By now she will have had my letter telling her to expect me shortly.’

‘I see,’ she said thoughtfully, though in truth she did not. Whatever could have kept him in London? She had heard gossip about a young woman from Buenos Aires, someone he had supposedly escorted to England, but that surely would not have prevented him making for home as soon as he was able.

She fixed him with a severe expression. ‘Anne will be waiting in some anxiety for you.’

She felt strongly that he should be with his mother in Cornwall and almost as strongly that he should not be in London upsetting Christabel. Particularly not at this delicate moment when she was poised to accept Sir Julian.

A sudden clap of thunder shook the pagoda roof and in seconds shattered the gentleness of the April morning. A moment later shards of rain were beating on the woodwork and bouncing off the grass. The party on the balcony hastily decamped to the back of the pagoda for shelter, but Lady Tallis bethought herself of Christabel, under the open skies and without protection.

Richard was before her. He grabbed one of the umbrellas presciently provided by Lady Wivenhoe for her guests and ran down the steps, striding rapidly in the direction he had last seen Christabel heading. On the way he passed a furious Benedict and a joyful Domino. The rain had obliterated Benedict’s carefully crafted hair style à la Brutus to the huge amusement of his companion. Despite being severely buffeted by the sudden tempest, her peals of laughter rang out across the park.

Richard ignored the noisy pair and hurried on. He found Christabel in minutes, standing motionless by the waters of the storm-tossed lake. She was drenched, her skin translucent and gleaming beneath the downpour, and the curves of her lithe figure apparent through the sodden muslin of the once-beautiful dress. She turned at that moment and her face wore such a look of unhappiness that he wanted to take her into his arms there and then and put a stop to the nonsense he had started. But he knew well that beyond the fragility lay pure steel. The deep-green eyes flashed anger at him and bade him keep his distance just as surely as if she had spoken.

Mutely he offered the shelter of the umbrella. Even she had to smile at that ineffectual gesture. She could not become any wetter.

‘Thank you for the thought, Lord Veryan. I fear, though, that you are a little late in coming to my rescue.’

There was more meaning to her words than the social nicety she expressed. He looked at the rain-soaked figure before him, his gaze lingering unwillingly on her form. The long shapely legs and the soft swell of her breasts were clearly visible through the transparent muslin and he knew desperate desire. He moved towards her as though in a dream.

She remained where she stood, unflinching. She saw his arms slowly reaching out towards her and then her long, cold fingers were held tightly within his, sending a warmth coursing through her body until she was tingling from head to toe, from her saturated slippers to the riot of wet curls framing her face. They stood, body to body, for what seemed an age. She felt her pulse beating tumultuously and her limbs tremble as the hard planes of his body pressed against soft flesh. Wave after wave of flaming heat swirled through every small part of her, melting resistance, dissolving protest. His hands were on her waist, pulling her urgently towards him, his body even closer, even harder against hers. Now his hands were sliding upwards and over her breasts, cradling them, brushing at their fullness and sending swirls of shocked pleasure spiralling through her. Onwards and his hands were cupping her cheeks, tipping her face to meet his. She looked into his eyes and drowned, drowned in pools of molten grey.

‘Christabel,’ he began, the soft whisper of his voice flowing through her and reaching to her heart. ‘Christabel, I—’

‘Christabel! Come quickly.’ It was her mother’s urgent tones. ‘We must get you home immediately or you will become ill.’

Lady Tallis was hurrying towards them, waving yet another umbrella. The moment of intimacy was at an end, diffusing itself amid the misty rain.

Christabel’s hands slipped from his and she walked away, leaving him to curse her power and his weakness. This was not what he intended, to be caught in the web of his own spinning. He must subdue this wretched, uncontrollable desire that once more threatened to tear him apart. He must stay aloof even while he continued to entice her into betraying herself. There were only a few days left to accomplish his plan and every one of those must count.

By now Lady Tallis had reached his side and was observing him with disapproval.

‘Miss de Silva is ready to leave, Richard. I understand that you are her escort?’

‘You are right to remind me of my duties, Lady Harriet,’ he replied stiffly and began to make his way back to the pagoda.

Christabel caught his words on the air and was deeply puzzled. Could he really be speaking of his future wife when he talked of ‘duties’? And if he were promised to Domino de Silva, why had he allowed himself just now to hold her so long, to touch her so intimately? During their scandalous dance at Almack’s she’d imagined for a moment that he felt the same attraction as she. But only for a moment. His hurtful rejection had soon disabused her. This time, though, she could not be mistaken. There had been a charge so powerful between them that she was left dazed. Naked desire—that’s what she’d felt. Not even the errant Joshua, in her days as a green girl, had aroused such fervour in her. And it was Richard, a man she’d once dismissed as worthy only to be a friend, who’d provoked it. Nothing made sense. Richard today must be a very different man to the one she’d once known—or maybe she’d never really known him. Perhaps she’d been too young, too inexperienced, to recognise what might have been. The irony of the situation hit her hard. It seemed that she could feel passion for this man, a passion that shook her to the very core, but only now that he was promised to another woman.

She thought back to the moment when she’d first seen Richard on his return from the university. He had grown into a dashing young man, a figure far superior to any of her local suitors and she was no longer the skinny, freckled tomboy he’d known from the past. She’d watched with amusement his stupefied expression when he’d first caught sight of her and knew instantly that she had captivated him. His jealousy of the gaggle of admirers who daily haunted Lamorna was evident and she thought guiltily of how she’d enjoyed playing one man off against another. In her defence she was hardly more than a child and the game was a heady one. The distant cousin who was to present her had fallen seriously ill and her planned come-out had not materialised. The excitement of having young men vie for her favours was a pleasing compensation. Richard’s courtship had been swift. He’d capitalised on their long childhood friendship to infiltrate her life with ease, and in no time he’d succeeded in banishing his rivals and filling the centre of her world. Suddenly she was engaged and unsure of quite how it had happened. It seemed natural to be promising to spend the rest of her life with him, but also something of an anticlimax. She’d been exhilarated by the excitements of the chase and revelled in the handsome and vigorous man he’d become, yet she knew him almost too well. There were no secrets, or so it seemed, no concealed feelings, no hidden fire.

Until, that is, that one evening in the cove. In her memory she retraced their steps that night. They’d walked out together after an early dinner, escaping the last frenetic preparations for the morrow when they would travel to London in company with Lady Veryan. Christabel was to stay at the Veryans’ town house and Richard’s mother was to supervise her purchase of bride clothes, her own mother being unable to leave her younger siblings for any protracted period.

It had been a beautiful evening in early summer and they’d sauntered at dusk towards the sea along a lane already heavy with hawthorn. Very soon the granite rocks and soft white sand of their beloved cove came into view. The sea was flat calm and Richard had begun to skim stones along the surface of the water. She had joined in, trying to make her stones bounce further. It was an old game of their childhood. The competition between them grew fierce and he shouted with delight when he finally made an unbeatable shot. Beneath the newly polished surface, he was still not much more than a boy. With mischief in her eyes, she’d challenged him to another contest from their childhood: who could swim out the furthest without pausing for breath. He’d demurred; they were not dressed for the water and in any case it hardly seemed proper. In answer, she’d stripped off her clothes down to her chemise, leaving Richard staring in wonderment at the lithe, willowy figure standing so close to him. Then he had been seized by the same madness and was stripped and plunging into the cool water before she had time to reach the sea’s edge. They had swum out until they were both exhausted and then drifted lazily back towards the shore, the waters around them silvered by the moon newly risen in a clear sky. She was floating beside him and on impulse it seemed he’d caught hold of her, encircling her waist with his arms and tangling his face in her salt-soaked curls. The feel of his hard, male body against hers took her breath away and she knew a frantic desire to hold him close to her, to meld her body to his. Her legs looped around him and their flesh met in a mutual caress. Even now she grew hot thinking of it.

But the moment was over almost as soon as it arrived, the spark extinguished, and they were scrambling up the beach and into their clothes as though pursued by the Furies, ashamed it seemed of that instant of burning connection. The next day they had left for London and a round of parties, routs, ridottos, balls, such as she’d never before encountered: a kaleidoscope of pleasure which took over her life. As an affianced woman she’d enjoyed the freedom it conferred, freedom to talk unchaperoned with other men, freedom to dance and even to flirt with them, and freedom to meet a Joshua.

A magnificent rout was to be held that evening at the Seftons’ London mansion, a short distance from Mount Street. Sophia, insatiable as always for ton society, was greatly excited at attending such a prestigious event. It was sure to afford her a splendid hunting ground for potential partners. The torrential rain had done Christabel little harm other than a ruined dress, but she was grateful that it served as an excuse for staying home that night. She was more than happy to spend a quiet evening by herself when the alternative was the painful spectacle of Richard and Domino together. She was lying curled on her bed, flicking through back numbers of Lady’s Magazine, when her mother slid quietly into the room.

‘Have you seen these extraordinary models, Mama? They must be at least ten feet tall,’ she said with an attempt at gaiety. The emaciated females depicted were so long and thin as almost to disappear off the page.

Her mother smiled slightly. ‘Extraordinary indeed! They would be quite terrifying to meet in the flesh.’

She sat down on the bed and took her daughter’s hand. ‘I came to say, Bel, that I won’t be going to the Seftons’ rout tonight. There is little need for my presence: their house is within easy walking distance and Benedict can act as escort to his sister for the evening. It won’t do him any harm to take on a little responsibility while he’s enjoying his holiday. And it will give us the chance to have a comfortable coze.’

Christabel’s heart sank; an evening spent alone with her mother was the last thing she wanted. Pressing her hand to her forehead in a gesture of pain, she hoped that she looked convincing.

‘I’m so glad you’re staying home, Mama, I’m not feeling at all the thing. I must have caught a chill in that downpour.’

Her mother looked suspicious and glanced pointedly at the magazines her daughter had been devouring. Christabel redoubled her efforts.

‘I’ve been trying to distract myself with these,’ she murmured, leafing through them with a weary motion, ‘but without much success. I feel so hot—I think I may be developing a fever. It’s best if I retire to bed early and try to sleep it off.’

Her mother’s expression remained sceptical, but without another word she turned to go, quietly shutting the door behind her. It was unlikely that Lady Harriet would believe in her illness, but Christabel was beyond caring. After the day’s events, her mother’s gentle enquiries would be the last straw. Until Richard arrived in London, her future path had been clear, if uninviting. The time had come for her to step out of her sister’s way and there had been a simple choice: wed a good man who loved her or remain a spinster without consequence or respect.

For years she’d kept at bay even the most determined of suitors. A glacial reserve had served her well, but now it had been ruptured. She had begun to feel again. The dance at Almack’s, the encounter by the lake, had begun an unstoppable thaw which threatened to trigger an avalanche of feelings she must not entertain. Today by the lakeside she had known no reserve. She had responded ardently to her body’s impulses, she had throbbed with desire for Richard to possess her. How truly shocking! But his conduct was even more shocking. He was not hers to be possessed and yet he’d sought her out, danced with her as though he could have danced her into bed—she blushed deeply at the thought—embraced her, caressed her, imprinted her with his passion. And at the very same time he’d used every possible opportunity to taunt her with his new-found love, the girl it appeared he was ready to make his wife. It had to be part of his plan to pay her back for betraying him—there was no other explanation. No matter how softly he spoke or how enamoured he appeared, he was intent on exacting a penance from her. The thought overwhelmed her. She felt as though a giant hand had descended out of nowhere and squeezed every vestige of life from her heart and her body. She was no longer the woman who had bid Sir Julian farewell just a few days ago and she dreaded meeting him again.

Sir Julian, meanwhile, was looking in vain for his beloved at the Seftons’ rout. He had despatched his business at Rosings as swiftly as he could and returned to London in time to attend the evening event. He knew that Christabel had been invited and was hoping that he would have the chance to talk privately with her.

He had unfinished business and was anxious to settle it as soon as possible. He had no doubt of her answer—she had made it plain that he was her preferred suitor—and had not her sister called him Christabel’s fiancé, making it clear that the Tallis family expected an imminent betrothal. But he wanted their relationship to be made firm and public. He was a man who liked an ordered life and was looking forward to planning their future together.

‘How good to see you back so soon, Sir Julian!’ It was Sophia, looking a little less exotic this evening in rose-pink lustring.

Sir Julian searched his memory, for he was sure he should know this young woman.

‘Sophia Tallis, Christabel’s sister,’ she helped him out.

‘Why, of course. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance again, Miss Sophia.’ Sir Julian sounded genuinely glad to see her. If she were here, then Christabel would not be far away.

‘And how was your visit to Rosings?’

‘Busy, very busy,’ Sir Julian mused, ‘but nevertheless restful. I find the house has an aura of great tranquillity about it.’

‘Indeed, yes,’ she said encouragingly. ‘I understand that its atmosphere is most mellow. I read in Ackermann’s Repository that it is one of the oldest houses in England.’

Sir Julian’s interest increased. ‘I knew that certainly but I had not realised that Rosings had been featured in such a well-known journal.’

‘You are too modest, Sir Julian. You must know that you own a most famous property,’ Sophia cooed.

Feeling that the subject had now been exhausted, Sir Julian was eager to discover his beloved’s whereabouts.

‘Christabel?’ Sophia responded carelessly. ‘She’s not here this evening.’

‘How is this? Surely she was invited?’

‘Naturally she was invited, but she didn’t care to come.’

Sir Julian’s well-bred eyebrows rose slightly and Sophia saw her chance.

‘You must know that Christabel is invited everywhere, Sir Julian. She is the toast of the ton, I believe. She picks and chooses as she wishes.’

‘I must admit I am a little disappointed. I returned from Rosings today on purpose to see her and was sure she would attend the rout.’ He breathed a small sigh and looked slightly wounded.

‘She probably didn’t give a thought to your being here tonight. She isn’t the most reliable of people.’

‘Miss Tallis has always been most scrupulous about keeping appointments,’ Sir Julian said a trifle sharply.

Sensing that she might have gone a little too far, Sophia carefully backtracked. ‘Ah, now I recall— she was not feeling too well earlier this evening. She must have thought it best to stay at home.’

‘Not well? How is this? She was perfectly well when I last saw her.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about, I assure you. The family attended a picnic today in Richmond Park and we were all caught in the rain. It meant nothing to me, of course, I’m built of stronger stuff, but Christabel is a little fragile.’

‘Yes, indeed, almost ethereal, I sometimes think.’

This was not the effect that Sophia had hoped for, but she recovered quickly. ‘I’m sure her decision to stay home was right. She would not have wanted to attend with blotched cheeks and a red nose.’

Sir Julian looked aghast at this unimaginable picture of his loved one and sought reassurance. ‘I trust that Miss Tallis is not seriously unwell.’

‘She will be greatly improved in the morning, I’m sure. She is some years older than me, you know, and needs a little time to recover her spirits. And if she had come tonight, I doubt she would have had the energy to dance,’ Sophia finished pointedly as the orchestra struck up for a country dance.

The Seftons had decided that though refreshments and conversation were normally deemed sufficient for a rout, their guests would be treated to a little informal dancing if they so wished. Sir Julian, mindful of his duties as a gentleman, immediately begged Sophia to grant him the favour of a dance. She accepted primly and only spoilt the effect by scowling at her brother who was leading Domino de Silva down the opposite line of country dancers.

‘Is that not your brother I see, Miss Sophia?’

‘Yes’, she admitted in a bored voice, ‘he’s supposed to be my escort though he chooses rather to dance attendance on some foreigner.’

The foreigner was putting on a good show of enjoying herself despite an aching heart. Ever since the evening at Almack’s, when Richard’s lack of interest had been made so brutally clear, her happy spirits had been slowly and surely evaporating. The dance came to an end and Benedict, tired of having his feet crushed by an inattentive partner, said hopefully, ‘You don’t want to dance any more, do you?’

She shook her head and looked around the room in search of her aunt. Even her chaperon appeared to have deserted her.

Sensing her dejection, Benedict tried a diversion. ‘Have you ever gambled?’

She opened her eyes wide. ‘My father used to gamble sometimes in Buenos Aires, but he said the clubs were not fit for young girls.’

‘There are clubs like that in London too—’ Benedict grinned ‘—but you don’t have to go to them to gamble. There’s usually the chance at most parties.’

‘Really? You can gamble here?’ She was genuinely taken aback. To be offered gambling in what seemed the wealthiest and noblest of settings was curious.

‘Let’s find out. I think they’ve set up a hazard table or maybe faro in the next room. Would you like to watch the game?’

It was a distraction. She would go and watch until her aunt found her. They strolled into the adjoining card room and saw that a game of faro was in full swing. The bank had already amassed what looked like a fortune in rouleaus and the expressions on the players’ faces ranged from boredom through irritation to downright vexation. It took little time for Domino to understand the simple rules with Benedict as her willing tutor. As she watched card after card emerging from the spring-loaded faro box, heard the click of tokens changing hands and felt the building tension as losses and wins followed in quick succession, she began to forget about the interview with Richard. Gambling, it seemed, was the perfect antidote for a broken heart.

‘I want to play too,’ she whispered.

Looking into her glowing face, Benedict stifled any misgivings and deftly inserted her into the circle. Very soon she was in the thick of the play. Her flushed face and sparkling eyes spoke of pleasure, but Benedict began to feel uncomfortable. She had taken to the game rather too enthusiastically, he thought, and now, looking around the table at their fellows, he didn’t like what he saw. To Domino they appeared unexceptional. The women perhaps were showing too much décolletée, but they were sumptuously and fashionably dressed and hardly differed from their sisters dancing just a few yards away; the gentlemen were very correctly attired in evening dress and treated each other with a jokey politeness that spoke of long-term intimacy. But from Benedict’s limited knowledge some of those gathered around the table were hardened gamesters and whispers of compromised virtue swirled around a number of the women. There was at least one wholly disreputable rake in the room.

Lord Moncaster lazed at the head of the table in charge of the faro bank. It was customary for the wealthiest of patrons to take turns in running the bank and Leo Moncaster enjoyed riches enough to run a hundred faro banks and still have plenty left to indulge his every whim. At that moment his whim was turning to Domino. His weary eyes rested gratefully on her, savouring her youthful beauty and unsophisticated delight in this novel entertainment. As his eyes ran over her assessingly, she looked up from the table and caught his glance. She wasn’t sure what to think of him. He certainly made a splendid figure, looking as though he could have stepped straight out of one of Byron’s poems, but there was something in his glittering gaze that disconcerted her and she looked quickly away. Benedict had seen that gaze too.

‘Let’s go back to the salon and find a cold drink,’ he suggested.

‘Not yet, Benedict. Just one more wager. Next time I’m bound to win.’

‘That’s what everyone thinks, and you won’t.’

‘How do you know that? Just because you always lose.’

‘I don’t always lose—well, not all of the time,’ he finished lamely.

‘There you are, then. It’s my turn to win.’

‘I should take you back to the salon. Your aunt will murder me if she knows I’ve brought you in here.’

‘If you’re afraid of my aunt, you’d better go.’

He was getting heartily bored with this recalcitrant girl. Perhaps if he upped and left she would follow. ‘I’m going, then, and if you’re wise you’ll come too,’ he whispered rather too loudly.

Lord Moncaster raised a quizzical eyebrow, causing Benedict to flush with annoyance and make haste to leave. Once out of the room, he shrugged off any qualms at deserting the girl. She wasn’t his responsibility and he wanted to enjoy the rest of his evening.

Chapter Five

Christabel came down to breakfast the next morning still looking pale, but unruffled. She’d spent a difficult night, unable to sleep with any ease. Her mind had for hours refused to stop its constant churning of the past week’s events, but finally she had found some repose. Her decision was made. She had allowed herself to be manipulated, to be too easily swayed by feelings she should never entertain. From now on she must ignore Richard’s behaviour and concentrate on her own. With great severity she reminded herself that she was the only person responsible for her actions. If she could hold to that determination, she would cope with what lay ahead. Sophia’s chatter had alerted her to Sir Julian’s return to town and she knew that it would not be long before he renewed his proposal. She must be ready.

She saw that her mother had taken note of her pallor and was looking at her with gentle concern. ‘Bel, are you well enough to pay that morning call on Lady Blythe?’

‘I feel a good deal better, thank you, Mama, and I will be happy to go.’

It was a lie, for Domino was likely to be present and the thought of meeting the girl so soon after the disasters of the picnic troubled her. But she needed to appear unconcerned and calm in the face of any suspicions her mother might harbour.

Lady Harriet looked relieved. Her daughter seemed not to have been so badly affected by yesterday’s events as she had feared. And she had a mountainous collection of letters awaiting her attention. Christabel’s offer to attend on Loretta Blythe was most welcome.

‘Perhaps Sophia would care to accompany you?’ her mother suggested tentatively.

But Sophia instantly forestalled that notion; she was far too busy this morning organising her steadily increasing wardrobe. Christabel was more than happy to go attended only by her maid, and a walk to Curzon Street would be a pleasant escape from the house. The rain clouds, which yesterday had appeared out of nowhere, had vanished entirely and in their place was the deepest blue covering and a spring sun already climbing the sky and warming the world it shone on.

She sauntered slowly along the tree-lined pavements with Rosa by her side. The slightest of breezes washed over her, catching at the primrose ribbons in her hair and twisting them in and out of the soft tendrils of auburn that framed her face. With each step on this glorious day she felt herself walking away from discord and entering a place of deep calm. The night had brought counsel. Whatever the truth of Richard’s relationship with Domino, it was their affair, not hers. It was immaterial, too, whether the passion he’d poured on her was genuine or simply feigned as part of his plan to punish. Certainly those moments by the lakeside, moments scorched into her consciousness, had not appeared feigned. He had seemed as fevered, as impassioned, as she.

‘Curzon Street is the third turning on the right, Miss Christabel,’ her maid reminded her. ‘What number is Lady Blythe’s?’

‘Number Twelve, I believe,’ she answered absently.

No, it wasn’t important whether or not he’d meant the caresses he’d lavished on her—what was important was how she reacted to them. And so far her reactions had been far from laudable. Twice in the last few days she’d been overcome by desire for a man who should mean nothing to her. The old Christabel, rebellious and passionate, had risen again and exploded into the ardour of yesterday’s embrace. But she was no longer the girl she’d been and instead must be true to her new life. How could she have allowed herself to behave in that fashion when she was as good as promised to another man? And such an upright man who would never give her cause for concern. He would never find himself locked in a fervent embrace with a lover from his past! The unlikely image made her smile.

‘This day is meant for smiling, is it not?’

A male voice cleaved through her thoughts. Richard was there, in front of her, doffing his curly-brimmed beaver, grey eyes smiling and flecked by the sun’s rays. As always his Hessians were polished to a blinding finish, complementing a pair of immaculate, close-fitting cream pantaloons clearly designed to display his legs to advantage. She forced herself to remember the vows of just a few minutes ago.

‘It is a most beautiful morning,’ she agreed, trying to keep her voice steady and her gaze neutral. Trying very hard not to think of their last encounter, their last few minutes together.

A difficult silence began to develop.

‘At least we can be certain that today we won’t receive a soaking,’ he said mildly in an attempt to break it. ‘I trust you suffered no ill effects from yesterday’s downpour.’

‘Indeed, no,’ she responded quickly, relieved at this unexceptional topic of conversation, ‘though I felt very sorry for the Wivenhoes. They had taken so much trouble over the arrangements only to see their plans ruined.’

‘Forces of nature can’t be gainsaid.’

His remark had been lightly meant, but it was not the most felicitous, he thought. A force of nature had destroyed the icy reserve which for years had defended Christabel, and he was responsible. He was not proud of that. In the night watches he’d argued himself into never-ending circles. It was essential that he prove her base, yet she was the woman who warmed him, excited him, entranced him. His plan was a clever strategy, he told himself, yet he felt shame in its tawdriness.

The image of Christabel’s abject unhappiness haunted him, knowing that he was its architect. It turned out that her unhappiness was his also. Yesterday by the lakeside he’d wanted to take her into his arms and kiss the tears away one by one. And he had taken her in his arms. More than that, he’d felt every beautiful curve of her and his heart had sung. When he’d caressed her, she’d responded as ardently as he could ever wish. He could have taken her there and then, he was sure—hotly, urgently, beneath the sheeting rain. What was that but inconstancy! He had surely proved what he’d set out to, proved that she was incapable of being true. By rights he should feel free, released from her spell, so why did he not?

In truth, in the deepest recesses of his heart, he could not believe her a false woman. She had been disloyal once, in a lifetime of loyalty. So why had she behaved so much out of character and to such devastating result? During the endless night, watching the shadows darken into unrelieved blackness, watching the dewy light of dawn creep gradually into the four corners of his room, he too had come to a decision.

He had to know why she’d betrayed him. He had to hear it from her lips. If he could understand that, then he was certain that he would finally be able to lay the past to rest.

Silence stretched between them once more and again he was the one to break it.

‘Are you on your way anywhere in particular? May I escort you?’

‘Thank you, but I’m very close to my destination. I am to pay a morning call on Lady Blythe.’

‘Then let me offer you my arm,’ he said briskly, nodding dismissal to Rosa. ‘You may return home, your mistress will not need you.’

Before Christabel could protest, her maid had begun retracing her steps to Mount Street.

She did not take his arm, but stood facing him on the narrow pavement.

‘That was high-handed, Lord Veryan. It is my prerogative to dismiss my maid.’

‘I’m sorry if you disapprove. I have no wish to quarrel with you.’

‘That would certainly be a change,’ she returned acidly. His arrogance had helped her regain her poise.

‘I hoped that I might speak with you alone.’ His tone was level, giving no hint of what he might be feeling. And for a moment he appeared unwilling to go on, unable to find the words he needed to broach the topic burning so brightly in his mind.

‘Shall we walk on?’ The movement seemed to act as a release. ‘After yesterday, you see, I’ve done some thinking,’ he continued quietly. ‘In fact, a good deal of thinking.’

He paused again and Christabel waited, her composure once more in danger of slipping away. What was he about to say? That he loved her after all? That after their impassioned lovemaking, he still cared deeply for her and could no longer consider marrying Domino de Silva? What traitorous thoughts, what stupid thoughts, she chastised herself.

‘I wanted to apologise,’ he began again. ‘I wanted to tell you how deeply sorry I am for any upset I’ve caused since my return to London.’

‘Any upset? You must know that you deliberately set out to distress me.’

‘I won’t deny it, but I am still sorry.’

He was looking contrite, unusually so, and she felt emboldened to question him.

‘I cannot understand why you have been so intent on hurting me. Why?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t answer with any truth. I don’t know myself. When I disembarked at Southampton, I thought the past was dead and buried for me.’

‘But it wasn’t,’ she said flatly.

‘No, it wasn’t.’ He paused and then said with deliberation, ‘I’ve behaved foolishly, I’m willing to admit, but if I could understand the past, then I think it would finally die for me.’

She wore a puzzled expression and he turned towards her, looking at her directly, his gaze searching and serious. ‘If I knew, if I could understand, why you did what you did.’

She gave a small, uncertain laugh. ‘I could echo your own words. I can’t answer with any truth, I don’t know myself.’

They rounded the corner of Curzon Street and, with an effort, she tried again. He deserved that at least.

‘Put it down to naïvety, youthful stupidity, if you will. When you are young and untried, it’s easy to be dazzled by surfaces. I was living in a world I’d never known before, a world heady with excitement.’

‘But to be taken in by a creature such as Joshua,’ he protested.

‘You were equally taken in,’ she reminded him sharply. ‘He was your friend.’

‘And that surely makes it worse. It makes me more stupid and you more venal.’

She flinched at the word. ‘He made me feel special,’ she said defensively.

‘And I didn’t?’

‘I was just part …’ and she strove to find the phrase which would adequately convey her sense of his indifference’ … I was just part of the furniture of your world.’

‘Never!’ He felt stunned. He had been drowning in love for her and she hadn’t noticed! ‘How could you not know—?’ He broke off, biting back the words of passion he’d been about to utter.

But Christabel, deep in that distant past, had hardly noticed. ‘Joshua made me feel that I mattered to him, really mattered. I know now that I was a fool.’ Her voice was barely more than a murmur and she glanced down at the delicate kid sandals she wore, as though hoping she might be absorbed into the pavement. ‘In fact, I knew that almost immediately.’

‘You parted very soon? I never knew.’

‘Why would you? I can’t imagine you wanted to hear any news from home.’

He grimaced at the truth of the observation.

‘It was never going to work.’ She sighed. ‘Joshua was charm itself, but he was an opportunist.’

‘A here and thereian?’ It was doing Richard good to hear how miserably the affair had ended.

‘If you like.’

‘But someone who wreaked destruction wherever he went,’ he pursued, his tone now one of quiet sympathy.

‘I won’t make him an excuse,’ she said robustly. ‘I caused damage to everyone who cared for me. I recognise that. But as you were happy to remind me just yesterday, I can’t undo it. Any of it.’

‘But you don’t need to compound it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t make another bad choice.’

She bridled. ‘And how might I do that?’

‘I’m hardly the right person to give advice, but you must know that the future you’re proposing is wrong—for you, for everyone. You’ve earned your freedom, so live free.’

‘You’re quite correct,’ she responded tartly, ‘you are hardly the right person.’

They had reached the door of Number Twelve and with this parting shot, she climbed the front steps. His face, as he raised his hat in farewell, was blank of all expression. He turned around and walked away down the road and Christabel was left bewildered. He’d shown himself sorry for his conduct, sorry for the distress he’d caused. He’d conversed seriously, dared to talk about the past with her, and amid the barbs of resentment there had been sympathy. It seemed that he’d had a change of heart. But why? And what did he mean, that she should live free? How dared he presume to tell her how to shape her life? It was well enough for a man to say ‘live free’. He had the luxury of choice but, as a woman, she did not.

The door opened and she was ushered into Loretta Blythe’s drawing room. She knew most of the faces gathered there and it was an easy matter to smile sweetly and murmur the necessary vacuous compliments. But while she observed the social niceties, her mind was roving through every detail of the recent encounter. Was it just luck that she’d met Richard where and when she had? She thought not. It was clear to her that he’d been visiting at Curzon Street. And he would have come, not to sit drinking tea with Lady Blythe and her intimates, but to see Domino. He’d been visiting Domino, the girl he intended to marry. Naturally they would have wedding plans to discuss for when his period of mourning was at an end, even now perhaps arrangements to make for the girl to visit Madron. Christabel quailed at the thought, but that was something she must grow accustomed to. It was possible that his forthcoming marriage had contributed to a new generosity of spirit, his willingness finally to forgive and forget the past. She should feel grateful for that, she supposed.

That night she slept better than she had for days. Whether it was sheer exhaustion or the fact that she and Richard were no longer enemies, she didn’t know. But his interference in her life appeared to be at an end. So did his interest, another voice whispered unkindly. But that voice was swiftly squashed. She must bury the past as Richard was doing, bury it and move on to a new and different existence. That evening she’d had plenty of time for reflection, the family for once spending it by their own fireside, and by the time she’d crawled into bed, she was ready to fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. Not even Benedict’s noisy return with the dawn had the power to waken her.

Benedict’s mission to enjoy himself to the full had been so successful that when the next day, bleary eyed and slumped over the breakfast table, his mother reminded him that he’d agreed to escort his sisters to St James’s Park, his only answer was a heartrending groan.

‘We really don’t need him, Mama,’ Sophia chirped. She was in fine form, still bubbling from the two long dances she’d managed to extract from Sir Julian at the Seftons’ party. To add to her pleasure, Christabel appeared of late to have lost her usual bloom.

‘Stebbings will be with us and that will be sufficient. In fact, Bel can stay home too. She still doesn’t look at all the thing,’ she added solicitously.

‘What nonsense. You cannot possibly go driving with just a groom for company.’ Lady Harriet looked anxiously across the table at her elder daughter, ‘You will go with Sophia this morning, I trust?’

‘Yes, of course, Mama, it’s arranged that we meet the Misses Banham at eleven.’

She couldn’t remember exactly why she’d agreed to drive with two sisters she privately considered bird-witted in the extreme, but managed to finish brightly, ‘It’s another beautiful day for a drive in St James’s.’

She went quickly upstairs after breakfast to complete her toilette. Sophia was already arrayed in midnight blue and she had no wish to challenge her sister’s colourful palette. Instead she donned a robe of figured cream lace over an underdress of soft amber silk. Her hair was brushed into shining auburn curls and threaded through with a simple cream ribbon. She felt instinctively that this was an important day and she wanted to look her best in meeting it head on. A newly discovered sense of purpose had brought back colour to her face and the porcelain cheeks now sported a delicate glow. She looked as fresh and as young as the spring morning into which the sisters now ventured.

Sophia glared at her in annoyance. A resurgent Christabel was not what she wanted. Sir Julian had mentioned at the rout that though he must give immediate attention to business brought back from Rosings, he would be riding in the park this morning and hoped to see both herself and her sister there. Sophia was under no illusions as to whose company he really sought and had hoped to intercept him before Christabel once more entered his orbit. She was anxious to exploit their friendship of two nights ago in any way she could and her sister’s radiant presence would hardly further her plan.

Once out of the house Benedict suddenly remembered a prior engagement and swiftly excused himself. He had made a casual promise to Domino to ride with her this morning and this was likely to be more entertaining than plodding dutifully after his sisters’ carriage. He was also feeling a little guilty at having abandoned the girl so cavalierly at the Seftons’.

Sophia was pleased to see him go. If she could only think of a pretext to lose Christabel too, she would be free to seek out Sir Julian and fascinate him as she knew she could. But Christabel was going to be difficult to evade; her sister had opted to take the reins, the groom by her side, and further frustration swiftly followed when they encountered the Misses Banham waiting for them at the north gate of the park. Annoyingly they had remembered the arrangement to meet and while Christabel held the horses steady, they were soon clambering noisily into the carriage. They were arrayed in matching dresses of sprig muslin and each carried a frilled parasol in a contrasting colour. They positioned themselves on either side of Sophia, like two chattering bookends. Laughing and giggling their way into the park, they exclaimed at Christabel’s skill at driving the carriage through such busy thoroughfares and asserted with loud squeals their complete confidence that she could be trusted to tool them around the park without mishap. Most of what passed for conversation between them—the latest scurrilous on dits circulating in town—went unanswered, but since they needed no audience but each other, they were not disconcerted by their hosts’ silence.

When they’d finally exhausted current gossip, they turned their attention to their companions. They complimented the Tallis sisters on their looks, their dresses, their carriage. Everything that could be praised, was praised. Unusually for Sophia she seemed not to notice their flattering remarks even when they were particularly lavish in their admiration of her blue satin. Christabel thought she seemed disturbed, almost excited, looking nervously from right to left and then behind, sometimes even hanging over the side of the carriage to gain a better view. It hardly seemed likely, but was it possible that Sophia had made an assignation with someone?

‘There’s Lucy,’ the elder Miss Banham suddenly shrieked. ‘And with Petronella!’

‘Our cousins,’ the younger sister explained to the startled Tallises. ‘Miss Tallis, Miss Sophia, would you mind awfully if we were to get down? It’s an age since we’ve seen our cousins and there’s so much to tell!’

The Tallis sisters readily assented. They were both heartily weary of the clamour that had accompanied their drive around the park. Sophia’s face became intent. She had now only to free herself from her sister’s company and she could at last seek Sir Julian alone. But nothing happened to aid her plan and just a few minutes later they saw him riding towards them.

He hailed them with pleasure, reining in his horse by the carriage to greet Christabel for the first time in nearly a week. For a while he sat silently gazing at her. He had forgotten just how beautiful she was and was suffused with eagerness to make his declaration and possess her as his wife. Belatedly he remembered her sister’s presence.

‘Good morning, Miss Sophia. I trust you suffered no ill from your exertions at the rout?’

Sophia smiled a little sourly. Sir Julian seemed not to notice and immediately turned his attention back to Christabel.

‘I was most sorry to hear of your indisposition, Miss Tallis, but I see from your looks that you are now fully recovered. I had hoped to see you at the rout but in your absence your little sister kept me on my toes.’

‘So I understand, Sir Julian.’ Christabel smiled, her green eyes warm and welcoming. ‘And how did your business at Rosings prosper?’

‘It went well, plenty to do, you know, as always, but also plenty of time to plan.’ He looked suddenly serious. ‘I am most pleased to find you here this morning. There is something particular I wish to discuss with you. I wonder if you would do me the honour of walking a short way with me?’

She knew that this was the moment that had threatened for so long. Now that it had finally come, she felt calm and resigned. This was something she must do for herself and her family. It was no good thinking that a dashing white knight was going to ride to her rescue. Those were the foolish daydreams of an immature girl. This was the reality—a comfortable life with a comfortable husband. She allowed Sir Julian to hand her down from the carriage and stood waiting for him. He was about to join her when Sophia indicated that she also wished to alight. Sir Julian was surprised by this lack of tact, but, polite as always, he carefully handed the younger girl down and they began walking together over the luxuriant carpet of grass from which the dew had only just disappeared.

At that moment Benedict and Domino were manoeuvring their horses through the busy West End traffic. Pedlars, carts, every kind of carriage thronged the roads leading to St James’s and all their attention was taken up with gaining a safe passage through the maelstrom of noise and bustle. Twenty long minutes later they finally reached the safety of the park and trotted smartly through its eastern entrance. Benedict glanced briefly at his companion. He was not the most acute observer, but she seemed unusually subdued. At first he had put it down to the late nights and this morning’s early rising, but as they rode, he became increasingly aware of tension within the slight figure alongside him. After a few abortive attempts at conversation he gave up talking and they rode in silence.

The air was still and cool and shafts of sunlight filtered through the newly leafing trees overhead. As they pushed their way further into this small island of nature, Domino decided to make her confession. Her frustration at Richard’s continued blindness had been replaced at the rout party by a new fascination. In that hot, enclosed little room she had been captivated by the ebb and flow of changing fortunes, the excitement of placing her stake, the rush of adrenaline as the cards sped from the faro box and the thrill of delight when the pile of rouleaus in front of her began to grow.

Not so delighted, though, when they began to disappear. But then Lord Moncaster had come to her rescue, had advanced her some of his own rouleaus for no more payment than her handkerchief. In the thrill of the game it had seemed perfectly normal for her to hand over this small personal possession. But the sly looks the other players exchanged alerted her to the fact that his lordship’s offer was hardly usual. He’d behaved impeccably, though, even advancing more tokens without demanding anything further from her. At least for the moment. He’d said that he would think of some way she could repay him, but that she wasn’t to worry her pretty head. He was a rich man, a few losses meant nothing to him. At these last comments Domino’s immediate neighbour, apparently so correct and punctilious, had smirked knowingly. She caught both his grimace and Leo Moncaster’s answering smile and a vague discomfort became a pressing anxiety to leave.

‘What do you know of Lord Moncaster?’ she asked suddenly.

Benedict looked at her cautiously, trying to gauge how much he should say. ‘Not a lot,’ was his unhelpful reply.

He saw her biting her lip and relented a little, ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Only that I’m interested in the people I met at the Seftons’. I understand it was Lord Moncaster who held the faro bank.’

‘He often does. He’s a very rich man.’

‘Is he married?’

Where was this leading? thought Benedict. ‘No, not married.’

‘Yet he’s quite old.’

‘He’s not that old and he doesn’t exactly lead the kind of life that goes with being married,’ he added bravely.

‘What kind of life?’ came the inevitable question.

‘Pretty rackety.’ Better to be brutal to be kind if the girl had any idea of snaring Moncaster.

‘Benedict, I lost money to him,’ she disclosed in a sudden rush of words.

‘We all lost money to him.’

‘I mean, I lost more—after you left.’

‘You couldn’t have lost much more. You only had enough rouleaus left for one more stake.’

‘I borrowed more.’

‘Borrowed? From him?’ He whistled under his breath.

‘It was not a good idea?’

‘Definitely not. What did you pledge?’

‘Pledge?’

‘What did he ask for?’ Benedict was getting seriously alarmed.

‘My handkerchief, first, but then he gave me rouleaus for free.’

‘He never gives anything for free.’

‘That’s what I’m thinking now,’ she said miserably. ‘What will he do, do you think?’

Benedict hardly liked to put his thoughts into words. The vague feelings of guilt that had previously visited him found vent in scolding.

‘Whatever made you do such an idiotic thing?’

‘I didn’t realise it was wrong until later. You were not there to advise me,’ she accused him.

‘It shouldn’t be me advising you. It should be your aunt. You must tell her what you’ve done and she must repay Lord Moncaster his debt.’

‘I can’t do that. She will be so angry with me and despatch me immediately to Spain.’

‘I wouldn’t blame her. You’re too much of a responsibility. Anyway, you’re leaving for Spain at the end of the Season, so why not now?’

‘I have my reasons,’ she said gravely, the image of Richard hovering close. Then, following her train of thought, she asked in a falsely bright voice, ‘Is Miss Tallis riding here today?’

‘She’s out driving with my sister. I’m supposed to be with them, but Sophia’s screeching sends me insane. I thought you were the better bet!’ He grinned.

She ignored the witticism. ‘Is she here right now? Perhaps we should go and find her.’

‘We won’t have to look too far.’ He raised his arm to point ahead. ‘She’s there, just to the right of that clump of trees.’

They reined in their horses. A carriage had been drawn up beneath the trees and to one side they saw Sir Julian Edgerton talking animatedly to Christabel. He had her hand raised to his lips and then, as they watched, slipped what looked like a ring on her finger.

‘Perhaps not the right time to interrupt,’ Benedict commented drily.

Domino felt considerable surprise, but also a warm pleasure. If Christabel were pledged to another man, it might mean Richard would look more kindly on her. ‘They are to be married?’

‘My mother’s been waiting an age for this—Bel must have finally decided to put the man out of his misery.’

‘It’s a very happy day, then. Let’s go and congratulate them.’

‘I don’t think I will right now,’ he prevaricated. ‘Just look at Sophia! ‘

They looked across from the betrothed couple and saw a figure in bright blue satin some distance from the carriage, standing rigidly with averted head.

‘Like I said, perhaps not the best time to interrupt.’ He gave a mischievous smile. ‘Come on, let’s have a gallop. No one’s around to tell tales.’

‘I must not, Benedict. I’m already in trouble for that.’

He set himself to persuade his companion that a gallop was just the thing to blow away her megrims when a large black stallion cut across their path and Richard Veryan was hailing them with a smile.

‘Good morning to you both. I’m very glad to see you, Domino, though I must admit I didn’t expect to meet you so early in the morning.’

‘It’s such a beautiful day that I couldn’t lie abed. Did you particularly want to see me, Richard?’ Her tone was eager, almost breathless.

‘I was worried that I might miss you, knowing what a crowded social calendar you have,’ he teased. ‘I wanted to tell you that I’m leaving for Cornwall very shortly.’

‘Cornwall? But why now?’ Her dismay rang out clearly.

‘Why not now?’ he said bracingly. ‘I’ve tarried too long in London—my mother deserves better. I should be at her side, don’t you think?’

‘Yes’, she stuttered, ‘of course, but it seems a sudden decision.’

‘Hardly sudden. It’s taken time to organise my affairs, but everything is now in a fair way to being settled. There’s no need for me to remain in London any longer.’

Benedict saw her face and knew instantly that his supposition over Moncaster was false. But this relationship didn’t look much more promising. There was an awkward silence and he felt it incumbent to oil the social wheels.

‘I’ll be returning to Cornwall myself pretty soon, Rick. We must make sure to ride out together—if you can spare the time.’

The other man smiled his assent. ‘There’s always time for a decent gallop.’

Domino had been following her own thoughts and blurted out abruptly, ‘But won’t you stay for the Vauxhall spectacle, Richard? It’s only a few days away.’

‘I think not, but you’re sure to enjoy yourself. I remember seeing the fireworks for the first time when I was about your age and they were truly spectacular.’

Domino dug her nails into her hands and screamed inwardly. Wanting to hit out, she said as casually as she could, ‘If you’re leaving so soon, you’d better make haste to congratulate Miss Tallis. She is close by, I believe.’

Benedict looked at her with surprise, wondering what her game was. Not for the first time he felt completely out of his depth in trying to fathom females.

‘Congratulate Miss Tallis?’ Richard was questioning.

‘We’ve just seen her with Sir Julian Edgerton in a most romantic situation, haven’t we, Benedict?’ Her companion looked suitably revolted. ‘Benedict tells me that the betrothal between Sir Julian and his sister is something the whole family has been expecting, and it looks as though today it’s finally happened,’ she added helpfully.

Richard was far too self-controlled to betray his feelings, but his face grew austere and the light went out of the smiling grey eyes.

‘I had better do as you suggest, then, and seek Miss Tallis out.’

He wheeled his horse sharply around and rode away. His face might be an impassive mask, but inside he was incandescent. She was going to marry the man! How could she even consider it? Just a few days ago she had kissed him, caressed him, laid herself open to his lovemaking. The thought almost tore the breath from his body. Only yesterday in Curzon Street he’d felt certain that he could leave behind the old history at last. He’d been shocked to discover that Christabel had never known the depths of his youthful love and begun to understand just how easy it had been for Joshua to mislead her. The familiar, nagging hurt hadn’t disappeared completely, but he’d felt better able to contemplate the past with some serenity. Now, though, the wound had opened again and laceratingly. Yet another man was to smile into those startling emerald eyes, to run his hands over that beautiful, lithe body, to laugh and tease and fun with her. No, that he wouldn’t do. Sir Julian Edgerton was not a man made for fun. Nor was he a man made for love, not the kind that she needed at least. If he were still in love with her … But he wasn’t, was he? Her betrayal might have been an act of youthful folly, but she had damaged him too badly for him to trust her again. And now she was to marry this dull do-gooder and be lost to him for ever. How could she? The question thrummed blindly through every particle of his flesh.

Behind a veil of tears, Domino watched his figure as it grew slowly smaller in the distance. Riding alongside, Benedict maintained a discreet silence. He trusted that he would not be called upon to become a confidant and waited for her to recover herself. With a great effort, she turned to him with a show of enthusiasm.

‘That was exciting, wasn’t it, but can we return to my problem? I need to win back the money that I lost to Lord Moncaster. Will you help me do that?’

‘You want me to win it?’

‘Of course not, I want to win it. It’s my debt. But I need you to introduce me to a place where I can do that.’

‘You’re asking me to take you to a gambling den?’

‘Yes.’

‘I won’t,’ he said flatly.

‘Why not? If you’re scared we might be recognised, I could go in disguise.’

‘It gets worse.’

‘No, it doesn’t, I can disguise myself very well as a boy and go as your friend.’

He looked at her slim figure appraisingly. ‘I’m sure you can, but I’m not taking you to any gaming hell.’

‘I don’t want to go to a hell, just a place where I can win back the money.’

‘That’s a gaming hell.’

‘Please, Benedict.’

‘No, no and definitely no.’

‘Then you won’t help me.’

‘I’ve told you what to do. Go to your aunt and confess. The worst she can do is to pack you off to Spain. Would that matter so much now?’

She flushed at the implication, but knew that he was right. She supposed that she must find the right opportunity to tell Lady Blythe what had happened. But then her aunt would be sure to tell her Spanish relatives of her disgrace and from the moment she arrived in Madrid, they would be watching her every movement. She wished she’d never left Argentina.

In the distance Richard had ridden up to the small group standing beneath the trees. Sophia had joined her sister and Sir Julian near the carriage, as anxious now to leave as she had been earlier to find him. She scowled even more ferociously as she recognised the man seated astride the glossy black horse picking its way towards them.

Richard Veryan slid from the saddle as Christabel turned. He came forward and bowed just a little too deeply.

‘I understand from your brother that felicitations are in order.’ His voice was harsh, slightly disdainful. ‘May I take the opportunity, Miss Tallis, to congratulate you and Sir Julian, on your forthcoming marriage,’ and here he bowed extravagantly towards the other man. ‘I wish you both all the happiness you are capable of.’

Christabel flushed, knowing the double edge of those words, but executed a dignified bow in response. Her fiancé smiled happily and without guile.

‘Thank you, Lord Veryan. Your good wishes are most welcome. I consider myself to be blessed indeed to have won this remarkable lady for my future wife, a gift beyond anything I deserve.’

Richard’s expression was sardonic. ‘You must not sell yourself short, Sir Julian. I’m sure Miss Tallis would be the first to agree that your honesty and loyalty are qualities to aspire to.’

Sir Julian blinked at this sentiment, but his smile broadened even further. He felt supremely happy and nothing was going to spoil this wonderful day for him. Sophia stood close by, an interested observer. Richard’s comments appeared to be coming from between gritted teeth and offered a small hope. She might yet salvage something from the plans that had gone so badly awry.

Pinning on her most enticing smile, she turned to the happy lover. ‘I believe, Sir Julian, that you were involved in plans for the canal which has been constructed to feed the lake. I would love to see it and understand exactly how it works. Would you be good enough to take me?’

If Sir Julian felt this was a strange request coming at the very moment of his betrothal and from a girl who had hitherto not shown the slightest interest in engineering, he was far too polite to show it. Willing to do anything for anybody on this glorious morning, particularly a close relative of his beloved, he immediately agreed.

‘It appears we must leave you, sir,’ and he bowed his farewell. ‘Thank you again for your good wishes.’

He began to walk towards the Chinese bridge with Sophia in tow, already beginning a complicated discourse on his understanding of the water-management system. Equally bewildered by her sister’s request, Christabel turned to follow them, but was stopped in her tracks by Richard roughly grabbing her arm. He hardly waited for the others to be out of earshot before grinding out, ‘You can’t really mean to marry that man!’

‘I beg your pardon!’ She was genuinely shocked.

‘I think you understand me, but, just in case, I was questioning your sanity in agreeing to marry Julian Edgerton.’

‘How dare you presume to question whom I marry!’

‘I dare to presume because I seem to know you better than you know yourself. But even you must be aware of how unsuited you are to each other.’

The red cascade of curls trembled with anger. ‘You are insulting, sir!’

‘I would call it honest rather than insulting, but it’s better to be insulting than concur in this charade.’

‘You are misinformed, my lord. There is no charade. Sir Julian and I have known each other for many months and have agreed that we will suit admirably.’

She wondered why she was defending her choice of husband to Richard of all men but she felt compelled to continue and found herself declaring, ‘Sir Julian is a man of the highest honour and integrity.’

‘I’m sure he is. He’s also a gudgeon if he thinks he can control you.’

‘No man controls me and Sir Julian is far too wise to wish to do so.’

‘But not wise enough to refrain from marrying you,’ he retaliated.

She glared furiously at the tall, elegant figure in front of her and responded in a voice crackling with ice, ‘This is mere ranting and I will listen no more. I bid you good day, sir.’

Her cream skirts swished to one side as she made to walk away. But Richard would not concede. Ignoring her cold fury and the summary nature of his dismissal, he called out, ‘If you value his happiness as much as your own, don’t do it.’

She retraced her steps and stood looking directly up into his eyes, now dark and glittering.

‘If we are to give each other marital advice, I would suggest that wedding a child fresh from the nursery is unlikely to guarantee success. I, at least, intend to marry a man of my own age and one I have known for many months.’

Brushing aside his supposed alliance with Domino, he coldly countered her logic. ‘But how much of a guarantee is that? You once agreed to marry another man of your own age and one you had known a very long time, but that alliance wasn’t too permanent, was it?’

He smiled derisively at her. ‘At the moment Sir Julian is living in his own little paradise, but how long do you give him? He would be well advised to grow steel armour in the very near future, say three weeks from his wedding day.’

‘You have been as offensive as it is possible to be, Lord Veryan, but nothing you say can touch our happiness.’

He grimaced. ‘How charming! And how strange that there was a day when I felt that too. I looked deep into your green eyes, touched your luminous skin, tangled my hands in that wild red hair—and what a premonition that was—and believed that I was as happy as it was possible to be, that nothing could ever touch that happiness. How wrongly can a man judge!’

Christabel swallowed hard. ‘Yesterday you assured me that you considered the past dead. Can you not accept that we made a mistake and forget?’

‘You made a mistake, Miss Tallis. For myself, the past is nothing. But I find it difficult to forget those others for whom the pain still lives. But then you never cared too much about them—friends, parents, all could be sacrificed. All that mattered was that you had your desire, a desire, it seems, which died almost as soon as it flickered into life.’

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