About the Author

ANNIE BURROWS has been making up stories for her own amusement since she first went to school. As soon as she got the hang of using a pencil she began to write them down. Her love of books meant she had to do a degree in English Literature, and her love of writing meant she could never take on a job where she didn’t have time to jot down notes when inspiration for a new plot struck her. She still wants the heroines of her stories to wear beautiful floaty dresses and triumph over all that life can throw at them. But when she got married she discovered that finding a hero is an essential ingredient to arriving at ‘happy ever after’.

Regency Surrender: Rebellious Debutantes

Lord Havelock's List

Annie Burrows

Portrait of a Scandal

Annie Burrows

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08566-3

REGENCY SURRENDER: REBELLIOUS DEBUTANTES

Lord Havelock’s List © 2014 Annie Burrows Portrait of a Scandal © 2014 Annie Burrows

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Lord Havelock’s List

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Portrait of a Scandal

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About the Publisher

Lord Havelock’s List

Annie Burrows

My lovely new editor Pippa - such a pleasure to work with.

Chapter One

December 1814

‘Ho, there, Chepstow! Need some advice.’

Lord Chepstow, who’d been sauntering across the lobby of his club, paused, recognised Lord Havelock and grinned.

‘From me?’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘Lord, you must be in the suds to want my advice.’

‘I am,’ said Lord Havelock bluntly. Then glanced meaningfully in the direction of the club’s servant, who’d stepped forward to take his coat and hat.

Chepstow’s grin faded. ‘Need to find somewhere quiet, to talk in private?’

‘Yes,’ said Lord Havelock, feeling a great weight rolling off his shoulders. Not that he had much hope that Chepstow, of all men, would come up with any fresh ideas. But at least he was willing to listen.

As soon as they’d passed through the door to the library—the one room almost sure to be deserted at this, or any other, time of the day—he said it.

Out loud.

‘Got to get married.’

‘Good grief.’ Chepstow’s jaw dropped. ‘Would never have thought you the type to get some girl into trouble. Not one you feel you have to marry, at any rate.’

Havelock clenched his fists in automatic repudiation of such a slur on his honour, causing Chepstow to raise his own hands in a placatory gesture.

‘Now I come to think of it...’ Chepstow said, carefully moving a few feet out of his range, ‘sort of thing could happen to anyone.’

‘Not me,’ Havelock insisted. ‘You know I’ve never been much in the petticoat line.’ He lowered his fists as it occurred to him that, actually, Chepstow might be the very chap to help him, after all.

‘You have been though, Chepstow. You’ve had some really high-flyers in keeping, haven’t you? And still managed to stay popular with ladies of the ton. How d’ye do it, man? How d’ye get them all eating out of your hands, that’s what I need to know.’

‘By opening my purse strings to the high-flyers,’ said Chepstow candidly, ‘and minding my manners with the Quality. It’s perfectly simple....’

‘Yes, if all you are looking for is something of a temporary nature. But if you had to get married, what kind of woman would you ask? I mean, what sort of woman do you think would make a good wife? And how would you go about finding her, if you only had a fortnight’s grace to get the knot tied?’

Chepstow froze, like a stag at bay. ‘Me? Married?’ He slowly shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t. The trick is avoiding the snares they lay for a fellow, not deliberately walking straight into one.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Havelock began to say. But Chepstow wasn’t listening. He was looking wildly round the room, like a hunted animal seeking cover. And then, with obvious relief, he found it in the form of a pair of young men just barely visible above an enormous mound of books on one of the reading desks, engaged in earnest conversation.

‘Let’s ask Ashe,’ he said, grabbing Havelock by one arm and towing him across the floor with an air of desperation. ‘Kind of chap who reads books when he don’t need to is bound to know something worth knowing about matrimony.’

Which was rot, of course. But Chepstow was clearly panicking. Anybody who thought they could get away with manhandling him across a room, whilst babbling about books, had obviously lost his wits.

But then the topic of matrimony was apt to do that to a fellow. He wouldn’t willingly put his head in the noose if there was any alternative. But, having racked his brains for hours, Havelock simply couldn’t find one.

So he’d decided that the only thing to be done was to see if he couldn’t somehow sugar-coat the pill he was about to swallow. Find some way, unlikely though it seemed, to find a woman who wouldn’t oblige him to alter his entire way of life.

Who wouldn’t try to alter him.

‘Ashe, and, um...’ Chepstow floundered as he shot a blank look at the second man at the table with Ashe.

‘Morgan,’ said the Earl of Ashenden, waving a languid hand at his companion. Havelock had seen Morgan about, at the races, Jackson’s, this club and various social events, though had never had cause to speak to him before. Son of some sort of nabob, if memory served him. Nothing wrong with him, so far as he knew. Just not out of the top drawer.

Not that he cared a rap for any of that. Not at a time like this.

Introductions dealt with, Chepstow thrust Havelock into a chair, then perched on the edge of his own as though ready to take flight at a moment’s notice.

‘Havelock has decided he wants to get married,’ he announced, rather in the manner of a man who has just tossed a hot potato out of his burnt fingers. Then he practically pounced on the waiter, who’d ventured into the library to see if any of the young gentlemen needed refreshment.

‘We need a bottle of wine,’ declared Chepstow with feeling.

‘Not want to,’ Havelock explained once the waiter was out of earshot. ‘Have to. Need to. And before you start questioning my ton, no, it isn’t because I’ve suddenly started seducing innocents,’ he growled, shooting Chepstow a resentful look. ‘That’s not it at all.’

‘Steady on,’ said Chepstow, pushing enough books aside that the waiter would have room to put a bottle and some glasses down when he returned. ‘Sort of mistake anyone could make. With you looking so...out of sorts. And then broaching the topic the way you did.’

‘Gentlemen,’ said Ashe in that quiet way he had that somehow made everyone listen. ‘Perhaps the best thing to do would be to let Havelock explain, in his own words, just what his problem is and how he thinks we may be of assistance? Before he feels compelled to call on his seconds.’

At Morgan’s look of alarm, Ashe chuckled quietly. ‘It is a foolish man who casts a slur on Havelock’s honour these days.’

‘I don’t, and never have, challenged my friends to duels.’

‘You shot off half of Wraxton’s ear,’ put in Chepstow.

‘He wasn’t my friend.’ Havelock folded his arms over his chest and glared across the table at Ashe. ‘And it wasn’t me he insulted. But...a lady.’

‘Oho! And I thought you said you weren’t in the petticoat line.’

‘I’m not. Never have been. It wasn’t like that—’

‘From what I heard,’ put in Ashe mildly, ‘if it hadn’t been you, it would have been her husband who challenged him.’

‘He should have done,’ snapped Havelock. ‘Only...’ He sighed, and pushed his fringe out of his eyebrows irritably. ‘I lost my temper with him first.’

‘Never mind,’ said Ashe soothingly. ‘At least someone shot him. That is the main thing.’

‘I shouldn’t have done it,’ admitted Havelock, as the waiter returned with a tray of wine and clean glasses. Meeting Wraxton had been nothing like the first duel he’d fought. Wraxton would have killed him stone dead if his pistol hadn’t misfired. And therefore he’d wanted to kill him right back. If it hadn’t been for a freakish bout of hiccups throwing his aim off, causing him to nick the man’s ear rather than put a hole through what passed for his heart, he would have done. And would then have had to flee the country or face charges for murder.

Seeing how close he’d come to bringing dishonour on his family through sheer anger had pulled him up short. Since then, he’d made much more effort to keep a rein on his temper.

Although few people were foolish enough to think they could get away with goading him, after the affair with Wraxton. The tale had got about that he’d deliberately marked the man. That he was a crack shot.

Which just went to show what idiots most people were.

‘I only wish,’ he said, pouring himself a generous measure of wine, ‘my problems now could be solved by issuing a challenge, picking my seconds, then putting a bullet into...someone. But the fact is I need to get married,’ he said glumly. ‘And soon. But I don’t want to end up shackled to some harpy who will make my life a misery by constantly nagging at me to reform. And the thing with women,’ he said, lifting the glass to his mouth, ‘is that you never can tell what they’re really like until after they’ve got you all legally tied up.’ He took a gulp as he recalled just how many times he’d seen it happen. One minute they’d been blushing brides, tripping down the aisle all sweetness and light, and the next they’d become regular harpies, henpecking the poor devil who’d married them into an early grave.

‘Well, the answer, then, is to make sure of the woman’s character before you wed her,’ said Ashe with infuriating logic.

‘And just how am I supposed to do that in the limited time I have available?’

‘Marry someone you know well,’ said Morgan as though it was obvious.

‘God, no!’ Havelock seized his glass and threw the rest of its contents back in one go. ‘I can’t face the thought of actually living, in the same house, with any of the girls I know really well. And anyway, they wouldn’t oblige me by marrying quickly. They’d want a big society affair.’ He shuddered. ‘Not to mention a massive trousseau, and so forth.’

‘So, to be blunt, you want a girl who will take you exactly as you are, and won’t demand a big society wedding.’

‘Exactly.’

‘You are looking for a mouse,’ put in Morgan. ‘A mouse so desperate for matrimony she’ll take what little you’re prepared to offer.’

‘That’s it,’ he cried, startling the sneer from Morgan’s face. ‘That would work. Morgan, you are a genius.’

‘You’d better be prepared to accept someone plain, then,’ returned Morgan, somewhat taken aback by his enthusiasm for a suggestion he’d made with such sarcasm. ‘And probably poor, as well.’

Havelock leaned back for a moment, considering. ‘Don’t think a plain face would put me off, so long as she’s not a complete antidote.’

‘Just a moment,’ put in Ashe. ‘Though, for whatever reason, you have decided to marry now, and in such haste, you must not forget the matter of succession. All of us, except perhaps you, Morgan,’ he said, giving the nabob’s son a dry smile, ‘have a duty to marry and produce sons to take over our responsibilities in their turn.’

‘Point taken,’ said Havelock before Ashe could state the obvious. It went without saying that he’d have to find someone it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship to bed.

‘I notice you haven’t denied needing a girl with a sizeable dowry,’ said Morgan, looking at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Is that why you need to marry in such a hurry? In need of an heiress, are you?’

At that point Chepstow, who’d got through two drinks to Havelock’s one, let out a bark of laughter.

‘Just because I’m not one of the dandy set,’ said Havelock, self-consciously putting his hand to his neckcloth, which he’d knotted in a haphazard fashion much, much earlier that day, and no doubt looked even further from the apparently effortless elegance attained by the other men about the table, ‘that don’t mean I haven’t a tidy income.’

Morgan eyed the pocket of Havelock’s jacket, which had somehow got ripped half off during the course of the day, and then lowered his gaze to his muddied boots, which he hadn’t stopped to change after the devastating interview with his lawyers. He’d walked and walked whilst trying to come up with a solution, before he’d noticed he was passing his club, and decided to come in and see if anyone else could come up with any better ideas.

‘I don’t need a woman to bring anything but herself to the union,’ he finished belligerently.

Once again it was Ashe who defused the tension, by summoning the waiter who’d been hovering at a discreet distance, and asking him to fetch ink and paper.

‘What we need to do, I think, is to make a comprehensive list of exactly what you do need, before we set our minds to the problem of how you may acquire it.’

‘There,’ cried Chepstow triumphantly. ‘Didn’t I say that Ashe was the very fellow to help? I’ll just...’ He half rose from his chair.

Havelock only had to glare at him for a second or two to take the wind out of his sails. A gentleman didn’t bail out on his friends when they’d gone to him for help. Havelock had stood by Chepstow every time he’d needed help getting out of a scrape. Now the boot was on the other foot, he expected a similar show of loyalty.

Chepstow subsided into his seat with an air of resignation and, in a hollow voice, asked the waiter, who just then arrived with the writing materials, to bring them another bottle of wine.

‘So,’ said Ashe, dipping the pen into the ink, ‘you do not require beauty, or wealth, in your prospective bride. But you do require a compliant nature—’

‘A mouse,’ repeated Morgan derisively.

Ashe shot him a reproving look over the top of his spectacles.

‘Undemanding. And not one of the circle in which you habitually move.’

At Havelock’s shudder, Ashe wrote, not of the upper ten thousand on his list.

‘Any other requirements?’ He paused, his hand hovering over the paper.

Havelock frowned as he considered.

‘Quite a few, actually. That’s what makes it all so damned difficult.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Not that it made any difference to the style, or rather lack of it. It was fortunate he wasn’t obsessed with his appearance, for his thick, curly hair did whatever it wanted. Impervious to comb, or pomade, the only thing was to keep it short and hope for the best.

‘I don’t want a woman with any family to speak of,’ he said with feeling.

‘You mean...no titled family?’ The nabob’s son shot him a glance loaded with sympathy. ‘Wouldn’t want them looking down on you.’

Before Havelock had a chance to get up, seize the fellow by the throat and give him a shaking, Ashe put in mildly, ‘Morgan is not aware of how very well connected you are, Havelock. I am sure he meant no insult.’

No, Havelock sighed. He probably didn’t. And anyway, he’d already decided to forgo the pleasure of indulging in a decent set-to with anyone within the walls of this club.

‘Look, I’m related to half the bloody ton as it is,’ he explained to the bemused Morgan. ‘What with stepbrothers, and stepsisters, and all the attendant stepcousins and aunts and uncles and such like all thinking they have a right to poke their nose into my affairs, I don’t want someone bringing yet another set of relatives into my life and making it any more complicated, thank you very much.’

He saw Ashe write the word orphan on the list.

Morgan nodded. ‘Makes sense. And an orphan, a girl with no family to support her, is all the more likely to agree to the kind of bargain you seem determined to strike.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

Chepstow poured a large measure of wine into Havelock’s empty glass and nudged it towards him.

‘I am sure Morgan meant nothing you need take offence at, Havelock,’ reproved Ashe in the reasonable tone that so many men found damned supercilious.

He was beginning to understand why.

Havelock folded his arms and glared across the table.

To his credit, Morgan met his look without blinking.

Ashe removed his spectacles and set to polishing them with a silk handkerchief he produced from an inner pocket of his tailcoat. ‘May I make a suggestion?’

‘I wish you would. It’s why I came in here, after all. See if anyone could help me find a way through this...morass,’ said Havelock.

‘Well, for myself,’ said Ashe diffidently, ‘I could not stand to be married to a woman who did not possess a keen intellect.’

‘Lord,’ said Havelock, aghast. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do with a bluestocking!’

‘Oh, come,’ said Lord Chepstow, his devilish grin returning for the first time since they’d sat down. He then proceeded to offer a variety of suggestions about what exactly a man could do with a bluestocking, her garters, and various other items of apparel before descending into a spate of vulgarity that, though a little off the topic at hand, did at least serve to lighten the atmosphere.

When they’d stopped laughing, had wiped their eyes, topped up all their glasses and called for another bottle of wine, Ashe brought them all back to the point.

‘You mustn’t forget that this woman, whoever she may be, will be the mother of your children, Havelock. So, as well as considering what kind of woman you could tolerate living under your roof, you should also ask yourself what kind of children do you want to sire? For myself, I would hope my own offspring would have the capacity to make me proud. I would hate to think,’ he said, giving Havelock a particularly penetrating look, ‘that I had curtailed my own freedom only to produce a brood of idiots.’

Havelock ran his fingers through his hair yet again. ‘You are in the right of it.’ He sighed. ‘Must think of the succession. Very well, put that on your list, Ashe. Not completely hen-witted.’

Since Ashe was taking a sip of wine it was Morgan who picked up the pen and wrote that down.

‘I want her to be kind, too,’ declared Havelock with some force. ‘Good with youngsters. Not one of these women who think only of themselves.’

‘Good, good, now we are really getting somewhere,’ said Ashe, as Morgan added these further points to the steadily growing list.

‘It’s all very well making a list,’ put in Morgan, tossing the pen aside. ‘But how do you propose finding a woman who meets all your requirements? Put an advertisement in the papers?’

‘God, no! Don’t want the whole world to know how desperate I am to find a wife. I’d have every matchmaking mama within fifty miles of town descending on me with their simpering daughters in tow. Besides...’ he shook his head ‘...it would take too long. Much too long. Only think of having the advertisement put in, then waiting for women to reply, then sifting through the mountain of responses, then having to interview them all...’

Morgan let out a bark of laughter. ‘You are so sure you will have hundreds of replies, are you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Havelock testily. ‘I’ve had women flinging themselves at me every Season for the past half-dozen years.’

‘And during summer house parties,’ put in Chepstow.

‘There was that Christmas house party, wasn’t there,’ Ashe added, ‘where—’

‘Never mind that!’ Havelock interrupted swiftly. ‘I thought we’d agreed never to speak of that episode again.’

‘Then there was that filly at the races,’ said Chepstow.

Morgan laughed again. ‘Very well. You have all convinced me. Havelock is indeed one of those men that society misses regard as a matrimonial prize.’ Though the way he looked at Havelock conveyed his opinion that there was just no understanding the workings of the female mind.

‘And you wouldn’t believe some of the tricks they’ve employed in their attempts to bag me,’ he said bitterly.

‘Couldn’t you simply settle with one of these women who’ve shown themselves so keen to, um, bag you? That would save you time, wouldn’t it?’

Havelock gave Morgan a cold stare, before saying, ‘No. Absolutely not. Can’t stand women who flutter their eyelashes and pretend to swoon, and flaunt their bosoms in your face at every opportunity.’

Modest, he noted Ashe write on the bottom of the list, out of the corner of his eye.

‘And anyway, the girls I already know, the ones who have made it plain they want me, have also made it plain they want a damn sight more from me than I’m willing to give. I’d make them miserable. So then they’d make damn sure they made me miserable.’

Ashe dipped his pen in the inkwell one more time, and wrote, not looking for affection from matrimony.

Morgan frowned down at the list, sipping at his drink. ‘What this list describes,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘is a woman who is willing to consider a businesslike arrangement. Someone from a respectable family that has fallen on hard times, perhaps. Someone who would like to have children, but has no hopes of gaining a suitor through the normal way.’

‘Normal way?’

‘Feminine wiles,’ supplied Morgan helpfully.

‘Oh, them,’ huffed Havelock. ‘No. I definitely don’t want a wife who’s got too many feminine wiles. I’d rather she was straightforward.’

Honest, wrote Ashe.

‘Good grief,’ said Chepstow, peering rather blearily at the list. ‘You will never, ever, find a woman who has all those attributes, no matter how long you look.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Morgan. ‘There are any number of genteel poor eking out an existence in London right at this moment. With daughters aplenty who’d give their eye teeth to receive a proposal from a man of Havelock’s standing, from what you tell me. I’m tolerably sure that he could find one or two amongst them who would have at least a couple of the character traits he finds important. Particularly if he’s not going to be put off by a plain face.’

Havelock leaned forward in his seat. ‘You really think so?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘And do you know where I might find them?’

Morgan leaned back, crossing one long leg over the other, and stared hard at the wall behind Havelock’s head. The other men at the table waited with bated breath for his answer.

‘Do you know, I rather think I do. I could probably introduce you to a couple of likely prospects tomorrow night, if you don’t mind—’ He broke off, eyeing Havelock’s less-than-pristine garb, and laughed. ‘No, you don’t look like a chap who stands on ceremony. And I have an invitation to a ball, given by people who will never be accepted into the very top echelons of society, for all their wealth. Yet, amongst their guests, there are always a number of people in the exact circumstances to be of use to you. Good families, fallen on hard times, who have to put up with what society they can get. I dare say every single female there of marriageable age will look upon you as a godsend.’

‘And you wouldn’t mind taking me to such a ball?’

‘Not in the least,’ said Morgan affably. ‘Is that not what friends are for? To help a fellow out?’

It was. He’d been on the verge of being disappointed in Chepstow. But really, the fellow had done what he could. He’d brought him to Ashe, who’d helped him to get his thoughts set down in a logical fashion, and introduced him to Morgan, who was going to give him practical assistance.

‘To friendship,’ he said, raising his glass to the three men sitting round the table with him.

‘And marriage,’ said Ashe, lifting his glass in response.

‘Let’s not get carried away,’ said Lord Chepstow, his glass stopping a mere inch from his lips. ‘To Havelock’s marriage, perhaps. Not the institution as such.’

‘Havelock’s marriage, then,’ said Ashe.

‘Havelock’s bride,’ said Morgan, downing his own drink in one go and reaching for the bottle.

‘Yes, don’t mind drinking to her,’ said Chepstow. ‘Your bride, my friend.’

And let’s hope, thought Havelock as he carefully folded the list and put it in his pocket, that the woman who possesses at least the most important of these attributes will be at the ball tomorrow night.

Chapter Two

‘Can you really do nothing better with your hair?’

Mary lowered her gaze to the floor and shook her head as Aunt Pargetter sighed.

‘Couldn’t you at least have borrowed Lotty’s tongs? I am sure she wouldn’t begrudge them to you. If you could only get just a leetle curl into it, I am sure it would look far more fetching than just letting it hang round your face like a curtain.’

Mary put her hand to her head to check that the neat bun, in which she’d fastened her hair earlier, hadn’t already come undone.

‘No, no,’ said Aunt Pargetter with exasperation. ‘It hasn’t come down yet. I am talking in generalities.’

Oh, those. She’d heard a lot of those over the past few months. Generalities uttered by lawyers about indigent females, by relations about the cost of doing their duty and by coach drivers about passengers who didn’t give tips. She’d also heard a lot of specifics. Which informed her exactly how she’d become indigent and why each set of people she’d been sent to in turn couldn’t, at present, offer her a home.

‘Now, I know you feel a little awkward about attending a ball when you are still in mourning,’ Aunt Pargetter went on remorselessly. ‘But I just cannot leave you here on your own this evening to mope. And besides, there will be any number of eligible men there tonight. Who is to say you won’t catch someone’s eye and then all your problems will be solved?’

Mary’s head flew up at that, her eyes wide. Aunt Pargetter was talking of marriage. Marriage! As if that was the answer to any woman’s problems.

She shivered and lowered her gaze again, pressing her lips tightly together. It would solve Aunt Pargetter’s problems, right enough. She hadn’t said so, but Mary could see that keeping her fed and housed for any length of time would strain the family’s already limited resources. But, rather than throwing up her hands, and passing her on to yet another member of the family upon whom Mary might have a tenuous claim, Aunt Pargetter had just taken her in, patted her hand and told her she needn’t worry any longer. That she’d look after her.

Mary just hadn’t realised that Aunt Pargetter’s plan for looking after her involved marrying her off.

‘You need to lift your head a little more and look about you,’ advised Aunt Pargetter, approaching her with her hand outstretched. She lifted Mary’s chin and said, ‘You have fine eyes, you know. What my girls wouldn’t give for lashes like yours.’ She sighed, shaking her head. And then, before Mary had any idea she might be under attack and could take evasive action, the woman pinched both her cheeks. ‘There. That’s put a little colour in your face. Now all you need to do is put on a smile, as though you are enjoying yourself, and you won’t look quite so...’

Repulsive. Plain. Dowdy.

‘Unappealing,’ Aunt Pargetter finished. ‘You could be fairly pretty, you know, if only you would...’ She waved her hands in exasperation, but was saved from having to come up with a word that would miraculously make Mary not sound as though she was completely miserable when her own daughters bounced into the room in a froth of curls and flounces.

Aunt Pargetter had no time left to spare on Mary when her beloved girls needed a final inspection, and just a little extra primping, before she bundled them all into the hired hack they couldn’t afford to keep waiting.

‘We have an invitation from a family by the name of Crimmer tonight,’ Aunt Pargetter explained to Mary as the hack jolted over the cobbles. ‘They are not the sort who would object to me bringing along another guest, so don’t you go worrying your head about not receiving a formal invitation.’

Mary’s eyes nevertheless widened in alarm. She hadn’t any idea her aunt would have taken her to this event without forewarning her hosts.

Aunt Pargetter reached across the coach and patted her hand. ‘I shall just explain you have only recently arrived for a visit, which is perfectly true. Besides, the Crimmers will love being able to boast that their annual ball has become so popular everyone wants to attend. But what is even more fortunate for you, my dear, is that they have two sons to find brides for, not that the younger is quite old enough yet, and I’ve heard rumours that the older one is more or less spoken for.’

As Mary frowned in bewilderment at the contradictory nature of that somewhat rambling statement, her aunt explained, ‘The point is, they have a lot of wealthy friends with sons who must be on the lookout for a wife, as well. Especially one as well connected as you.’

‘What do you mean, Mama?’ Charlotte shot a puzzled glance at Mary. It had clearly come as a shock to her to hear there might be anything that could possibly make Mary a likely prospect on the marriage mart, when all week they’d been thinking of her as the poor relation.

‘Well, although her poor dear mama was my cousin, by marriage, her papa was a younger son of the youngest daughter of the Earl of Finchingfield.’

Mary’s heart sank. Her well-meaning aunt clearly meant to spread news of her bloodlines about tonight as though she were some...brood mare.

‘But if she’s related to the Earl of Finchingfield, why hasn’t she gone to him?’ Dorothy, Charlotte’s younger, and prettier, sister, piped up.

That was a good question. And Mary turned to Aunt Pargetter with real interest, to see how she would explain the tangle that had been her mother’s married life.

‘Oh, the usual thing,’ said her aunt with an airy wave of her hand. ‘Somebody didn’t approve of the marriage, someone threatened to cut someone off, people stopped speaking to one another and, before you knew it, a huge rift had opened up. But Mary’s mother’s people still know how to do their duty, I hope, when a child is involved. Not that you are a child any longer, Mary, but you know what I mean. It isn’t fair for you to have to suffer the consequences of the mistakes your parents made.’

Charlotte and Dorothy were both now looking at her with wide eyes. Mary’s heart sank still further. In the few days she’d been living in their little house in Bloomsbury, she’d discovered that the pair of them had a passion for the kind of novels where dispossessed heiresses went through a series of adventures before winding up married to an Italian prince. She was very much afraid they’d suddenly started seeing her as one of those.

Still, since the Crimmers, who were in trade, weren’t likely to have invited an Italian prince to their ball, she needn’t worry they would attempt to push them into each other’s arms. Actually, she needn’t worry that either Lotty or Dotty would push her into anyone’s arms. They were both far too keen on eligible bachelors themselves to let a single one of them, foreign or not, slip through their own eager fingers.

She pulled her shoulders down and took a deep breath. No need to worry. Aunt Pargetter might talk about her suitability for marriage as much as she liked, but that didn’t mean she was at risk of having some marriage-minded man sweeping her off her feet tonight. Or any night. She wasn’t the type of girl men did want to sweep off her feet.

Men didn’t tend to notice her. Well, she’d made sure they wouldn’t by developing the habit of shrinking into the background. And by dint of following just a few steps behind her more exuberant cousins, she very soon managed to fade into the background tonight, as well. It was never very hard. Most girls of her age actually wanted people to look at them. Especially men. So there was always someone to hide behind.

Mary found a chair slightly to the rear of her aunt and cousins when they all sat down. By shifting it, only a very little, she managed to make use of a particularly leafy potted plant, as well.

Though she was now shielded from a large percentage of the ballroom, she had a good view of the main door through which other guests were still pouring in, greeting one another with loud voices as they flaunted their evening finery. If she hadn’t already decided to keep out of sight, the wealth on display in this room would have totally overawed her. Dotty and Lotty scanned the crowd with equal avidity, whispering to each other behind their fans about the gowns and jewels of the females, the figures and incomes of the males.

‘Oh, look, it’s Mr Morgan,’ eventually exclaimed Lotty, as a pair of young men entered the ballroom. ‘I really didn’t think he’d be here tonight.’

From that comment, and the fact that she and Dotty immediately sat up straighter, their fans fluttering at a greatly increased tempo, she guessed the man in question was what they termed ‘a catch.’ She could, for once, actually see why. The shorter of the two men was extremely good-looking, in a rugged sort of way, besides being turned out in a kind of casual elegance that made him look far more approachable than others of his age, with their starched shirt points and nipped-in waists.

‘Who is that with him?’

Following slightly behind the handsome newcomer was a taller, rather rangy man with ferocious eyebrows.

‘He must be a friend of his from school, or somewhere,’ whispered Lotty. ‘See the way Mrs Crimmer is smiling at him, giving him her hand and sort of...fluttering?’

Mary joined her cousins in watching the progress round the room of what must be decidedly eligible bachelors, given the way the ladies in every group they approached preened and fluttered for all they were worth.

By the time they reached their corner of the ballroom, Dotty and Lotty were almost beside themselves.

‘Good evening, Mrs Pargetter, Miss Pargetter, Miss Dorothy,’ said the tall, slender man, somewhat to Mary’s confusion. This was the man who’d set her cousins all aflutter?

He must be very wealthy then, because he certainly didn’t have looks on his side. Not like his companion.

‘Allow me to present my friend,’ Mr Morgan added. ‘The Viscount Havelock.’

Dotty’s and Lotty’s heads both swivelled in unison as they tore their eyes from the man they considered the prize catch of the night, to the man they’d just discovered to be a genuine peer of the realm. They both pushed their bosoms out a little further, fluttering their fans and eyelashes at top speed.

The viscount, apparently unimpressed by their ability to do all three things at once, accorded them no more than a curt nod.

Then his gaze slid past them, caught her in the act of biting back a smile and stilled.

‘And who is this?’

‘Oh, well, this is my...well, almost a niece, by marriage,’ said her aunt. ‘Miss Carpenter.’

Mary’s cheeks heated. She really shouldn’t have been mocking the ridiculous way her cousins had been preening just because a titled man was standing within three feet of them. But he didn’t look as though he minded. On the contrary, that bored, slightly irritated look he’d bestowed on them had vanished without trace. If anything, she would swear he looked as though he shared her view that they were being a little silly.

And then he smiled at her with what looked like... Well, if she didn’t know better, as if he’d just found something he’d been looking for.

‘Do you care to dance, Miss Carpenter?’

‘Me?’ Her jaw dropped. She closed her mouth hastily, then shook her head and lowered it.

‘N-no. I couldn’t...’ Lotty and Dotty would be furious with her. And insulted. And rightly so. It was almost a snub, to ask her, in preference to them, after they’d made their interest so blatant.

Could that be the reason he’d asked?

You never could tell, with men. What looked like an act of charity could be performed deliberately to spite someone else, or in order to put someone in their place. She stared doggedly at her shoes, her spirits sinking to just about their level. You couldn’t judge a man by the handsome cast of his features. And she’d been foolish to have been even momentarily deceived by them and that rather...heartening smile.

It was a man’s actions that revealed his true nature.

‘My niece is in mourning, as you can see,’ her aunt was explaining, waving her hand towards Mary’s plain, sober gown.

‘Really?’

She couldn’t help looking up at the tone of the viscount’s voice. It was almost as if he... But, no, he couldn’t be pleased to hear she was in mourning, could he? That was absurd.

And there was nothing in his face, now she was looking at it, to indicate anything but sympathy.

‘Perhaps,’ he said, in a rather kinder tone of voice, ‘you would be my partner for supper, later?’

‘Oh, well, I...’ The look in his eyes made her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth. It was so...intent. As though he wanted to discover every last one of her secrets. As though he would turn her inside out and upside down, until he’d shaken them all from her. As though nothing would stop him.

It made her most uncomfortable. But at the exact same moment Mary decided she would have to somehow refuse his invitation, her aunt accepted it on her behalf. ‘Mary would be honoured. Wouldn’t you, dear?’ She poked her with the end of her furled fan, as if determined to prod the approved response from her.

When she still couldn’t give it, the viscount smiled again, then turned his attention to her cousins.

‘And in the meantime,’ he said, with surprising enthusiasm, ‘would either of you two lovely young ladies show pity on a stranger, by dancing with me?’

Fortunately, before they could elbow one another out of the way in their eagerness to get their hands on him, the tall thin one held out his hand to Charlotte.

Mary sighed with relief as the foursome made their way out on to the dance floor. But her relief was short-lived.

‘I believe you have made a conquest,’ breathed her aunt in rapturous tones as she sidled closer, pushing a palm frond out of the way. ‘Lord Havelock seemed most interested in you.’

‘I cannot think why,’ said Mary. She’d practically hidden herself behind a potted palm, she was wearing a plain gown that did nothing for her pale complexion and she’d turned down his offer of a dance. ‘Perhaps he needs spectacles,’ she wondered aloud. ‘That might account for it.’

‘Nonsense! He can clearly see that you have good breeding. My girls may be prettier than you,’ she said with blunt honesty, ‘but neither of them would know how to go on in his world.’ She nodded towards the viscount, who was leading a glowing Dotty into the bottom set.

‘Well, I don’t suppose I would, either,’ retorted Mary. ‘It’s not as if I’ve ever been a part of it.’

‘No, but your mother was far more genteel than I’ve ever been. And your father, too—I dare say he taught you how a real lady should behave.’

Mary did her best not to react to that statement, though something inside her shrivelled up into a defensive ball at the mere mention of her father.

‘Papa was...very strict with me, yes,’ she admitted. Not that she would ever mention the form his strictness took, not to a living soul. Particularly not as he directed most of it firmly, and squarely, at her mother, rather than her.

‘And he certainly did have strong opinions about how a lady should behave,’ she also admitted, when her aunt kept looking at her as though she expected her to say something more. And he enforced those opinions. With loud demands, interspersed with terrifyingly foreboding silences, when he was sober, fists and boots when he was not.

‘I really do not want,’ she said tremulously, ‘an eligible parti to prefer me to either of my cousins. Especially not when they seem so taken with him.’

‘Well, that’s all very well and good, but he’s plainly only got eyes for you. Besides, both my girls would be far more comfortable with Mr Morgan. Not out of their reach, socially, you see, for all his wealth.’

Mary took a second look at her cousins as they skipped up and down the set. Though Dotty looked as though she was enjoying herself, Lotty was positively glowing. And had Dotty just shot Mr Morgan a coy glance over her shoulder while the viscount’s back was towards her?

She frowned. How could either of them prefer that great long beanpole of a man to the dashing viscount? Not only was he much better looking but he had a more amiable expression. She’d even thought she might have detected a sense of humour lurking in the depths of those honeyed hazel eyes. When he’d caught her smiling at the way Dotty and Lotty had reacted on learning he had a title, it had been like sharing a private joke.

Only, she reminded herself tartly, to suspect him of snubbing them rather unkindly a moment later.

She was in no position to judge him. Or think her own observations could have any sway over Dotty’s or Lotty’s decisions. Lords were notorious for being as poor as church mice. If his pockets were to let, then he’d be looking to marry an heiress. Which ruled them both out.

Besides, they knew Mr Morgan was wealthy. Which must make him terribly tempting.

Anyway, she was not going to harbour a single uncharitable thought towards them. Not when they’d been the only ones of her extended family to make room for her in their lives. The girls could have protested when their mother told them Mary was to share their room. But they hadn’t. They’d just said how beastly it must be for her to have nowhere else to go and emptied one of the drawers for her things.

Mary had tried to repay them all by making herself useful about the house. And until tonight, she’d thought she was beginning to make a permanent place for herself.

But it was not to be. Aunt Pargetter, who wasn’t even really an aunt at all, but only a distant connection by marriage, might be kinder than most of the relatives she’d met so far, but it was absurd to think she would house her indefinitely.

Even so, she was not going to tamely submit to her misguided plans to marry her off. No matter how kindly meant the intention was, such a scheme wouldn’t do for her.

In the morning, she would find out where the nearest employment agency was located and go and register for some kind of work. Not that she had any idea what she might do. She darted a look at Aunt Pargetter, wishing she could ask her advice. But it would be a waste of time. Aunt Pargetter, though kindness itself, was also one of those females who thought marriage was the height of any woman’s ambitions and wouldn’t understand her preference for work.

Well, then, she would just have to, somehow, discover where the agency was on her own. Although what excuse she could give for wishing to leave the house, she could not think. Everyone knew she had no money with which to go shopping. Besides, since she was a stranger to London, either Dotty or Lotty, or probably both, would be sent with her to make sure she didn’t get lost.

She became so wrapped up in formulating one plan after another, only to discard it as unworkable, that she scarcely noticed when the dancing came to a halt and people began to make their way to the supper room. Until Viscount Havelock brushed the fronds of the potted palm to one side, smiling down at her as he offered her his hand.

‘Are you ready for a bite to eat? I must confess, all this dancing has given me quite an appetite.’

‘Oh. Um...’ He wasn’t out of breath, though. Her cousins were fanning their flushed faces, Mr Morgan was mopping his brow with a handkerchief, but Lord Havelock wasn’t displaying the slightest sign of fatigue. He was obviously very fit.

Not that she ought to notice such things about a man.

Flustered by the turn of her thoughts, she took the viscount’s hand and allowed him to place her hand on his sleeve.

It must just be that something about him reminded her of her brother’s friends. Several of them had been of his class and had about them the same air of...vitality. Of vigour. And the same self-assurance that came with knowing they were born to command.

She regarded her hand, where it lay on his sleeve. The arm encased in the soft material of his evening coat felt like a plank of oak. Just like her brother’s had. And those of his friends he’d sometimes brought home, who’d escorted her round the town. Not that this viscount actually worked for his living, like those lads who’d served in the navy. From what she knew of aristocrats, he probably maintained his fitness by boxing and fencing, and riding.

He was probably what her brother would have called a Corinthian. She darted a swift glance at his profile, taking in the firm set of his jaw and the healthy complexion. Yes, definitely a Corinthian. At least, he certainly didn’t look as though he spent his days sleeping off the effects of the night before.

And, if he was one of the sporting set, that would explain why he wore clothing that looked comfortable, rather than fitted tightly to show off his physique. He might not be on the catch for an heiress at all.

Her cheeks flushed. She couldn’t believe she was speculating about his reasons for being here. Or the body underneath his clothing. Not that she’d ever spent so much time thinking about a man’s choice of clothing, either. Just because he seemed better turned out than any other man present, in some indefinable way, she had no business making so much of it.

‘I hope the crowd of people we are following are heading to the supper room,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts.

‘I...I suppose they must be,’ she replied, but only after casting about desperately for an interesting reply and coming up empty.

‘You are not a regular visitor to this house?’

She shook her head. ‘I have only been in London a few days,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t know anyone.’

‘Apart from the lady you are with. Your...aunt?’

Mary shook her head again. ‘I had never even met her before I turned up on her doorstep with a letter of introduction from my lawyer. And to be perfectly frank, I’m not at all sure the connection is...’

Suddenly Mary wondered why on earth she was telling this total stranger such personal information. It couldn’t be simply because there was something about him that put her in mind of her brother and his fellow officers, could it? Or because he’d given her that look, earlier, that had made her feel as though he was genuinely interested?

How pathetic did that make her? One kind word, one keen look, a smile and a touch of his hand and she’d been on the verge of unburdening herself.

Good grief—she was as susceptible to a good-looking man as the cousins she’d decried as ninnies not an hour earlier. She, who’d sworn never to let a handsome face sway her judgement, had just spent a full five minutes wondering how he managed to keep so fit and speculating about the cut of his clothes, and what lay beneath them.

‘You don’t really have any family left to speak of, is that what you were about to say?’

She couldn’t recall what she’d been about to say. Nor even what the question had been. Her mind kept veering off into realms it had never strayed into before and consequently got lost there.

‘Your...aunt, or whatever she is,’ he persisted, while her cheeks flooded with guilty heat, ‘said you are in mourning. Was it...for someone very close?’

Well, that dealt with the strange effects his proximity had been wreaking in her mind and body. He might as well have doused her with a bucket of cold water.

‘My mother,’ she said. ‘She was all I had left.’

She might be in a crowded ballroom tonight, on the arm of the most handsome and eligible man in the room, but the truth was that she was utterly alone in the world, and destitute.

‘That’s c...’ He pulled himself up short and patted her hand. ‘I mean to say, dreadful. For you.’

They’d reached the doorway now and beyond she could see tables laid out with a bewildering array of dishes that looked extremely decorative, but not at all like anything she might ever have eaten before.

Since they’d both come without an invitation, space was found for them at a table squeezed into the bay of a window.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said when he noted her gaze darting about anxiously. ‘I shall make sure we find your aunt once we have eaten and return you to her side in complete safety.’

She was amazed he’d noticed how awkward she felt. And that he’d correctly deduced it was being separated from her aunt that had caused it. Most men couldn’t see further than the end of their noses.

He must have noticed the way she’d eyed the food with trepidation, too, because he took great care, when offering her dishes, to ask if she liked the principal ingredient of each. Which deftly concealed her ignorance. For he could have explained what everything was, making her feel even more awkward, whilst puffing off his own savoir faire. As it was, since the other men at their table were passing dishes round, and helping the ladies to slices of this, or spoonfuls of that, nobody noticed anything untoward.

Eventually, her plate, like that of everyone else at the table, was piled high and conversation began to flow.

Except between Lord Havelock and her.

She supposed he’d gone to the length of his chivalry. She supposed he was waiting for her to make some kind of remark that would open up the kind of light, inconsequential conversations that were springing up all around them.

But for the life of her she couldn’t dredge up a single topic she could imagine might be of interest to a man like him. Or the kind of man she suspected he was. She didn’t really know a thing about him.

And though she was grateful to him for the way he’d behaved so far, she began to wish she was with her aunt and cousins. They would know how to entertain him, she was sure. They wouldn’t let this awkward silence go on, and on, and on...

He cleared his throat, half turned towards her and said, ‘Do you...?’ He cleared his throat again, took a sip of wine and started over. ‘That is, I wonder, do you enjoy living in town, or do you prefer the country? I suppose,’ he said with a swift frown before she could answer, ‘I should have enquired where you lived before you had to come to London, shouldn’t I? I don’t know why I assumed you had lived in the country before.’

‘I lived in Portsmouth, actually,’ she said, relieved to be able to have a question she could answer without having to rack her brains. ‘And I haven’t been here long enough to know whether I prefer it, or not.’

‘But do you have any objection to living in the countryside?’

It was her turn to frown. ‘I cannot tell. I have never lived anywhere but in a town.’

Oh, what a stupid, stupid thing to say. She should have made some remark about how...bustling London was in comparison to Portsmouth, or...or how she missed the sound of the sea. Or even better, asked him about his preferences. That was what men liked, really, wasn’t it? To talk about themselves? Instead, she’d killed the potential conversation stone dead.

They resumed eating in silence for a few more minutes before he made a second, valiant attempt to breach it. ‘Well, do you like children?’

‘Yes, I suppose in a general way,’ though she couldn’t imagine why he might ask that. But at least she’d learned her lesson from last time. She would offer him the chance to talk about himself. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, no reason,’ he said airily, though the faint blush that tinged his cheeks told her he was growing a bit uncomfortable. ‘Just making conversation.’ He reached for his wine glass and curled his fingers round the stem as though in need of something to hang on to. And then blurted, ‘What do people talk about at events like this?’

For the first time in her life, she actually felt sorry for a man. He’d come here expecting to enjoy himself and ended up saddled with the dullest, most boring female in the room. And far from betraying his exasperation with her ignorance, and her timidity, he’d done his best to put her at ease. He’d even been making an attempt to draw her out. And wasn’t finding it easy.

‘I expect it is easier for them,’ she said, indicating the other occupants of the table. ‘That is...I mean...they all know each other already, I think.’

He looked round the table and she couldn’t help contrasting the animated chatter of all the other females, who were universally fluttering their eyelashes at their male companions in the attempt to charm them. Then he looked back at her and smiled.

‘Well, we’ll just have to get to know each other then, won’t we?’

Oh, dear. Did he mean to ask her a lot of highly personal questions? Or expect her to come up with some witty banter, or start flirting like the other women? That’s what came of throwing a man even the tiniest conversational sop. She’d made him think she was interested in getting to know him.

‘What,’ he said abruptly, ‘do you think about climbing boys?’

‘I beg your pardon? Climbing boys?’

‘Yes. The little chaps they send up chimneys.’

All of a sudden, the odd things he said, and the abrupt way he said them reminded her very forcibly of her own brother’s behaviour, when confronted by a female to whom he was not related. He was trying his best, but this was clearly a man who was more at ease in the company of other men. Lord Havelock had no more idea how to talk to a single lady than she had as to how to amuse an eligible male.

He was staring at his plate now, a dull flush mounting his cheeks, as though he knew he’d just raised a topic that was not at all suitable for a dinner table, let alone what was supposed to be the delicate sensibilities of a female.

And once again, she felt...not sorry for him. No, not that. But willing to meet his attempts to entertain her halfway. For he was exerting himself to a considerable extent. A thing no other male she’d ever encountered had ever even considered doing. And though men did not usually want to hear what a woman thought, he had asked, and so she girded up her loins to express her opinion. It wasn’t as if she was ever likely to see him again, so what did it matter if he was offended by it?

‘It is a cruel practice,’ she said. ‘I know chimneys have to be cleaned, but surely there must be a more humane way? I hear there are devices that can produce results that are almost as good.’

‘Devices,’ he said, turning to her with a curious expression.

‘For cleaning chimneys.’

‘Really? I had no idea.’

‘Oh? But then why did you ask me about them?’

His brows drew down irritably.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said hastily, hanging her head meekly. Whatever had possessed her to question him? How could she have forgotten the way her father had reacted should her mother have ever dared to question his motive for saying anything, no matter how absurd?

There was a moment’s awkward pause. She darted him a wary glance to find he’d folded his arms across his chest and was glaring at his plate as though he was contemplating sweeping it, and its contents, from the table before storming off.

A kind of dim terror crept over her. A mist rising up from her past. Her own appetite fled. She pleated her napkin between nervous fingers, fighting to stay calm. He couldn’t very well backhand her out of the chair, she reminded herself. Not even her father had taken such drastic action, when she’d angered him, not in public, at any rate.

No—Lord Havelock was more likely to return her to her chaperon in frosty silence and vow never to have anything to do with her again.

She felt him shift in his seat, next to her. ‘Entirely my fault,’ he growled between clenched teeth. ‘No business bringing such a topic up at a dinner table. Cannot think what came over me.’

The mist shredded, blasted apart by the shock wave of his apology. She turned and stared at him.

‘I dare say you can tell that I’m just not used to conversing with...ladies.’

Good grief. Not only had he apologised, but he, a man, had admitted to having a fault.

‘I...I’m not very good at it myself. Not conversing with ladies, obviously, I can do that. I meant, conversing with members of the opposite...’ She floundered on the precipice of uttering a word that would be an even worse faux pas than mentioning the grim reality of chimney sweeps.

And then he smiled.

A rather devilish smile that told her he knew exactly which word she’d almost said.

With an unholy light in his eyes that sent awareness of her own sex flooding from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her toes.

Chapter Three

‘So you found your mouse,’ remarked Morgan, as they strode out into the night.

‘I’ve found a young lady who appears to meet many of my requirements,’ Havelock testily corrected him. He hadn’t been able to believe his luck when the bashful creature he’d had to coax out from behind her potted plant had admitted to being an orphan.

‘The only problem is,’ he said with a scowl, ‘the very things I like most about her make it devilish difficult to find out what her character is really like.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, it was damn near impossible to pry more than a couple of words out of her at a time.’ To think he’d congratulated himself on so deftly separating her from her more exuberant cousins, only to come unstuck at the dinner table.

‘I made a complete cake of myself.’ He sighed. She wasn’t like the girls he was used to sitting with at such events. Girls who either flirted, or threw out conversational gambits intended to impress and charm. She’d left all the work to him. And he discovered he was a very poor hand at it. In his determination to delve to the heart of her, he’d asked the kind of questions that had both puzzled and alarmed her.

Climbing boys, for God’s sake! Who in their right minds asked a gently reared girl about such a deplorable topic? Over a supper table?

Though in fairness to Miss Carpenter, she’d swiftly rallied and given an answer of which he could heartily approve. And shown her head wasn’t stuffed with goose down. Devices for sweeping chimneys, eh? Where could she have heard about them? If they even existed.

‘You know,’ said Morgan as they turned in the direction of their club, ‘either of her cousins would be only too glad to get an offer from you. Wouldn’t be so much work, either. That’s why I made them known to you. Family not that well off, eager to climb the social ladder. Have known them some time, so I can vouch for them both being good girls, at heart.’

‘No, thank you,’ said Havelock firmly, recalling the way they’d fluttered and preened the moment they heard he had a title. ‘Miss Carpenter is the one for me.’

‘Very well,’ said Morgan with a shrug. ‘Perhaps you will get a chance to discover more about her when we go and visit her tomorrow.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said gloomily. He wished now that he had been more in the petticoat line. Had more experience with plumbing the depths of women’s natures. He’d plumbed other depths, naturally, to the satisfaction of both parties involved, but had always avoided anything that smacked of emotion. The moment a woman started to seem as though she wanted to get ‘close’, he’d dropped her like a hot potato.

He’d thought it was safer.

And it had been. Not one of them had ever managed to get under his skin. The trouble was, keeping himself heart whole had left him woefully unprepared for the most important task of his life.

* * *

‘Good morning, my lord,’ gushed Mrs Pargetter.

Havelock favoured her with his most courtly bow. If he was going to be frequenting these premises, he needed to be on good terms with the hostess.

Miss Carpenter’s cousins, whose names escaped him for the moment, fluttered at him from their strategic locations on two separate sofas, indicating their willingness to have him join them. Or Morgan. The hussies didn’t appear to mind which.

Miss Carpenter, on the other hand, was sitting on a straight-backed chair by the window, looking very much as though she would like to disappear behind the curtains.

Morgan made straight for the younger chit, so he went and sat beside the elder. He’d paid this kind of duty visit to dance partners, the day after a ball, before. But he’d never realised how frustrating they could be if a fellow was serious about pursuing a female. You couldn’t engage in meaningful conversation with teacups and macaroons being thrust under your nose every five minutes. Not that he’d had much success in the field of conversation when he had got her to himself.

‘We hope you will permit us to take your lovely daughters out tomorrow,’ Morgan was saying. Havelock scowled. He didn’t want to take either of them anywhere.

The girls looked at each other. Then their heads swivelled towards the window where Mary was sitting.

‘And you, too, Miss Carpenter, of course,’ said Havelock, taking his cue from them. Morgan had been right. Man-hungry they might be, but they weren’t totally ruthless in their pursuit of prey. They were willing to offer Miss Carpenter a share in their spoils.

‘Oh, no,’ said Miss Carpenter, blushing. ‘Really, I don’t think...’

‘Nonsense, Mary,’ said her aunt briskly. ‘It will do you the world of good to get out in the fresh air.’

Her brows rose in disbelief. Since rain was lashing at the windowpane, he could hardly blame her.

‘It isn’t really the season for driving in the park, now, is it,’ said Morgan with just a hint of a smile. ‘I was thinking more in the lines of visiting somewhere like Westminster Abbey.’

Westminster Abbey? Was the fellow mad? Walking about looking at a bunch of grisly tombs? How was he going to find out anything, except whether the girl knew her kings and queens, by taking her to Westminster Abbey?

‘It is so kind of you,’ said the girl he was sitting next to, with a flutter of eyelashes up at Morgan, ‘to think of taking us all out to see the sights. And Mary would love that, wouldn’t you, Mary? She hasn’t seen anything of London at all.’

Before Miss Carpenter had the chance to voice her horror at the prospect of being dragged out on an expedition to examine a lot of mouldering tombs, the door flew open and a boy, who looked as if he was about eight or nine years old, and was covered in flour, burst in.

‘Mother, Mother, you have to come see...’

‘Will, how many times have I told you,’ shrieked Mrs Pargetter, ‘not to come barging in here when we have callers?’

At the same moment, Miss Carpenter leapt from her chair and cut off his headlong dash into the room by dint of grabbing him about the waist.

She alone of the four women in the room was smiling at him.

‘You’re all over flour, Will,’ she pointed out as he looked up at her in bewilderment. ‘You don’t want to spoil your sisters’ pretty clothes, do you?’

She didn’t seem to care about her own clothes, though. There was a little boy-shaped smudge on her skirts and a white handprint on her sleeve.

‘No, ’spose not,’ he said grudgingly, rubbing his twitching nose with the back of one hand, making him twice as likely to sneeze. ‘But you’ve just got to see...’

‘Come on,’ said Mary, taking his dough-encrusted hand in hers. ‘You can show me whatever it is that’s got you so fired up. And later, when these visitors have gone, I’m sure your mama will want to see, as well.’

The boy glared at him, then at Morgan, then turned his floury little nose up at his sisters, as though roundly condemning them for considering the state of their clothes more important than whatever exciting development had occurred in the kitchens.

‘Oh, thank you, Mary,’ said her aunt.

‘Not at all,’ she replied, with what looked suspiciously like heartfelt relief.

* * *

‘Did you see that?’ he asked Morgan later, as they were going down the front steps. ‘Her reaction to the floury boy?’

‘Indeed I did,’ he replied. ‘Another item on your list ticked off. Or two, perhaps. She’s not totally selfish and appears to be kind to children. Unless...well, I suppose she could have been using the child to make her escape.’

‘Blast.’ He peered out from under the front porch into the teeming rain. ‘She might not have been thinking of the child at all. She might have just wanted an excuse to bolt. And she might well have given him a good scolding for spoiling her gown, once she was safely out of our sight. You see, that’s the trouble with women. They put on a mask in public that makes you think they have the nature of an angel, but it comes straight off when they think nobody’s watching. If only there was some way I could be sure of getting a genuine reaction from her.’

‘Our trip to the Abbey tomorrow would be a perfect opportunity,’ said Morgan as they dashed across the pavement into his waiting carriage, ‘to set up some kind of scene,’ he said, wrenching open the door, ‘where she will be obliged to react without thinking too much about it.’

In the time it took Lord Havelock to get into the carriage as well and slam the door on the filthy weather, he’d gone from wanting to tell Morgan he hadn’t been serious—for what kind of man deliberately set a trap to expose a lady’s faults?—to realising that too much was riding on his making a successful match, in the shortest possible time, for him to take the conventional route.

So when Morgan said, ‘Best if you leave the details to me’, he raised no objection.

‘I’ll stage something that will take you as much by surprise as her,’ said Morgan. ‘So that if she’s clever enough to work out what’s afoot, the blame will fall upon me, not you.’

‘That’s...very decent of you,’ he said. And then wondered why Morgan was being so helpful. They’d only met, properly, a couple of nights ago. And Morgan had sneered, and mocked, and generally behaved as though he’d taken him in immediate dislike.

‘What’s your lay, Morgan?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I mean, why are you so keen to get involved in my affairs?’

‘Just what are you accusing me of?’

‘Don’t know. That’s the thing. But it seems dashed smoky to me. When you consider that Chepstow, a man I’ve known all my life, skipped town rather than risk getting tangled with females intent on marriage.’

‘You can’t know that. He could have left town for any number of reasons.’

‘He’s running scared,’ Havelock insisted. ‘He would have bolted from the club after foisting me on to Ashe, if he’d thought he could get away with it.’

Morgan looked out of the window. Sighed. Looked back at Havelock. Lifted his chin so that when he spoke, he did so down his nose.

‘I have a sister,’ he said defiantly. ‘Who is of an age to get married. And I would walk over hot coals rather than see her married to a man like you.’

‘A man like me?’ His voice came out rapier sharp. ‘What, precisely, do you mean by that?’ He was from one of the oldest families in the land. Everyone knew him. He was welcome everywhere. Not a scandalous word had ever been whispered about him.

Except, perhaps, about the duels he’d fought.

Though he’d fought them over matters of honour, not dishonour.

‘A man,’ said Morgan in an equally chilling tone, ‘who won’t love his wife. The last thing I want is for my sister to get drawn into a loveless marriage.’

‘Oh.’ He shrugged. ‘That puts a different complexion on the matter. I have a sister myself. Well, half-sister, to be precise. But even so, I would walk over hot coals for her.’ In fact, that was very nearly what he was doing.

‘So you see why I’m keen to get you off the marriage mart, before she comes to town?’

‘Oh, absolutely. Would do the same myself, if I thought Julia was in danger of getting tangled up with an unsuitable man. Like a shot.’

They nodded at each other with grudging respect.

‘Westminster Abbey, though? Really, Morgan, could you not have thought of somewhere a little more conducive to courtship?’

Morgan’s craggy face relaxed into something resembling a smile. ‘You are the only one thinking in terms of courtship. I have no intention of taking a risk with either of those Pargetter girls. But it will be out of the wind and rain, at all events. And large enough that our two parties may drift apart...’

‘So that I can get Miss Carpenter to myself while you play the elder off against the younger,’ he said. ‘Morgan, you’re as cunning as a fox.’

‘Not really,’ he said diffidently. ‘Just well versed in the ways of women. I have,’ he added with a wry twist to his mouth, ‘two half-sisters, and a stepsister under my guardianship. There’s not much you can tell me about tears and tantrums, scenes staged to persuade me to do something against my better judgement, campaigns designed to wear a man down...’

‘I get the picture,’ he said with an appreciative shudder. ‘You clearly know exactly how the female mind works.’ And thank God for it. And for Morgan’s willingness to see him safely married before his own sister came to town for her Season.

* * *

‘Come on, Mary,’ Dotty urged. ‘That’s Mr Morgan and Lord Havelock knocking on the front door now and you haven’t even chosen which bonnet you’re going to wear.’

The girls, determined they should all look their best for this outing with the most eligible men it had ever been their good fortune to come across, had spent the previous evening, and the best part of this morning, ransacking their wardrobe for items to lend Mary.

‘The brown velvet,’ said Lotty firmly, ramming the bonnet on to Mary’s head. ‘Sober colour, to suit your sense of what you should be wearing for mourning, yet the bronze satin rose just takes the plainness off. And if you say you don’t care what you look like one more time,’ she said, tying the ribbons deftly under her chin, ‘I shall go off into strong hysterics.’

There was no arguing with the sisters. And if she persisted, she was afraid she was going to take the shine off their own pleasure in the outing.

Resigned to her fate, Mary trailed the girls down the stairs, hanging back while they launched themselves with great gusto, this time, at both of the gentlemen who’d come to take them out.

For Mr Pargetter, upon hearing Lord Havelock’s name, had divulged that though he was only a viscount, and never likely to be an earl, he was very well-to-do.

While that information had sent his daughters into raptures, it had just made Mary wonder, again, what on earth he’d been doing at such an unfashionable event as the Crimmers’ annual Advent ball. If he was as wealthy as Mr Pargetter thought, he couldn’t have been searching for an heiress. She peered up at him, perplexed, as he handed her into the carriage. Could he possibly be thinking of going into politics? Perhaps he’d decided to mingle with the kind of men whose votes he would have to canvass and find out what they thought about various issues. Climbing boys, for instance.

Only, that didn’t explain why he’d wasted so much time with her, when he could have been mingling with the men, who were the ones who had the votes.

It was only when he smiled at her that she realised she’d been staring at him with a puzzled frown all the while he’d been taking his own seat opposite her.

Swiftly, she averted her gaze and peered intently out of the window. She had to stop making conjectures about what drove Lord Havelock and make the most of her first foray out of the immediate vicinity of Bloomsbury to see if she could spot an employment agency. But no matter how she strained her eyes, she simply couldn’t make out what might be engraved on any of the brass door plates of the buildings they passed. And it wasn’t the kind of thing she could ask.

Lotty and Dotty wouldn’t understand her desire for independence. The yearning to be able to stand on her own two feet and not have to rely on a man for anything.

Though at least they weren’t making any attempt to include her in the flirtatious sallies they were directing at Mr Morgan and Lord Havelock. They’d drawn the line at getting her dressed up smartly and practically bundling her into the carriage.

And so intent were they on dazzling the two gentlemen that they didn’t appear to notice when she started lagging behind them the minute they got inside the Abbey.

She’d started hanging back more out of habit than anything, but before long she was craning her neck in genuine awe at the roof, wondering how the builders had managed to get stone looking like acres of starched lace. She barely noticed their chatter gradually fading into the distance.

‘Miss Carpenter?’

Lord Havelock was standing watching her, a concerned expression on his face. And she realised she ought to have made an effort, for once, to stay part of the group. Loitering here, obliging him to wait for her, might have made it look as if she wanted to be alone with him. And she didn’t want him thinking that!

‘It has just occurred to me,’ he said, preventing her from stammering any of the excuses that leapt to mind, ‘that it wasn’t particularly tactful of us, was it, to arrange an outing to a place like this. With you so recently bereaved?’

Goodness. It wasn’t like a man to consider a woman’s feelings.

‘I can clearly recall how it felt to lose my own mother,’ he said, when she carried on gaping at him in complete shock. ‘I was only about...well, a similar age to the floury boy of yesterday...’

‘You mean Will?’ The mention of her favourite cousin brought a smile to her lips without her having to make any effort whatever.

Lord Havelock smiled in response, looking very relieved. It was a warning that she really ought to make more effort to conceal her thoughts, if even a stranger could tell she was blue-devilled.

‘You like the boy?’

‘He’s a little scamp,’ she said fondly. ‘The hope of the family, being the only surviving male, you see, and hopelessly indulged.’

‘Hmm.’ He crooked his arm and she laid her hand on his sleeve for the second time. The strength of his arm wasn’t as alarming this time. Perhaps because he’d shown her several kindnesses. Besides, if they walked swiftly, they could soon catch up with her cousins and Mr Morgan.

Only, how could she get him to walk faster, when he seemed set on strolling along at a snail’s pace?

‘But to return to your own loss,’ he said. ‘The one thing I would not have wanted to do, in the weeks immediately following my own mother’s funeral, was spend an afternoon wandering through a lot of tombs.’

‘Oh? But this is different,’ she said. ‘These tombs are all of very grand people. Not in the least like the simple grassy plot in the churchyard where my mother was laid to rest. No...this is...is history. I confess, I didn’t really want to come here. But now we are here...’

His face brightened. ‘Would you care to have a look at Shakespeare’s monument, then? I believe it is this way,’ he said, indicating an aisle that branched away from the direction the rest of the party were headed.

‘Oh, um...’ She couldn’t very well object, not when she’d just claimed to have an interest in old tombs, could she?

And what could possibly happen to her in a church, anyway?

‘Just a quick look, before we join the others,’ she said. ‘I don’t expect I shall have leisure to do much sightseeing, before much longer, and I would—’

She broke off, flushed and curled into herself again. She’d almost let slip that she was only going to stay with the Pargetters until she could find a paid position. What was it about this man that kept on tempting her to share confidences? It was time she deflected attention away from herself. It shouldn’t be too hard. All she’d have to do would be to ask him about himself. Once a man started talking about himself, nothing short of a riot would stop him.

‘You said you lost your own mother at a very young age. That must have been very hard for you.’

‘Oh, my father pretty soon made sure I had another one,’ he said with evident bitterness.

She wished she hadn’t said anything now. It was clearly a painful topic for him. And though she racked her brains, she couldn’t think of anything to say to undo the awkwardness she’d caused. An awkwardness that resulted in them walking the entire length of the south transept in silence.

‘What did you mean, Miss Carpenter,’ he eventually said, once they’d reached their destination, ‘about not having leisure to do much sightseeing?’

Oh, drat the man. Why did he have to keep asking such personal questions? He couldn’t really be interested. Besides, she had no intention of admitting that she wasn’t totally happy to reside with the Pargetters. Especially not now, when she could see Dotty and Lotty sauntering towards them. They’d been so kind to her. She couldn’t possibly hurt them by broadcasting the fact she wanted to leave.

‘Oh, look,’ she exclaimed, to create a diversion. ‘Sheridan!’

‘What?’

She pointed to the nearest monument. ‘Only fancy him being buried here. And Chaucer. My goodness!’

He dutifully examined the plaques to which she was pointing, though from the set of his lips, he wasn’t really interested.

‘Hi! You, boy! Stop!’

Mary whirled in the direction of the cry, shocked to hear anyone daring to raise their voice in the reverent atmosphere of the ancient building, and saw Mr Morgan shaking his fist at a raggedy urchin, who was running in their direction.

Lord Havelock let go of her arm and grabbed the boy by the collar when he would have darted past.

The urchin squirmed in his grip. Lashed out with a foot. Lord Havelock twisted his fingers into the material of the boy’s collar and held him at arm’s length, with apparent ease, so that the boy’s feet, and swinging fists, couldn’t land any blows on anyone.

The boy promptly let loose with a volley of words that had Lord Havelock giving him a shake.

‘That’s enough of that,’ he said severely. ‘Those aren’t the kind of words you should ever utter when ladies are present, leave alone when you’re in church. I beg his pardon, Miss Carpenter,’ he said, darting her an apologetic look.

She was on the verge of admitting she’d heard far worse coming from her own father’s lips, but Morgan was almost upon them, his beetling brows drawn down in anger. And her brief urge to confide in anyone turned tail and fled.

‘What’s to do, Morgan?’

‘The little b—boy has lifted my purse,’ Mr Morgan snarled. Reaching down, he ran his hands over the squirming boy’s jacket, evading all the lad’s swings from his grubby little fists.

A verger came bustling over just as Mr Morgan recovered his property. ‘My apologies, my lords, ladies,’ he said, dipping into something between a bow and a curtsy. ‘I cannot think how a person like this managed to get in here.’

Dotty and Lotty came upon the scene, arm in arm as though needing each other for support.

‘If you will permit me,’ said the verger, reaching out a hand towards the boy, who had ceased struggling as though realising it was pointless when he was so vastly outnumbered. ‘I will see that he is handed over to the proper authorities.’

‘Yes, see that you do,’ snarled Morgan as the verger clamped his pudgy hand round the boy’s wrist. ‘It comes to something when a man cannot even safely walk through a church without getting his pockets picked.’

‘He will be suitably punished for his audacity, attacking and robbing innocent persons upon hallowed ground, never you fear, sir,’ declared the verger.

Mary’s heart was pounding. Could Mr Morgan really be so cruel as to have him dragged off to prison?

Lord Havelock, she suddenly noticed, hadn’t relinquished his hold on the boy’s collar.

‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘Morgan, this isn’t... I mean, I think this has gone far enough.’

The two men glared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills.

The boy, sensing his fate hung in the balance, knuckled at his eyes, and wailed, ‘Oh, please don’t send me to gaol, sirs. For lifting a purse as fat as yours, I’d like as not get me neck stretched. And I wouldn’t have lifted it if I weren’t so hungry.’

‘A likely tale,’ said the verger, giving the boy’s arm a little tug. But Lord Havelock kept his fingers stubbornly twisted into the boy’s clothing.

Mary saw that Dotty and Lotty were clinging to each other, clearly appalled by the situation, but too scared of offending Mr Morgan to say what they really thought.

Well, she didn’t care what he thought of her. She couldn’t stand by and let a child suffer such a horrid fate.

‘For shame,’ she cried, rounding on Mr Morgan. ‘How can you want to send a child to prison, when his only crime is to be hungry?’

‘He lifted my purse....’

‘Which he can see you can spare! You are so rich, I don’t suppose you have ever known what it is to be hungry, to be desperate, to have nowhere to go.’

‘Now, now, miss,’ said the verger. ‘We don’t want raised voices in here. Please moderate your tone....’

‘Moderate my tone!’ She whirled on the plump, cassocked man. ‘Your creed demands you feed the hungry, not toss them in prison. You should be offering him food and shelter, and help, not punishing him for being in want!’

Lotty and Dotty stared at her as though she had gone quite mad. Actually, everyone was staring at her. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, shocked at herself for speaking with such fervour, and disrespect, to a man of the cloth. For raising her voice at all. Whatever had come over her?

But then, the shocked silence that echoed round them was broken by Lord Havelock’s crisp, biting voice.

‘Quite,’ he said with a decisive nod. And then turned to the verger. ‘And I really don’t care for the way you just spoke to Miss Carpenter. Look, Morgan, you have your property back, can you not...let him go?’

Mary took a step that placed her next to him. Side by side they faced the rest of the group.

He really was rather a...rather a wonderful person. She’d been able to tell he hadn’t liked the notion of throwing the pickpocket in gaol, from the way he’d refused to relinquish him into the verger’s custody. But she’d never expected him to spring to her defence, as well. It was just about the most...amazing, surprising thing that had ever happened to her.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she breathed, darting him a shy glance. And noting that the way the sunlight glanced off his bright bronze curls made him look like... Well, with his strong hand clamped firmly behind the little boy’s scrawny neck, he could have been a model for a guardian angel. The rather fearsome kind who protected the weak and downtrodden against oppression.

‘Not at all, Miss Carpenter,’ he replied grimly. ‘I believe you have the right of it. This boy’s nothing but a bag of bones. When,’ he said, turning his attention to the dirty scrap of humanity he held in one fist, ‘did you last have anything to eat?’

The boy squinted up at him. ‘Can’t remember. Not yesterday, that’s for sure. Day before, mebbe...’

At that, even Morgan looked taken aback. ‘Look,’ he began, ‘I had no idea...’

The boy’s face twisted into an expression of contempt. ‘Your sort never do. She’s right...’ he jerked his head in Mary’s direction ‘...got no idea what it feels like to have nuffink. Or what you’ll do just to earn a penny or two....’

‘If you had the means to earn an honest living, would you, though?’ Havelock shook him by the coat collar. ‘Or would you just keep right on thieving?’

The boy snorted in derision. ‘Who’d give me a job? I ain’t got no trade. No learnin’ neither.’

‘If you can learn to pick pockets, you can learn an honest trade,’ said Lord Havelock witheringly. Then he frowned. ‘Don’t suppose anyone would want to take the risk, though.’ He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath and sighed it out.

‘My town house could probably use a boot boy,’ he said. ‘You’d get a bed to sleep in, meals provided and a wage, if you kept your nose clean.’

The boy promptly straightened up and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

‘I got no wiper, but I’d try and keep it clean if I got all what you said.’

‘Morgan? Will you let the matter drop if I take charge of the boy?’

‘I... Well, if you are prepared to attempt to rehabilitate him, I suppose I can do no less.’

Dotty and Lotty heaved a sigh, showing they were as relieved as Mary to see the boy escape the full force of the law.

‘Then if you will excuse me, ladies,’ he said, bowing first to her cousins, and then to her, ‘I had better take him there myself. Straight away. And hope that his arrival won’t induce my butler to leave,’ he grumbled.

He was scowling as he led the boy down the aisle. He didn’t slacken his hold on his collar, either. Which was probably wise. Who knew but if he let the lad go, he wouldn’t run straight back to whatever gutter he’d sprung from, and the associates who’d probably led him into his life of crime in the first place?

Damn Morgan for foisting this guttersnipe on him. Obliging him to leave, just when he was beginning to coax Miss Carpenter out of her shell.

Still, he supposed this little test had proved that she was capable of coming out of it when sufficiently roused. She’d been shaking like a leaf, but she’d managed to speak out against what was clearly a gross injustice.

For the sake of a child.

He pulled up short, turned and glanced back at her.

To find her gazing back at him, with a rapt expression on her face.

She hid it at once, by bowing her head and turning away, but he’d caught something in her look that had been encouraging. It was approval. And warmth. And, not to put too fine a point on it, something that verged on downright hero worship.

There would be no trouble getting to speak to her next time he paid a call. He could use the pretext of telling her how the boy had settled in to his new life. And take it from there.

‘I want me penny,’ said the boy, the moment they emerged from the great church door into the drizzle that they’d gone inside to escape.

‘Your what?’

‘My penny,’ said the boy. ‘That other cove said as how you’d give me a penny if I lifted his purse, then ran straight into you and let you catch me.’

‘I,’ said Havelock firmly, ‘am not going to give you a penny.’

‘I might have known. You swindler...’

‘I’m going to give you something better,’ he interrupted.

‘Oh, yeah?’ The boy’s face brightened.

‘Yes. I’m going to give you that job I promised. A man has to keep his word, you see? Especially when he gives it to a lady.’

Chapter Four

Overnight the drizzle drifted away, leaving the sky cloudless. When the girls awoke, there was a layer of frosted ice on the inside of their bedroom window.

They shivered, red-nosed, into their clothes and rushed downstairs to the warmth of the parlour.

The moment she got downstairs though, Mary wished it wasn’t quite so cold in their room, or she could have found some excuse to stay there. For her aunt was still upset with her over what the girls had told her of their outing to Westminster Abbey.

‘I cannot think what came over you,’ said Aunt Pargetter as she poured Mary’s tea. ‘To have raised your voice to Mr Morgan...’

‘I am sorry, truly sorry, if my behaviour has offended you.’

‘It didn’t offend me,’ said Lotty, wrapping her fingers round the cup that contained her own, freshly poured, steaming hot tea.

‘Nor me,’ added Dotty. ‘I only wish I’d had the courage to speak up for the boy when that nasty verger threatened him with gaol. He couldn’t have been any older than Will.’

‘It wasn’t a matter of courage,’ Mary protested. She wasn’t a courageous person. Not at all. ‘I just...’ She shook her head. To be truthful, she had no idea why she’d picked that particular moment to finally speak her mind. She just... She’d had to endure so much, in silence, for so long. She knew what it felt like to have nothing. To be at the mercy of strangers. And yesterday, it was as though a lifetime of resenting injustice, of knowing that the strong naturally oppressed the weak and trampled down the poor for being of no account, all came to a head and erupted without, for once, her giving a fig for the consequences.

‘I just couldn’t help myself.’

‘I’m not denying you were right to feel as you did,’ said Aunt Pargetter. ‘But to risk driving away such an eligible suitor, by openly challenging him like that...’

‘Mary did just as she ought,’ said Mr Pargetter, folding up his newspaper and getting to his feet. ‘The consequences must take care of themselves.’

A tense silence hovered over the breakfast table after he’d left the room. Until Dotty cleared her throat.

‘You know,’ she said, ‘it didn’t do Mary any harm in Lord Havelock’s eyes.’

‘No,’ added Lotty. ‘He looked at her as though he thoroughly approved of her standing up for the boy.’

‘Hmmph,’ said her aunt. ‘Well, I suppose that is something.’

And though her aunt let the subject drop, the atmosphere remained tense throughout the rest of the morning, as they all waited to see if either of the gentlemen would call upon the house again.

Either Dotty or Lotty kept a vigil by the window, while Mary kept close to the fire, steadily working her way through a basket of mending.

Until at length, Lotty let out a squeal of excitement.

‘It’s him! Them! Both of them! They’ve just got out of their carriage!’

Her cousins rushed to the mirror to check their appearance, before dashing to the sofa and striking relaxed poses. Which were only slightly marred by the way their chests rose and fell so rapidly.

It puzzled Mary to see the girls greet Mr Morgan with such enthusiasm, when his callous behaviour the day before had shocked them all so much.

She could have understood it if they’d flown to Lord Havelock’s side, and showered him with praise, and pulled him down on to the sofa between them.

Instead, he was left standing just inside the door, watching them with a kind of amused disbelief.

Couldn’t they see how...superior he was to Mr Morgan, in every way? When she thought of the way he’d lifted that boy out of the verger’s reach...

Just as she was reflecting that she’d never seen a man use his physical strength to protect the defenceless before, he turned, caught her watching him and smiled at her.

Her stomach gave a funny little lurch. Her heart sped up.

She hastily lowered her head to stare at the sewing that lay in her lap.

She wasn’t interested in him, not in the way Lotty and Dotty were interested in Mr Morgan. She just...she just couldn’t deny it was flattering to have such a handsome, personable young man smile at her like that.

She hadn’t been able to forget the look he’d shot her as he’d left the Abbey with the pickpocket still held firmly by his collar, either. Or the feeling that had come over her when he’d defended her from the verger’s censure. It had washed over her again, several times the night before, while she’d been trying to get to sleep.

And it positively surged through her when he took a chair, carried it to her side and sat down.

‘I bring good news,’ declared Mr Morgan once the flurry of greetings had died down. ‘The Serpentine has frozen over. Hard enough for us to go skating, if you ladies would enjoy it?’

Dotty and Lotty beamed and clapped their hands, saying what a wonderful idea it was. Just as though the incident the day before had never happened.

‘You will be coming with us, won’t you, Miss Carpenter?’ said Lord Havelock, with a hopeful smile.

She shook her head.

‘I cannot skate,’ she said with what felt suspiciously like regret.

Regret? No! She didn’t want to spend any more time than she had to with these two men. They both made her uncomfortable—Mr Morgan because of his harsh manner and Lord Havelock because of the tendency she had to say far more than she should when she was with him. And for feeling that she could say it to him. And most of all—she had to be honest with herself—because she found him so...attractive. Which made him downright dangerous.

‘I will teach you,’ said Lord Havelock, somehow turning up the warmth in his smile in such a way that she wished it wouldn’t be such a terrible idea to draw closer to him and warm herself at it.

‘Oh, Mary, please! You have to go,’ begged Dotty.

‘Yes. For we cannot go out and leave you here on your own,’ pointed out Lotty.

And they both really, really wanted to go.

There was nothing for it but to surrender with good grace.

With cries of glee, the girls took her upstairs to ransack their wardrobe again, going back down only when all three of them were swathed in gloves, scarves, boots and several extra layers of petticoats.

Her cousins sat one on either side of Mr Morgan in the carriage, which meant that she and Lord Havelock were sat next to each other, with their backs to the horses.

Once they’d tucked luxurious fur rugs round their legs, they set off. Even though the carriage was very well sprung, and they had far more room than the three squeezed together on the opposite seat, every so often the jolting of the carriage meant that their legs bumped. Whenever she felt the warmth of Lord Havelock’s thigh pressing against hers beneath the concealment of the fur, everything else faded into the background. The chatter of her cousins, the buildings at which she was pretending to look through the window—none of it reached her senses. Once or twice, he made an attempt to speak to her, but she wasn’t able to give a coherent reply. It was a relief when they arrived, and the gentlemen got out so they could help the ladies down.

Lotty and Dotty stuck close to Mr Morgan, which meant Lord Havelock was left to escort Mary.

She laid her gloved hand on his outstretched arm and let him lead her to the frozen expanse of water, besides which several enterprising people had set up various stalls to earn what money they could from this unexpected cold spell.

The men hired skates from a booth where a ruddy-cheeked woman helped to fit them over their boots.

Dotty and Lotty rushed on to the ice, shrieking with laughter and clutching at each other for support as they almost fell over. Mr Morgan went to their rescue, offering them one arm each. Clinging to him, the trio set out, wobbling and giggling, across the frozen lake.

Which left her alone with Lord Havelock.

‘Come, you need not be afraid,’ he said with a sincerity that made her wish she could trust him. Made her wish she could let go of her habitual distrust of the entire male sex, just once.

‘I won’t let you fall.’

It wasn’t falling she was worried about. It was the increasing frequency with which she was having foolish, feminine thoughts about him. Foolish, feminine reactions, too.

She gave Lotty and Dotty a wistful look. They weren’t tying themselves up in knots about the wisdom of plastering themselves to a man and relying on his strength and balance to keep them from falling over. They were just enjoying themselves.

There were skaters of all ages, shapes and sizes twirling about on the ice. All looking as though they were having a splendid time. Life didn’t offer many opportunities like this, to try something new and exciting. And the ice probably wouldn’t last all that long. She might never get another chance to have a go at skating.

When had she last let herself go, the way they were doing? Living in the moment?

Having fun?

When had she got into the habit of being too afraid to reach out and attempt to take hold of the slightest chance at happiness?

She reached out and took the hand Lord Havelock was patiently holding out to her, vowing that today, at least, she would leave fear on the bank, launch out on to the ice and see what happened.

What happened was that the moment she set her feet on to the slippery surface, she very nearly fell over.

With a shriek that sounded remarkably similar to the ones erupting from her cousins’ lips, she grabbed at Lord Havelock, who was maintaining his own stance with what looked like total ease.

‘I hadn’t thought it would be so hard to just stand upright,’ she said. ‘How do you manage to make it look so effortless?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve skated a few times before. But I had my share of falls the first time I tried it, I can tell you. If you have any sense of balance, you’ll get the hang of it in no time.’

Mary made a tentative effort to let go of his arm. Each of her legs promptly attempted to go in opposite directions. How vexing. It was only by clinging to Lord Havelock that she could even manage to stay upright.

‘Perhaps you will fare better once we get going,’ he suggested. And then, without waiting for her agreement, made a move that somehow set them both gliding away from the shore.

‘See? That’s better, is it not?’

‘Not,’ she gasped, clinging to his arm for dear life. She had no control over the situation at all. Whenever she attempted to wrest it back, her feet went skittering off all over the place, resulting in her having to clutch at him with increasing desperation.

Though neither Lotty nor Dotty looked any more accomplished. They were both clinging to Mr Morgan with what looked like the same desperation she felt, though being far more vocal about their slips, shrieking and laughing with an abandon that she almost envied.

‘Oh! Oh, dear,’ she gasped as, once again, her outside leg shot off on a course she hadn’t expected.

‘This will never do,’ said Lord Havelock. ‘You’ll fare a lot better if you let me put my arm round your waist, see, like this.’

He did so, tucking her into his side, and then pushing off with the leg that was nearest her own. She felt the power of it propelling them forward as he reached across her front and took hold of her other hand.

‘My lord, I’m not at all sure this is quite proper,’ she squeaked in something very close to panic.

‘It’s only like a sort of dance hold.’

That was true. But in a dance they’d only be as close as this for a moment or two, whilst turning into a new figure. Not plastered to each other from hip to shoulder for as long as he chose to keep them like that.

‘Please,’ she begged him. ‘This is making me feel...’ warm. Yearning. Excited ‘...most uncomfortable.’

He glanced down at her. She was sure her cheeks must be bright red.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, with a sigh of what sounded like regret. ‘I did not mean... That is, I do not want you to feel I’m taking advantage. Let me just steer us both across to the side, there, and you can catch hold of that tree and see if you can manage to stand up on your own, now you’ve had a bit of a go.’

‘Thank you,’ she managed to say, since it was the polite response to the gentlemanly way he’d reacted to her protest. But it wasn’t easy to thank him for finding it so easy to let go of her. It meant he wasn’t all that keen on having her hang on to his arm. Though why she should find that so disappointing she couldn’t think. What on earth was the matter with her?

‘Thank you,’ she gasped, again, when he’d delivered her to the promised tree, untangled their arms and helped her to get a good hold on a low branch. ‘Oh, dear, this is most awkward.’ Her legs were shaking so much, she felt sure he must be able to see it. She glanced his way, expecting to encounter a look of masculine scorn, only to find that he’d taken up the kind of stance she’d seen fielders take on a cricket pitch. As though he was braced to catch...her. Should she fall.

He had very strong, very capable hands. She’d thought so the day before, when he’d had hold of the little boy.

‘How did he go on? The little boy you took home with you yesterday?’

He blinked.

‘It was very good of you to offer him work, instead of letting Mr—’ She broke off as the branch she’d been holding showed signs of giving way. With a wobble, and a lunge, she got hold of another one.

‘I couldn’t bear to think of him being thrown in prison. It’s been on my mind all night. I’m glad,’ she said, lifting her chin, ‘that we are a little apart from the others so I can ask you about it.’

He didn’t reply straight away. In fact, he looked a touch...uncomfortable.

‘You don’t mind me asking you about him, do you?’ Oh, dear. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything. But it felt so very strange being alone with him like this, under the shelter of the tree. Not that they were alone, exactly. There were dozens of other people whizzing about on the ice. Yet there was a certain intimacy about the way there was nobody else within hearing distance. An intimacy that she’d instinctively tried to dispel.

‘First of all,’ he said, squaring his shoulders, ‘I have to confess that I didn’t exactly take him home. I live in a cosy little set of rooms, y’see, which are too small to take in stray boys. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to do with a lad like that. And nor would my valet.’

‘Oh, never say you abandoned him?’

‘Absolutely not!’

He looked so affronted she immediately wanted to beg his pardon. But before she could do so, he went on, ‘I have another property in town. Durant House. Huge great barn of a place. I took him there.’

‘Then why...?’

‘If you must know, I feel a bit of a fraud accepting any praise for my actions when the task of reforming the wretch will fall to the staff of Durant House. I really did very little.’

‘Oh.’

‘Please don’t be too disappointed in me.’

Her gaze flew to his face. The words were apologetic, but his tone was confrontational.

‘I could have made up some tale that would have made you look at me the way you did yesterday,’ he pointed out a touch belligerently. ‘As though I were some kind of hero. Instead I’ve chosen to tell you the truth. Because I never want there to be any misunderstanding between us.’

Well, how was she supposed to respond to that? Given the choice, she would have mumbled something vapid and moved away. But she couldn’t go anywhere. All she could do was cling to the tree, study his boots and tell herself he couldn’t possibly be implying he was planning to prolong their acquaintance.

And yet, the way he kept looking at her...

‘And while we’re about it, I have something else to confess, too. I deliberately got you alone, so that I could talk to you freely. For I have something I particularly wanted to ask you.’

‘Oh?’ She winced. How many times had she said that this afternoon? He must be starting to think she was a complete ninny.

‘Yes. You said something about not being in London long and having plans. I know you do not want your cousins to know about these plans. But perhaps you might feel you could confide in me?’

‘Why would I want to do that?’

‘I may be able to help you.’

‘I doubt that very much.’

‘You won’t know unless you tell me.’

‘Why would you even want to help me? I am a complete stranger to you.’

‘And yet something about you calls to me,’ he said, giving her a look that was unlike anything she’d ever seen in a man’s eyes before.

‘You do not appear to have anyone to help you. You need...a friend.’

Suddenly everything fell into place with sickening disappointment. She couldn’t bear to think Lord Havelock was the kind of man who preyed on defenceless females. When he’d taken that robber boy under his wing, she even started to think that...to think that...

Oh, how could she have been so naïve?

‘I do not want the kind of friendship you are offering me,’ she snapped. ‘Poor I may be, but I would never, ever...’

His brows snapped down. ‘Nor would I, ever, make a gently bred girl the kind of offer you seem to think I’m about to make. What kind of man do you think I am?’

She flushed. Felt her insides skid about as much as when she’d tried to walk a straight path on the ice. ‘I...I don’t know what kind of man you are, that’s just the point. I just cannot see why you should concern yourself over someone like me. I’m nobody. And it’s not as if I’m even pretty. And you’re so handsome and dashing you could have any girl you want at the snap of your fingers.’

In mortification, her hand flew to her mouth, though it was too late to stop the words that had tumbled out.

And letting go of the branch proved to be as reckless as speaking her mind. For her left leg promptly shot off to the right while her right leg went straight forward. She had no choice but to grab hold of the front of Lord Havelock’s coat, which had the effect of spinning them both right round, then landing her flush up against the tree trunk, with her wedged between it and the solid bulk of his body.

‘So. You think I’m so handsome I could have any girl I wanted, do you?’

‘I didn’t mean it!’ She uncurled her fingers and gave his coat a firm shove. It only had the effect of propelling her harder against the tree. ‘At least,’ her honesty compelled her to admit, ‘I didn’t mean to say it out loud.’

‘But you did say it,’ he replied with a grin, closing the small gap she’d opened up between them. ‘Which gives me hope. I was beginning to think I’d never break through your defences.’

‘B-break through my defences? Why would you want to do that? And as for saying never...why, we only met a handful of days ago.’

‘And yet the attraction was instant. And powerful. You feel it, too. Though you are trying to resist it.’

She hadn’t thought it possible to feel more embarrassed, but hearing him lay her innermost soul bare in that way, when she hadn’t even worked it all out for herself, was utterly mortifying.

‘You don’t need to resist it, Miss Carpenter. For I want you, too. Very much. And just so there is no misunderstanding about it, I mean, as my wife.’

It was just as well she was wedged between the tree, and his body, because the shock of hearing him propose took all the strength from her legs.

‘Your wife? But you cannot!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because we know nothing about each other.’

‘We know enough,’ he said, giving her another one of those melting looks. She was suddenly very aware of how close they were. And how their breath, rising on the air in two plumes of white vapour, mingled and merged not very far up into one cloud.

‘Let me prove it to you.’

He began to lower his head. Her breath hitched in her throat. He was going to attempt to kiss her. And there was no way to escape. If he let go of her, she would fall over.

That was the moment she realised he wasn’t actually holding her. No, she was the one who was clinging to him, or at least, to his coat. But it was only so that she wouldn’t fall over. Not because...

Not because...

And anyway, if she really, really didn’t want him to kiss her, all she would have to do was turn her head away and his lips would land relatively harmlessly on her cheek.

But she couldn’t move her head. She stayed frozen in place while his mouth came closer and closer to hers. Until his lips touched hers. Pressed, and caressed, and coaxed her own apart. And then their breath was mingling not five feet up in the air, but in her very mouth. And the swirling sensation went right down through her stomach, getting hotter, and hotter, until she wondered that the ice beneath their feet did not melt and suck them down into a vortex that would drown them both.

She’d never felt anything like it in her life. So powerfully all-consuming. So compelling that she didn’t care if carrying on experiencing it did melt the ice and she drowned.

With a whimper, she pressed up against him and slid her arms round his waist. His own went round hers, so that she was no longer the one clinging to him, but they were clinging to each other.

‘So,’ he breathed, ending the most wonderful encounter she’d ever had in her life, ‘you will marry me, then?’

‘What?’ Hearing him persist in talking of marriage felt like plunging right through the ice into the black void beneath. ‘No!’

She tried to pull out of his arms, skidded and had no choice but to grab hold of him again.

‘What do you mean no?’ He frowned down at her. ‘You enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.’

‘That is not the point.’

‘Then what is the point? What can you possibly want from life, if you can turn up your nose at a proposal from a dashing, handsome, and I’ll have you know, solvent peer of the realm? Who could have any other woman for the snapping of my fingers?’

She sucked in a short, shocked breath. How cruel of him to fling her very own words back in her face.

And his face was hard now, harder than she’d ever seen it. Gone was the mask of affability he’d worn when he’d been trying to win her round. Gone the charming smile and the warmth in his eyes. It had been replaced by something with which she was far more familiar.

Cold, hard anger.

Oh, but it was just as well she’d seen this side of him, before it was too late. Before she’d forgotten just how miserable her father had made her mother, within the cage that their marriage had become. She would never, ever, let a man bully her and break her down. Nor coerce her with...with deceitfully delightful kisses!

This time when she tried to break from his hold, he let her go. As though he’d recognised the determination in her eyes and realised it was over.

‘The only sort of man I would even consider marrying,’ she retorted, ‘not that I have any intention of doing anything so stupid, would be...would be...a sailor!’

‘A what?’

‘You heard me. A sailor.’

‘Why the deuce would you prefer a sailor to me?’

‘Because a sailor,’ she snapped, almost beside herself with fury at the way she was having to hang on to a tree merely to maintain her upright position, while he was standing there, hands on his hips, looking down his nose at her with the kind of disdain only an aristocrat could ever muster, ‘would hand over his money, and go off to sea for months, perhaps even years, and leave me in peace to live exactly as I wished!’

There. That had done it. He’d stalk away now—or rather skate away—without a backward glance. And never deign to so much as recognise her if he saw her in the street.

But to her astonishment, he did no such thing. On the contrary, the anger that had seemed to consume him vanished as he flung back his head and burst out laughing.

‘You are perfect,’ he cried, taking hold of her by the elbows and restoring her to a more upright stance. ‘Absolutely perfect. You no more want to get married than I do!’

‘But...if you don’t want to get married, then why...?’

‘Look, there are reasons why I need to have a wife. Which I won’t go into just yet. But I am definitely willing to hand over a deal of my money, and leave you alone, if that’s what you want. We can live virtually separate lives, if, after an initial period, you find you really can’t stand the sight of me. I shan’t cut up rough. You’ll still have a generous allowance.’

‘An allowance?’ She couldn’t quite get her breath. She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand....’

‘Come, Miss Carpenter, I can see you are tempted, if not by my kisses, then at least by my money.’

‘That sounds... You’re making me sound horrible. Mercenary....’

‘Then what can I offer you, that would make you agree to take my hand? Name it. Whatever it is you’ve always craved, and feared you could never have, I will give it to you.’

‘You can’t want to marry me that much....’

‘So there is something? I knew it. Tell me and it shall be yours.’

‘It isn’t anything...really.’

‘It’s something.’

‘Well, it’s just that of late...’ She stopped and shook her head.

‘Yes? Come on, tell me. If it is in my power to give it, I will.’

‘It will probably sound silly to you. But...oh, I so wish I could have a room of my own. A room I can do whatever I want in. Where people have to knock before they come in. A room that nobody can ever turn me out of...’ She faltered to a halt as tears stung her eyes. She hadn’t realised how precious privacy was, until she’d been forced out of her childhood home, and had to rely on the grudging charity of others. Even here, in London, she had to share not only a room, but a bed, with two other girls. They’d made space for her, but it was just a corner. And she was sick of having to make do with just claiming a corner of other people’s rooms.

‘You want security,’ he said, once more hitting the nail on the head. ‘I can give you that. And as for privacy, well, I have several properties. And you may have your very own room in each one of them.’

‘Really?’ It sounded too good to be true. ‘But I still don’t understand why...’

‘Never you mind about why,’ he grated. ‘Just think about this.’ And without further ado, he pulled her into his arms, and kissed her again. And this time, there was nothing gentle, or tentative, about it. This kiss was one that claimed her, body and soul. She had no more chance of escaping him than a snowball did of surviving in the kitchen fire.

She melted into him, swept away by his ardour, her own body’s clamouring and the joyous thought that if she agreed to his proposal, she would have a place of her own. Money to spend as she wanted.

And kisses like this.

She came out of her blissful haze to the sound of Dotty and Lotty, shrieking.

And opened her eyes to see them speeding across the ice towards her.

Lord Havelock spun round to face them, his arm snaking round her waist as they offered their congratulations on a betrothal she hadn’t actually voiced her agreement to.

But she couldn’t very well say so. Why else would she have been kissing a man, in broad daylight, unless it was because they’d just become engaged?

Then something struck her. ‘You can both skate. You don’t need Mr Morgan to stop you falling over at all!’

Dotty and Lotty, completely unabashed, giggled, took her by an arm each and towed her away from her...well, she supposed she had to call him her fiancé.

‘If he’d known we could skate, do you think he would have let us hang on to him like that? He’s the most hardened case in town. Girls have been trying to get him to the altar since...oh, for ever, and nobody has yet got as far as either of us did today.’

She blinked at them in shock. They’d been pretending they couldn’t skate, just so they could get close to him?

She’d never heard of anything so...unscrupulous!

Unless it was letting everyone think she’d just accepted a proposal, when she had no intention of doing any such thing.

Chapter Five

He held her hand, in the carriage, all the way home.

She could have tugged it free, she supposed, but then she would have to explain herself.

And she had no excuse. None. She couldn’t very well claim Lord Havelock had forced those kisses on her. She’d put her arms round him and kissed him back. With some enthusiasm.

And Dotty and Lotty looked so pleased for her. Even Mr Morgan had a twinkle in his eye, and a smile that softened that stern mouth whenever he glanced at their clasped hands.

Her stomach clenched into a cold, hard knot. If she made any attempt, now, to tell them they’d all made a terrible mistake, then...well, she wasn’t sure quite what would happen, but there was bound to be a dreadful scene. She’d upset everyone badly enough by shouting at a man in public. What would they make of her kissing one?

It would be better to wait till they got home. She’d beg a few moments alone with her aunt, and try to explain what had happened. And then...

And then the carriage stopped, and Lotty and Dotty leapt out and went bounding up the front steps, shrieking out the news of her betrothal.

And when Aunt Pargetter came to the front door, it was to Lord Havelock she held out her hands. Even when Mary made frantic signals, behind his back, to try to convey her need to speak with her, she paid no heed.

‘In a moment, Mary,’ she said. ‘His lordship wants to have a private word with me first. Since Mr Pargetter is not at home just now. Though I can guess what you want to say,’ she finished, shooting him an arch look.

‘No, no, I don’t think you could possibly...’ she said, though her voice was drowned out by Lord Havelock saying, ‘My behaviour has been a little unconventional. I should have approached you, that is to say, Mr Pargetter, first, and asked your permission to pay my addresses.’

‘Not at all,’ said Aunt Pargetter, ushering him into her husband’s study. ‘We aren’t legally Mary’s guardians, you know. She is free to make her own choices.’

‘Nevertheless...’

And then the study door closed on whatever he’d been about to say, leaving Mary on the wrong side of it.

Free to make her own choices! If only that were true.

And then Dotty and Lotty were shooing her into the front parlour and divesting her of her coat.

‘She’s in a complete daze,’ said Dotty, untying the ribbons of her bonnet.

‘No wonder,’ said Lotty, pushing her into a chair. ‘His lordship swept her completely off her feet.’

‘No, he didn’t, it was the opposite. He stopped her slipping over,’ quipped Dotty with a giggle. ‘Got his arm round her waist and held her so tight she couldn’t possibly have lost her footing.’

‘Oh, I’ve never seen anything so romantic.’

‘Romantic? No! I...’

‘Oh, but it was,’ sighed Dotty, pressing her hands to her heart and flinging herself backwards on to the sofa as though in a swoon.

‘Aren’t you cross with me? Why aren’t you cross with me? When the whole purpose of going skating at all was to try and...and... Well, you were both trying so hard to attract Mr Morgan....’

Who was nowhere in sight, she suddenly realised. The moment they’d gone into the house, he’d slipped away, unnoticed in all the excitement.

‘Oh, that’s so sweet,’ said Lotty. ‘And so like you, to think of us, rather than yourself.’

Dotty bounced off the sofa, and flung her arms round her neck. ‘You mustn’t feel bad because you got a proposal, today, and not us. And as for Mr Morgan...’ She made an airy gesture with one hand. ‘When a man as wealthy as that, and single, comes your way you simply have to make a push to get him interested. But it’s not as if either of us developed a tendre for him, did we, Lotty?’

Lotty shook her head so hard her ringlets bounced.

‘Yes, but...’ As she floundered to a halt against the impenetrable barrier of her own behaviour, Lotty and Dotty both collapsed in giggles again.

And then they heard the front door slam, and Aunt Pargetter came in, beaming all over her face.

‘Mary, I’m so proud of you,’ she said, enveloping her in a lavender-scented hug.

‘No...you shouldn’t be. I didn’t mean to...’

‘Well, I dare say that is what won him round. You are so very...modest. And...and, oh, everything a lady ought to be, I’m sure. A viscountess,’ she exclaimed, sinking on to the sofa next to Dotty, gazing at her with starry eyes. ‘You will be presented at court...’

The girls both squealed with an excitement that passed Mary by completely.

‘And you will go to all the most tonnish events.’

‘But...’ Mary attempted to protest.

‘And then,’ she carried on, regardless, ‘once you are established, you will be able to invite all those tonnish people to parties you throw.’

Mary blinked, completely unable to envision herself ever throwing any kind of party.

‘And I just know you are too kind-hearted to forget my girls. This will be a foot in the door to a world they’d had no hope of entering otherwise. And with both of them being so pretty—no offence to you, my dear, but if you managed to land yourself a viscount, without even trying, only think what my girls could accomplish. I shouldn’t wonder at it if this means an earl, or perhaps even a marquis....’

No wonder they’d let Mr Morgan escape without a twinge of regret. The girls now had visions of getting themselves a title apiece.

‘Aunt Pargetter, please! You don’t understand. I never actually wanted to get married. I thought I would...find work as a housekeeper, or a governess, or something....’

‘Well, that is because you lived in such an out-of-the-way spot, and didn’t have any prospects,’ said her aunt complacently.

‘And she feels a touch guilty,’ explained Dotty. ‘For stealing a march on us.’

‘Oh, we don’t begrudge you your good fortune,’ said her aunt kindly.

‘No, but...’

‘Well, I can see this sudden reversal in your prospects has overwhelmed you,’ she said, tilting her head to one side. ‘And no wonder, if all you ever hoped for was to obtain some menial position. A good strong cup of tea is what you need.’ She flicked her hand to Lotty, who went to the fireplace and pulled the bell to summon the maid.

‘And you are so shy,’ she added with a knowing nod, ‘that having such a very...masculine man as Lord Havelock positively...bowl you over...’

‘Yes, he did, Mama. He kissed her quite passionately.’

‘Twice!’

Oh, if only the chair cushions would open up and swallow her whole.

‘Oh,’ said her aunt with a sympathetic look as Mary’s face heated to what felt like boiling point. ‘I see what this is. But, my dear,’ she said, reaching across to pat her hand, ‘Lord Havelock must be very taken with you, to propose so quickly. You know, I saw there was something, that very first night at the Crimmers’. Why, he started at the sight of you as though...as though his ship had come in, as you would probably say. It is clearly a case of love at first sight.’

As though that made it all right.

Except that it was most definitely not love at first sight. The things he’d said made that crystal clear. Like, going their separate ways, for instance. And being glad she was no more keen to marry than he was. Immediately after he’d proposed.

She shook her head in complete frustration. There was no way she was going to be able to get Aunt Pargetter to understand her reluctance to marry. Or the girls, not now their heads were full of eligible titled men.

There was only one thing for it. She would have to tell Lord Havelock, to his face, that she couldn’t go through with it.

And then—she glanced at the happy, glowing faces of her aunt and cousins—she’d have to endure their disappointment.

* * *

Lord Havelock was coming to call on Mary the very next day, Aunt Pargetter informed her husband over dinner that night. To talk about arrangements.

So Mary had all night to marshal her arguments. And the longer she thought, the more convinced she became that he wouldn’t be all that bothered to have it all come to nothing. Hadn’t he said he was no keener to get married than she was? He’d probably just thought he had to propose, after kissing her in such a public place. Especially as she’d made it crystal clear she wouldn’t be his mistress.

It was the only reason that could possibly account for it.

Satisfied she’d reached the nub of the matter, and that Lord Havelock would be positively grateful when she let him off the hook, Mary finally drifted off to sleep. And if a few tears leaked from under her tightly closed eyelids, they were only a symptom of the extreme stress she’d been under all day. She was relieved, truly she was. And quite calm, now that the terrifying prospect of being shoehorned into a marriage she really, really didn’t want was over.

* * *

It was strange, therefore, that the next morning she felt as though her limbs were weighted with lead.

It was worry, that was what was making it so hard to dress, or eat breakfast. Worry that she might not be able to persuade her aunt to let her have a few moments alone with Lord Havelock. The fear she might have to continue with the charade one moment longer.

So why did her heart sink still further when Lord Havelock was the one to ask if he could have some private speech with her? He was giving her the very opportunity she sought, to speak freely.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ It was the only thing Mary could think of to say. She’d never been on her own in a room with a man and this one seemed to fill it with his presence. It wasn’t as if he was particularly tall, but he was so full of energy. She could still feel the strength of him as he’d guided her round the ice the day before, his arm effortlessly pinning her to his side. How immovable he’d been when she’d tried to push him away after the kiss.

The kiss. She shouldn’t have thought about the kiss. It made every single inch of her feel far too...feminine.

He took a seat as close to hers as he could find, which didn’t help. Now he could reach out and take her hand, if he wanted. Or she could reach out and take his.

Not that she wanted to. Absolutely not!

‘Thank you for agreeing to speak with me alone,’ he said. ‘I know it is a little unconventional, but there are things we do need to talk about.’

‘Yes, there are,’ she agreed. ‘I understand that you felt obliged to make me an offer of marriage, yesterday, after kissing me.’ She couldn’t look at his face. Not with his mouth right there, close enough that if she leaned forward, and he leaned forward, just the tiniest bit, they could be kissing again. She looked hard at her hands instead, which she was clasping tightly on her lap. ‘And I’m also aware that you do not truly wish to marry me. And so I release you—’

‘You jolly well don’t!’ He leapt to his feet again. ‘No wriggling out of this. You gave me your word....’

‘Actually, I didn’t. You said a lot of things, and everyone congratulated us, but I never, not once, said I would marry you.’

‘Well, you are going to marry me and that’s that.’

‘No.’ She got to her feet, as well. She wasn’t going to risk backing down simply because she felt intimidated with him looming over her like that. ‘It is better to end this engagement now than to take a step we will both regret for the rest of our lives.’

She’d seen, at close quarters, just how miserable two people could become when bound together by chains of matrimony that neither of them wished for any longer.

‘Our engagement will only end one way,’ he growled, jabbing his forefinger at her. ‘In marriage.’

She flinched at the first physical expression of his anger, but held her ground.

‘I’ve already purchased the licence,’ he rapped out. ‘And spoken to your uncle, and taken a light-fingered guttersnipe into my employ all on your account. We. Are. Getting. Married.’

As the volume of his voice increased, the memories of raised voices that led to clenched fists, and thence to bruised ribs, made her recall how dangerous it was to be some man’s wife, some man’s property to deal with as he saw fit. And she began to tremble.

‘If this is an indication of the way you mean to go on, whenever your will is crossed, then...’

His eyes widened. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you. Please...’ he waved a hand at the chair ‘...sit down again and I will try to talk this over calmly.’

‘Only if you sit down, too.’

He frowned, then nodded.

Gingerly, she sat in the chair he’d indicated and he sat down, too.

‘Look, Miss Carpenter. I have a terrible, hasty temper. Bane of my life, actually, but I do try not to let it govern my actions, the way it once did. I am sorry I let it get the better of me this morning. Ungentlemanly of me.’ He lowered his head for an instant, the picture of contrition, before lifting it, looking directly into her eyes, and saying, ‘Do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive my...outburst and start this interview again?’

She could hardly believe it. He didn’t appear to believe, the way her father had, that it was his God-given right to harangue a female, when he had her behind closed doors. On the contrary, he’d said it was ‘ungentlemanly’ behaviour. And had asked her to forgive him.

How could she do anything but forgive him? When she nodded, mutely, he heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Thank you. It is just that...this means so much to me. And I was so certain you felt the same way I did. That the fact you were a touch reluctant to get married would make us...allies. Then the cool way you talked about pulling the rug from under my feet just made me—’ He broke off, shaking his head as though he didn’t have the words to describe what he felt.

She felt every bit as confused as he looked.

‘But if you don’t truly want to get married, then...’

He heaved another sigh and ran his fingers through his unruly curls again.

‘I don’t truly want to get married, no,’ he admitted. ‘But I cannot see any other way out. But it’s not because I’m in debt, or anything of that nature. My trustees have done a sterling job of managing my capital, up till now. Of course the trust will wind up when I get married,’ he said gloomily. ‘So I’m going to have to learn all that side of things myself now.’

‘And you don’t want to.’

He shrugged. ‘In some ways it will be good to take up the reins myself instead of letting others drive the team. But I’m going to be far busier with that sort of thing than I’d like.’ He slouched back into his seat, his expression mulish.

‘Well, then, why? If it isn’t money? And you aren’t really ready to...take up the reins...’ And it certainly wasn’t because he’d fallen in love with her. There was nothing lover-like in the way he’d reacted to her rejection. Besides, men only fell for beautiful girls.

‘I suppose I should blame Ashe for suggesting I court a girl with brains,’ he said cryptically. ‘You aren’t going to be fobbed off with the usual nonsense, are you?’

‘Nonsense?’

He tilted his head to one side and made a wry attempt at a smile.

‘Nothing of nonsense about you at all, is there? Very well,’ he said, leaning forward and clasping his hands between his knees. ‘I will take you into my confidence. I hadn’t meant to until after we were married, but I can see you’re unlikely to marry me at all unless I give you a very good reason for me acting in a way that must make you think I’ve taken leave of my senses. I have a sister, you see.’

She didn’t see, but before she could say so he leapt to his feet and, clearly in some agitation, paced away from her. ‘Or, to be more precise, a half-sister.’ He had to stop when he got to the window, but instead of turning round, he stayed just where he was, his shoulders hunched, and started fiddling with the curtain tie-backs.

‘My mother died when I was eight, as I told you before, and then my father remarried pretty swiftly. Before another year was out, she presented him with a daughter. The marriage lasted a few more years before he died. And then my stepmother—’ He started in surprise as an ornamental tassel came off in his hand. He laid it down on the windowsill and, taking a step back from further temptation, turned towards Mary and kept his eyes fixed firmly on her as he took up his tale again.

‘My stepmother remarried. She...she was only the daughter of our village grocer. But she was beautiful. Her parents, I found out some years later, were so thrilled to have her elevated to the ranks of the peerage, that they pushed her into accepting my father’s proposal. She tried to make the best of it, but she was never very happy with him. Anyway, the minute Father died, she took up with the man she’d loved all along. A pretty decent fellow, actually. At least, he was good to me. Paid me more attention than my own father ever had, to tell you the truth, but that’s beside the point. He was a nobody, that’s what my own father’s family said. And they were correct. He hadn’t a title. Little money. No land, nothing of that sort, but...’

He turned and paced up and down, raking his fingers through his curls yet again.

‘It’s all such a tangle it’s hard to know how to explain it. You see, my legal guardians didn’t actually want me to live with them, but they didn’t want me contaminated by the man they called a commoner, either. So they sent me away to school. But you know what? My stepmother, my half-sister and her new stepfather were the only ones to show a real interest in me. Their letters kept me from... Well, school can be a pretty harsh sort of place. I got through because I knew how to defend myself. Thanks to the very man my guardians said I shouldn’t go near. He taught me to box.’ He glanced down at his fists, which he’d clenched the moment he’d mentioned his school.

‘It was to his home I went during school vacations. With him, and my stepmother and Julia I felt I had the nearest thing to a home. I was...very cut up when he died. And for his sake, I kept in contact with his sons. The sons my half-sister’s mother bore him.’

She blinked. He caught the bewildered expression in her eyes, at the end of one of his circuits of the room, and pulled a wry face.

‘I warned you my family ties are complicated. But that is only the start. You see, after he died, she—that is my stepmother—was left in slightly tricky circumstances. There was talk of taking Julia away from her and having her brought up by her father’s—my father’s family. Only she hadn’t been all that impressed by the way they’d treated me up to then. So when she got an offer of marriage from yet another titled man, she agreed, in an attempt to keep them all, Julia and her two sons, together as a family. Following it so far?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Well, although financially she did well, she was even more miserable with her third husband than she was with my father. Died giving him his heir. And then...well, for the next few years it felt as though every long vacation I went back to a different marital home as either the husband or the wife died and remarried. It was like living through some bizarre form of farce, with a different infant squalling in a crib, being introduced to me as my new brother or sister, by an adult I was supposed to call Mother or Father.’

‘Hold on,’ said Mary. ‘Why were you calling all these strangers Mother? I don’t quite understand.’

‘Well, nobody really wanted to take on Julia’s brothers, because of who their father was.’

‘The decent, but common man.’

‘That’s him. But they all wanted to keep Julia under their wing, because she has a great deal of money settled on her, and whoever has wardship gets to control it. And wherever she went, I went, too. Because—well, I didn’t have anywhere else to call home. And by that time I’d gained a bit of a reputation for being a hellion. Not the trustees or any of my father’s extended family thought it worth the bother of attempting to discipline me, or cross my will. If I wanted to take myself off to the wilds of Wiltshire, or Yorkshire or Devon so I could be with my half-sister, they were only too glad to see the back of me.’

Mary’s heart went out to him, or rather, the abandoned, unloved little boy he’d been. No wonder he went a bit wild. No wonder he made a point of going where he truly was wanted. Where he would be loved.

‘I...I see....’

‘No, you don’t.’ He shook his head and grinned at her. ‘My family connections are so incredibly complicated that even I cannot keep track of all the people who claim kinship with me these days. Suffice it to say that Julia is the only one of them I give a rat’s a— I mean, care very much about.’

She ought to have been offended by the way he’d almost slipped into vulgarity. But she was beginning to find his very clumsiness of speech rather endearing. In a way, he was treating her with a unique form of respect by saying whatever came into his head, rather than trying to bamboozle her with glib speeches. As was the way he pulled himself up, without her having to so much as lift a brow in reproof, either.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Go on.’

‘Thank you.’ He sat down in the chair he’d used before, leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands.

‘Now, the thing is, the woman who is currently standing in the place of Julia’s stepmother is about to get married again. And the man she’s marrying is...’ He scowled. ‘Well, put it this way. I wouldn’t want any innocent girl to have to live under the same roof as him. Julia’s fifteen now and pretty as a picture. And Lord... Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you his name.’ He frowned, rubbing his thumb across his nose. ‘Although, if people didn’t gossip about him, I never would have found out that he’s assuming nobody cares what becomes of Julia, given the way she’s been passed round like a parcel up till now.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Mary leaned forward, clasping her own hands. ‘By marrying, you are launching a rescue. You plan to provide a stable, safe environment for her to live in. That’s...’ she smiled at him a little mistily ‘...that is truly noble of you.’

He sat up straight again. ‘Is it? I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ He shook his head. ‘I just couldn’t think what else to do. I spent hours discussing Julia’s future with my lawyers, and hers. My first thought was to make an attempt to be declared her legal guardian. I’m pretty nearly old enough now, you see. But found out that would take too much time. Couldn’t very well drag her out of the house and take her back to live in my bachelor lodgings either, while the lawyers worked through all the red tape. It would look damned peculiar. Probably cause the very kind of talk I don’t want her exposed to. But if I got married, they said, and moved back to Mayfield, it would seem perfectly natural to invite her to live with us. Reunite the Durant family in the ancestral home, sort of thing.’

And if she didn’t marry him now, he’d have to abandon that plan. Start all over again trying to find someone else to become his convenient wife. For that was what he wanted, she finally saw. Just a woman to make his rescue of his sister appear respectable and above board.

Could she really let him down, this way, after he’d confided the delicacy of his sister’s plight to her? Could she let the girl, Julia, down, for that matter? She knew what it felt like to be all alone in the world, a burden to everyone, yet nobody’s responsibility. Though she’d never been in the kind of peril that faced Julia. She simply wasn’t pretty enough.

And then there were the Pargetters, who’d been so kind to her when she was just about at the end of her tether. They were banking on her to launch Dotty and Lotty into society. Give them the chance their beauty and vivacity deserved.

Could she trust him though, to keep his word? To grant her an allowance and treat her with respect?

From the way this interview had gone so far she thought, yes, perhaps she could.

And as for his temper, which seemed to flare out of nowhere—well, at least he regarded it as the bane of his life and tried to keep it in check.

And apologised when he couldn’t.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will help you. Of course I will, now I understand what is at stake.’

‘Thank you.’ He heaved a sigh of relief. Reached across the small gap that divided them, took both her hands in his and gave them a little squeeze.

‘I have been at my wit’s end. I couldn’t tell anyone of my fears for her, in case it started the very kind of gossip that would be almost as bad as the fate I was afraid would await her if she ever got into Lord Wakefield’s clutches. Now we can nip any schemes he might have been hatching in the bud. But...you must understand, time is of the essence. I want a place made ready for her to come to, a place she can feel safe, before her current stepmother marries him.’

‘Which is why our wedding must take place so soon.’

‘That’s it. In fact, I was hoping we could get the knot tied tomorrow, then travel straight down to Mayfield and look the place over.’

‘Mayfield? Why, is there something wrong with it?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. But I do want to just make sure before I tell Julia she can move in. You see, when my father died, I was too young to live there alone, so, as I mentioned, my guardians packed me off to school and let the place out to tenants. Better than letting it stand empty, they reckoned, and renting it out paid for its upkeep.’

‘Oh, dear. Are you going to have to evict the current tenants? It’s so near to Christmas....’

‘And it may very well snow, too.’ He chuckled. ‘No, I’m not going to play the part of an evil landlord, don’t worry about that,’ he said, chucking her chin. ‘Fortunately, a couple of years ago, when it fell vacant, I told the letting agent I didn’t want them to find another tenant. Don’t need the money and have never liked the thought of strangers living there. Good country round about, too. Had some thoughts of doing a bit of entertaining, having some fellows down for the hunting, that sort of thing, though I never got round to it. And just as I told you before, the trustees never bother arguing when they can see I’ve made up my mind. For some reason, they stopped letting out Durant House, too.

‘Oh, hang it! I suppose I shall have to reside there once I’m married and have Julia in tow.’

‘You don’t like the place?’

‘It’s like a cross between a barn and a mausoleum,’ he said gloomily.

‘Can you not make it more comfortable?’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘W-well, I’ve never lived anywhere that cannot be made more...cheerful, by the strategic placement of furniture and a lick of paint.’

‘If you can make Durant House anything like approaching cheerful,’ he said fervently, ‘I will consider myself for ever in your debt.’

‘R-really?’

He pounced on the hopeful note she couldn’t help trembling through her voice.

‘I’ll give you a completely free hand. In fact, I would prefer it if you didn’t bother me with any of the details of the refurbishment at all.’

‘You are willing to give me a totally free hand in the redecoration of your town house?’

‘Mayfield, too, if you think you’d enjoy it. The only stipulation I will make is that I want it to feel like somewhere Julia can really feel at home.’

‘A...a home.’ She pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘You want me to turn your ancestral seat into a home?’

‘Actually,’ he said, as though it had just occurred to him, ‘it’s traditional for the new bride to make some changes.’

‘Oh,’ she breathed, her hands clasped at her bosom now. She’d asked him for one room to call her own and he was presenting her with two whole houses.

‘You’d really enjoy doing that?’

‘Yes. Very much.’

‘Good. Told you I wanted you to be happy! And if buying new carpets and wallpaper will do it, then so much the better. Though...’ He rubbed his nose with his thumb as though a thought had just struck him. ‘If your taste really runs counter to mine, I might just have to reserve a room or two for myself.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of making you uncomfortable anywhere in your own homes,’ she protested.

‘You won’t,’ he said firmly. ‘This will be a very... That is, I’ve already told you I don’t want us to be in each other’s pockets all the time. You can go your way and I’ll go mine. Within limits.’ He frowned. Then shook his head. ‘No, no, never mind. I trust you to set a good example for Julia to follow. You won’t go creating any sort of scandal, will you?’

‘I...I don’t think I’d know how to,’ she said, a little stung by his warning, even though he had retracted it almost at once.

He smiled at her again. A smile so warm and full of approval that she quite forgave his blunt speaking yet again. It was just the way he was and she was going to have to get used to it.

‘So, you have no objection to marrying tomorrow and heading straight down there, then?’

‘What?’ She wasn’t sure how they’d moved from living separate, but parallel lives, the way she’d heard many tonnish people did, to rushing into the wedding itself.

‘Your aunt tried to make some objection about not having time to get a trousseau together, but do you really need one?’

‘N-no, of course not.’ She hadn’t even thought about it. All that had exercised her mind since the day before had been how to avoid marriage altogether.

He frowned. ‘You do mind. I can tell. Your aunt is right. It is downright selfish of me to deny you all the folderol most brides have. You’ll want a new gown at the least, and shoes.’

‘I...I think I could contrive to get something you won’t be ashamed to see me in, by tomorrow,’ she said.

His face lit up. ‘I’ll pay for it, of course. Send whatever bills you run up to me. Well, I think that’s all settled, then.’

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. Having scanned it swiftly, he thrust it back, his face flushing. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many things a chap has to remember,’ he said, fishing around in another pocket, from which he produced a second list.

‘No wonder most women insist on having several weeks to organise a wedding. Ah. Yes, thought so,’ he said, thrusting the list back into his pocket. ‘There is just one more thing I do need to discuss with you, before we tie the knot.’

He cleared his throat.

‘This may be a businesslike arrangement, but it won’t be a paper marriage.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘To be blunt, I need an heir. I’ve thought about this a lot, since...well, since I decided on marriage. And I’ve come to the conclusion we should get that side of things started straight away. I can tell you’re quite a bashful sort of girl and that you might think I ought to give you time to become accustomed to the idea of being married, before I make any demands of that nature. But it’s like this...’

He leaned forward and took hold of both her hands in his. ‘At the moment, we both like each other. Don’t we?’

When she nodded, shyly, he smiled. ‘Now, the sad fact is marriages can turn sour remarkably quickly. I’ve seen it time and time again. If we get to the point where we cannot stand even being in the same room as one another...well, let’s just say attempting to get an heir in those conditions won’t be pleasant. Not for either of us. But at the moment, when we kiss...’

He looked at her mouth. Her lips tingled in remembrance of the kisses they’d shared the day before. And then every other part of her began to tingle, as well.

He was probably right. She’d grown up in a house where husband and wife could barely stand to be in the same room as each other. Whereas now...

Well, it really sounded as though he wouldn’t try to suffocate her. He had at least two houses that she knew of. So they needn’t ever be cooped up in a cramped little cottage, resenting the very air that each breathed. And they weren’t marrying for love, so they couldn’t fall out of it and grow bitter and resentful.

But, oh, she did like kissing him. And now that he’d mentioned it, and was looking at her mouth that way, she wanted him to take her in his arms again, the way he’d done yesterday. And...she blushed, and the rest.

As if he knew the direction of her thoughts, he dropped to his knees in front of her, never letting go of her hands, leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. Just lightly.

Her eyes fluttered shut. She gripped his hands tightly. And she leaned forward, too, this time pressing her lips to his.

In a heartbeat, he’d got his arms round her, she’d put her arms round him and each was kissing the other for all they were worth.

‘Mmnhh...stop,’ he mumbled, pulling away. ‘We have to stop,’ he said, staggering to his feet and backing across the room. ‘Or I won’t be able to. You...’ He drew in a great, ragged breath.

‘My God,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I would never have believed it, but do you know, I’m actually looking forward to my wedding day.’

‘Me, too,’ she admitted, stunned. ‘And I wouldn’t have believed it, either.’

‘See?’ He grinned. ‘We’re perfect for each other.’

To her amusement he then sidled round the edge of the room to the door, as though avoiding a dangerous precipice.

As though she was utterly irresistible.

Just for a moment, she almost believed it herself.

Chapter Six

Wedding fever swept through the household. Aunt Pargetter took Mary to a street where there was a whole parade of shops where you could buy clothing ready-made. And not all of it used. And by dint of sitting up well into the night, with as many lamps as they could gather, the four women, working together, had both her gown, and the coat they’d bought to wear over it, altered to fit as though it had been made for her, then trimmings added so that the whole ensemble looked as though it had been designed from the outset instead of bought piecemeal and cobbled together.

She slept surprisingly well considering she was about to take a step she’d once vowed she would never take at all. Even though she’d only met Lord Havelock a matter of days before, the prospect of marrying him didn’t fill her with dread. Every time either Dotty or Lotty rolled over, kicking her in the shins in their sleep, it reminded her of their willingness to make room for her when they had so little of it themselves. And she got a warm glow of satisfaction, knowing that she would soon be in a position to help this family, the only ones who’d shown her any compassion when she’d been at her most desperate.

And help Lord Havelock’s sister, too.

How many men, she sighed, would make the supreme sacrifice of surrendering their bachelor freedom for the sake of a sister? Not her own brother, that was certain. He’d escaped their unhappy household as soon as he could and never looked back. Oh, he’d visited when on shore leave, but during those brief visits their father had been on his best behaviour and Kit had never once looked beneath the surface....

Not that she had begrudged him his career. Not in the light of how it ended....

She turned on to her side, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. No point dwelling on the failings of a brother who was no more. Besides, she’d much rather dream about her husband-to-be. She smiled into the darkness as she recalled his insistence they get the business of providing an heir to his estates settled quickly, before they went off each other. Some women might have taken his attitude as an insult. She preferred to regard it as eminently practical. And a touch flattering that though he assumed his ardour would cool, he really felt some now. Quite a lot, if that last kiss in the parlour was anything to go by. And the difficulty he had in breaking it off.

Which meant that very soon she would have a baby to hold. Possibly even a couple before he went back to his... Well, a man as energetic and healthy as he was bound to have some arrangement to satisfy that form of appetite. Though even when it got to that stage in their marriage, she was not afraid he would become a cruel, or even an indifferent, parent. The lengths to which he was prepared to go for his sister assured her of that.

* * *

The next morning, when she stood before the mirror, she couldn’t help exclaim in thanks for the Pargetters’ hard work and inventiveness. She’d never looked better dressed.

Oh, if only her mother could see her now. Or her brother...though it wasn’t likely he would have been on leave to walk her down the aisle even if his ship hadn’t gone down with all hands.

For a moment, stark loneliness had tears welling in her eyes. Resolutely she dashed them away. She didn’t want to appear in church with red eyes, as though she was going to the altar like some...sacrificial lamb. Besides, she was gaining a new family today, a husband who didn’t seem as though he had the slightest inclination to browbeat and control her, a sister who would need her and eventually children of her very own to love her.

It was with a pale, but determined face that she left the room she’d shared with her cousins and made her way downstairs and to the carriage waiting to carry her, her aunt, uncle and cousins to church.

Her uncle Pargetter had taken leave from his place of work so that he could walk her down the aisle. The gesture should have made her feel less alone, but somehow the fact that she knew him as little as the man who was waiting for her at the altar merely lent the proceedings an air of unreality.

It had all happened so fast. And before she knew it, the vicar declared they were man and wife, and Lord Havelock was bundling her into a carriage, which whisked them off to the Clarendon, where Lord Havelock treated them all to a splendid breakfast.

‘You’ve landed on your feet and no mistake,’ her uncle commented as he shook her hand before leaving. ‘Very open-handed, this new husband of yours.’

‘Yes, and so handsome,’ added Aunt Pargetter, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She added a hug to the parting kiss, so that she could whisper into her ear.

‘But please, don’t think of this as a permanent parting. You must feel free to come and talk to me, or write, if you have any little problems. Getting used to the married state can be a touch tricky and I know you have no other female relative in whom you can confide.’

She didn’t know how her aunt had guessed, but she did feel rather as though she was sailing into uncharted waters without a compass. And also now she’d boarded this ship called matrimony, it wouldn’t be possible to return to the shore from which she’d embarked. Her aunt’s willingness to give her the benefit of her advice, should she reach troubled waters, made her feel not quite so alone.

She hugged her aunt back, fiercely.

‘Thank you’ was all Mary managed to say, with a voice thickened with emotion. She was going to miss them, all the Pargetters. They were good people. They didn’t have much, yet they’d been far more generous than closer relations who were far better off.

‘Our rooms are this way,’ said Lord Havelock, the moment the last of the Pargetters had exited the hotel and she’d dabbed her eyes dry with a darned handkerchief. He offered her his arm, and she laid her hand on his sleeve.

They mounted the stairs in silence, in the wake of a smartly liveried hotel porter. The man opened a door with a flourish and bowed them into what looked like some wealthy person’s best parlour.

‘I took a suite of rooms,’ said Lord Havelock once he’d dismissed the porter. ‘I hope they meet with your approval.’

‘In all honesty,’ she said, hands clasped to her bosom, ‘I have never seen such a magnificent room in all my life.’ The thickness of the carpet alone made her yearn to take off her shoes and stockings so she could sink her toes into it. A fire blazed heartily from an ornate marble fireplace and all the furniture looked as though it had been specially selected to match not only every other piece in the room, but also the wallpaper and curtains.

He had casually mentioned having both a country estate and a town house, as well as his more comfortable bachelor rooms, but it hadn’t really struck her, until this moment, what it meant. A man who could afford to buy a marriage licence and get a ceremony organised within a couple of days, splash out for a wedding breakfast in a hotel notorious for the expense of its meals and hire a whole suite of rooms like this, must be very, very wealthy indeed.

In a daze, she let him lead her across the room.

‘This is your bedchamber,’ he said, throwing open the door to the right of the fireplace. ‘I did promise that you would always have your own room, a room that nobody could enter without your permission.’

‘You did,’ she said, hovering tensely on the threshold, looking in. The room was as tastefully opulent as the sitting room. But what caught her eye, and held her rooted to the spot, was the enormous four-poster bed it contained.

He came to stand very close behind her.

‘I shall be knocking on this door later on,’ he said, his breath rushing over the back of her neck and giving her goosebumps in the most remarkable places. ‘I hope very much you will let me in, but if you really don’t want me...bothering you in that way, tonight, then of course you only have to say so.’

Well, that was very considerate of him. And perhaps she ought to feel reluctant to welcome him into that bed when she scarcely knew him. Except that the heat of his kisses would keep searing into her mind at the most unlikely moments, making her squirm and melt inside. And she wasn’t ever likely to get any less shy of him than she felt now. And they were married. Making a baby was one of the reasons he’d given for marrying her. And it was his right...

‘I won’t demand my husbandly rights, if that is what is making you blush,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Not until you are ready. Though I do want you. Badly.’ He leaned down and brushed a tantalisingly barely there kiss on her neck, just below her ear. ‘And I really do think,’ he growled, ‘it would be better to jump this hurdle before too long.’

Was she blushing? She pressed her hands to her cheeks, which did indeed feel as if they were on fire. Because she was ready right now. And rather ashamed that what he was taking for maidenly modesty was a complete inability to know what to do with her reaction to the nearness of his body. The seductive pull of his mouth on her skin...

‘Beg pardon,’ he said, stepping away just as she was on the point of turning and flinging her arms round his neck. ‘I’m being a bit too blunt for you. But, look, you may as well know that I’m not a man given to fancy speeches and wrapping things up in metaphors. I hope you will soon get used to me and learn not to take offence, because I won’t change.’

There was a touch of belligerence to his voice that made her turn to look warily up into his face. Was he angry with her? He probably thought he had a right to be, having spent so much money, only to have her appear to...shy at the first fence.

He was frowning, but before she could stammer out the confession that he’d got it all wrong, that not only did she agree that it was better to get on with the physical side of their marriage, but was actually rather looking forward to it, he’d turned away, and was striding across the room to a door on the other side of the fireplace.

‘This is my chamber,’ he said gruffly, ‘where all my things are stowed.’ He whirled round, his frown deepening.

‘Was that luggage I saw, next to your bed, all you have with you?’

She nodded. ‘It’s all I have.’

‘All you have?’ The frown altered in tone. He came to her and took her hands. ‘We really ought to be spending a few days in town putting that right, but... Look, I’m sorry, I’ve already made arrangements to travel down to Mayfield and get the place ready for Julia to come. Still, there’s bound to be a dressmaker in Corleywood—that’s the nearest sizeable town—who can fit you out with some new gear.’

‘I don’t mind about clothes,’ she said. ‘I know it is more important to ensure Julia’s safety.’

His handsome face broke into a grin. ‘I don’t know another woman who’d look at it like that.’ He lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed them. ‘But you must have some decent things to wear, before the local gentry all turn out to have a look at you. Once word gets out in the neighbourhood that I’ve married and brought my bride to Mayfield, they’ll all be coming to call. And you will want to be able to look ’em in the eye.’

Meaning, she wasn’t able to now? In the outfit she’d been so proud of that very morning?

‘Well, that’s another thing to add to my list.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Every time I think I’ve got everything organised, something else crops up that I’ve entirely overlooked.’

‘I’m quite capable of buying my own clothes,’ she began indignantly, only to founder on the rock of her completely penniless state.

‘You just get whatever you want and have the dressmakers send the bills to me,’ he said. ‘You’ll have an allowance, too. That’s one of the things... Damn!’ He let go of her hands and thrust his fingers through his hair. ‘I’ve an appointment with my lawyers in...’ he glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf ‘...about half an hour’s time. I’ve a deal of stuff to discuss with them, documents to sign and so forth, which couldn’t be done until I’d got the marriage lines. I know it’s not the thing to leave a bride alone, so soon after the ceremony, but...’

‘I understand.’ He’d married her for necessity, not inclination. And if she took offence every time he reminded her of that fact, she was going to end up being badly hurt a dozen times a day. ‘Go. Do what you have to do. I shall be quite content here, in this beautiful room.’

In a way it would be good practice for her. She was going to have to get used to spending large amounts of time on her own while he went off doing whatever it was he spent his days doing.

‘Thank you,’ he said, his look of relief being the only indication that, up till that point, he had been concerned about her reaction.

‘I will return as soon as possible, I promise you.’ With a heartbreakingly compelling smile, he leaned forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. Then he turned and left her, and she pressed one palm to her face as though to cling on to it, on to him, as long as she could.

For a few moments after the door closed behind him, Mary just stood there, in the stately isolation of the sitting room, marooned on her desert island of Axminster.

But there was no point in moping. Better to keep herself busy. She might as well use the spare time to unpack. Only...they would be setting off for his country estate the next morning, so it hardly seemed worthwhile. She’d only have to pack all over again.

She wandered over to the window, from where she had a good view over Blackheath, if she’d wanted to look at it. She shook her head reproachfully over her spurt of pique. Lord Havelock had warned her that he didn’t want them to live in each other’s pockets and she’d agreed it sounded much better than having a jealous, vengeful sort of husband who’d be breathing down her neck the whole time. She was going to have to cultivate the habit of finding things to do, when she was on her own. And not dwell on what it had made her feel like when he had been breathing on her neck, brushing that kiss on it...

She shook herself. What did married ladies do when their husbands were out on business, that was what she should be thinking about. Drank tea, probably. There. That was something she could do. She would definitely feel better for a cup.

She rang for a servant, and before much longer she had not only tea, but also a selection of cakes and sandwiches brought up. As the waiter set them out on one of the many small tables scattered about the sitting room, she had to suppress a wild urge to giggle. It was like being a little girl, play-acting at being a princess, clapping her hands only to have invisible servants magic up food and drink out of thin air.

She couldn’t look at him as he bowed himself out of the room, lest she really did burst out laughing. And so, when the door slammed, she was looking in exactly the right direction to see a sheet of paper, lodged under her husband’s bedroom door, flutter in the draught.

Even from where she was sitting she could see it was some kind of list. And the moment she registered what it was, she recalled him saying how many things he had to remember, how he’d frowningly pulled not just one, but two lists out of his coat pocket the day he’d called to discuss arrangements.

Oh, dear, she hoped this one wasn’t important. But if it was, perhaps she could summon up one of the hotel genies to whisk it to the meeting he was having. That would prove what a good and useful wife he’d married.

She bent down and pulled it out from under the door, her eyes snagging on the first item.

Compliant, it said, in an elegant copperplate script. And then next to it, in heavier, darker letters, another hand had added, A Mouse.

What kind of list was this?

Needn’t have any dowry.

Oh. Oh! She clapped one hand to her mouth as she read the next item: Won’t demand a society wedding.

This wasn’t a list of things he needed to remember at all, but a list of what he was looking for in a wife.

A Mouse, the heavier hand had scrawled next to the bit about the ceremony, and underlined it.

Not of the upper ten thousand, her shocked eyes discovered next.

Orphan.

Her stomach roiled as she recalled the look on Lord Havelock’s face when she’d told him, that fateful night at the Crimmers’, that she’d just lost her mother. She’d thought he couldn’t possibly have looked pleased to hear she was all alone in the world, that surely she must have been mistaken.

But she hadn’t been.

She tottered back to the tea table and sank on to the chair the waiter had so helpfully drawn up to it. And carried on reading.

Not completely hen-witted, the sloppier of the two writers had added. And she suddenly understood that cryptic comment he’d made about finding a wife with brains. Suggested by someone called...Ashe, that was it. How she could remember a name tossed out just the once, in such an offhand way, she could not think.

Unless it was because she felt as though the beautiful little dainties set out on their fine china plates might as well have been so many piles of ash, for all the desire she had now to put one in her mouth.

Good with children, Not selfish, the darker hand had scrawled. Then it was back to the neater hand again. It had written, Modest, Honest and Not looking for affection from matrimony. And then the untidier, what she’d come to think of as the more sarcastic, compiler of wifely qualities had written the word Mouse again, and this time underlined it twice.

But what made a small whimper of distress finally escape her lips was the last item on the list.

Need not be pretty.

Need not be pretty. Well, that was her, all right! Plain, dowdy, mouse that she was. No wonder he’d looked at her as though—what was it Aunt Pargetter had said—as though his ship had come in?

But which of the men who’d compiled that list had harped on about the need to find a mouse, that was the question that now burned in her brain like a fever. Had Havelock’s been the hand to scrawl that word, not once, but three times?

Getting to her feet, she strode to his bedroom door and flung it open. Somehow she had to find a sample of his handwriting to see if he’d been the one to...to mock her this way, before he’d even met her. And then she would... She came to an abrupt halt by his desk, across the surface of which was scattered a veritable raft of papers. What would she do? She’d already married him.

With shaking hands she began to sift through what looked like a heap of bills, some of them on the hotel’s headed notepaper. Until she came to what was unmistakably a letter. Dear Lady Peverell, it began. There was another underneath, in the same bold scrawl, which started, Dear Chepstow. She flipped to the bottom of the page. The one to Lady Peverell was signed Havelock. And she couldn’t help noticing, on her way to the end of the sheet, that he was informing her of his marriage. He hadn’t got very far with the other letter, so there was no signature, but it began in the same vein. Except...

Oh! He’d informed his friend that She meets all the requirements we fixed on, bar one.

The room seemed to swim as several facts all jostled rudely into her mind at once. This Chepstow person had taken part in compiling the wife list. Ashe was another. Were theirs the two sets of handwriting? And then there was Morgan. She’d wondered why Lord Havelock had come to such an unfashionable place as the Crimmers’, but now she understood perfectly. He had been looking for a wife who didn’t come from the upper ten thousand and Mr Morgan had made it possible to meet one, by taking him there.

So, Mr Morgan, too, must know about the infamous list.

And how many others?

She had a sickening vision of half a dozen drunken bucks sitting round a table in some crowded tavern, suggesting what Lord Havelock should look for in a wife who would be so grateful to receive a proposal at all, that she’d never dare lift her voice in complaint about any treatment he might decide to mete out.

With an expression of disgust, she dropped the list on to the rest of his papers and hurried from his room.

Which didn’t look like a palace out of a fairy tale any longer, but a gilded cage.

A cage she’d walked into with her eyes wide open.

Or so she’d thought. But that was before she’d discovered he’d made out a list of what he wanted from a wife. Just as though he was going shopping for groceries!

She stood quite still, eyes closed, head bowed against the tide of humiliation that washed over her.

She was such a fool.

He’d been honest with her from the start. He’d told her he was looking for a convenient wife. That he’d been in a hurry to get one, so that he could get on with the far more important business of rescuing Julia.

At what point had she forgotten that? When had she started hoping there might be a glimmer of truth in what Aunt Pargetter said about him falling for her? Men didn’t need to even like a woman to want to get her naked and in a bed. She knew that. She’d been brought up in a coastal town swarming with lusty sailors, for heaven’s sake!

She clasped her hands to her waist as her middle lurched almost painfully. How on earth could she possibly have thought that such a handsome, wealthy, titled man would suddenly become enamoured of a penniless, plain little...mouse of a creature like her? She’d mistaken his relief at finding a compliant, orphaned, modest woman to be his convenient wife so quickly for delight in her.

She shook her head. It had been useless flinging the list back amongst his other papers. The words of it were scored into her brain as though carved with a knife.

The sound of footsteps striding along the corridor had her opening her eyes and gazing in horror at the door. She couldn’t face him, in all his good humour, not now, not while she felt so...wounded!

To her relief, the feet kept on walking. It must just have been another guest returning to his room, or one of the hotel staff bustling about their business.

Still, it had been a warning. With fingers that shook, she poured some tea into her cup, selected a pastry at random and put it on to a plate. If he walked in now, he would simply see a woman taking tea. She would make her face show nothing of what she felt.

And she would not weep.

* * *

When Lord Havelock eventually returned, she was still doggedly dry-eyed. Sitting stock-still at the table with her cup of tea, untouched, in front of her.

‘Sitting in the dark?’ He frowned at her as she started, then stared at him as though she wasn’t quite sure who he was.

‘You should have rung for candles.’ He strode across and tugged on the bell pull. ‘And the fire has almost gone out, too.’

She turned, slowly, to look at it.

‘At least you’ve had something to eat...’ He frowned as he noted that nothing appeared to have been touched. Even her teacup was full.

Though her eyes were empty.

‘I’ve been a perfect beast, haven’t I,’ he said, pulling up the other chair to the table and grasping her hands. ‘To leave you alone for such a long time.’ He raised each hand in turn, kissing it penitently.

She looked at him in confusion. No wonder she’d started to think he was developing some real affection for her. But this was just...gallantry. If she’d had any experience of suitors, in the past, she would have known that this was how men behaved with women. That it meant nothing.

He should have picked either Dotty or Lotty. Either of them would have coped with him far, far better than she was doing.

‘Well,’ he said, starting to chafe her hands between his own. ‘I’ve achieved everything I needed to get done today, so now I’m all yours.’ He gave an uneasy laugh. ‘Though from the look you’re giving me that information doesn’t exactly please you. Dash it, where’s that waiter? Your hands are like ice. Your feet, too, I dare say.’

She thought she’d kept her face impassive, but something must have shown, for he shook his head and said ruefully, ‘Ah, Mary. You don’t have anything to worry about. On my word of honour, I’ll do better from now on. To start with, we’ll have a slap-up meal, and...and talk to each other. Yes? Not downstairs in one of the public rooms, but up here, since you are looking a little...’

Plain? Mousy? Not smartly dressed enough to be able to look the well-heeled clientele in the eye?

‘Uncomfortable,’ he finished.

‘I...I don’t feel very hungry,’ she said. ‘Today has been...just a bit...rather...’

‘Hasn’t it, though? Not two weeks ago I thought I’d never get married. Now here I am in a hotel room with my bride, on my wedding night. Takes your breath away, don’t it?’

She nodded.

‘Do you know what I think?’

She shook her head. That was the trouble. She kept imagining he was thinking things he’d told her point-blank he wasn’t going to think.

‘I think by leaving you hanging all afternoon, you’ve ended up feeling like a game bird ready for plucking. And that I ought to set about making you feel like a bride, instead.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think you know very well what I mean,’ he growled, pulling her to her feet.

She uttered a squeak of surprise when he hefted her into his arms.

A woman with more pride, she expected, would have put up some form of protest.

Mary put her arms round his neck, buried her face in his shoulder and clung to his solid warmth as he strode with her over to his bedroom.

Chapter Seven

He tumbled them both on to the bed and kissed her with an ardour that left her breathless. And strangely comforted.

Even though he’d only chosen her with his head, not his heart, he had chosen her. There must be dozens of poor, plain, penniless orphans in London, yet he hadn’t looked any further once he’d met her.

And, yes, maybe that was only because he was in such a hurry to get married, but...

With a moan that was half distress, half desperation, she curled her fingers into the luxuriant softness of his hair and kissed him back for all she was worth.

They were married now. Did it really matter how it had come about? No. It was what they made of their future that mattered.

Her response brought a feral growl of appreciation from his throat. And then, for a few moments, it was as though he had been let off some invisible leash. His hands were all over her while his body strained against hers in a way that thrilled her to the soles of her boots.

His excitement called to something buried deep in the heart of her. Something wild and wanton that came roaring to life and swept aside her every inhibition. Her hands were every bit as greedy as his, seeking and stroking and learning. She couldn’t get close enough to him. She wanted to wrap herself round him. Press every single inch of her against every marvellously thrilling inch of him.

Until, quite without warning, he reared back.

‘This is going too fast,’ he panted, frowning.

‘What do you mean?’ It all felt perfectly wonderful to her.

‘This is your first time,’ he gritted out between clenched teeth. ‘I should be taking it far more slowly. Making it good for you.’

Well, she couldn’t argue with that. After all the horrible things she’d read on that list, the dreadful afternoon she’d spent sitting alone, cold and brutally wounded, the least he could do was make this part of their marriage good.

He’d closed his eyes on a grimace. When he opened them again, only a few seconds later, he’d calmed down considerably.

‘I didn’t even pause to get our shoes off.’ He sighed, with a shake of his head.

He sat up, scooted down the bed and rapidly unlaced her rather worn leather half-boots. Aunt Pargetter had wanted to get her some dainty footwear to go with her wedding finery, but there hadn’t been time. And she’d thought her own comfortable boots would stand her in better stead, considering the coldness of the season. Only now did she wish she’d taken them off herself, during the hours he’d been away seeing his lawyers.

He didn’t say anything about the patched soles, or the worn-down heels, but his frown did deepen once his fingers encountered her stockinged feet.

‘Your feet are like ice! Well, that won’t do.’ Taking her left foot between both hands, he first chafed it, then raised it to his mouth to plant a hot kiss on the sole. The action sent her skirts slithering up her legs.

His hot eyes followed their movement. Swiftly followed by his hands.

‘I need to get these stockings off,’ he said, as though warning her of his intent.

She shivered with pleasure when he deftly undid her garter, then slid one stocking down.

‘Cold?’

She shook her head. Far from it. It felt as though a bolt of lightning streaked from the heat of his hands against her bared skin, right to her very core. She subsided into the pillows again, luxuriating in the sensations he evoked whilst removing her other stocking—with slow deliberation.

Her eyes half-closed, she watched with growing interest as he got up, shrugged off his jacket, undid his shirt and yanked it impatiently off over his head.

He had, without doubt, the most impressive masculine torso she’d ever seen. And she had seen many. Sailors often worked in just their ragged breeches, when loading and unloading ships during the hottest months of the year.

But she’d always averted her gaze and hurried past. She’d never been even remotely tempted to pause and drink her fill of any single one of them. She hadn’t struggled to keep her hands neatly placed at her sides, rather than reaching out and running her fingers over each clearly delineated muscle. Or thought about letting her tongue follow in the wake of her fingers. Or got a mad urge to lick her way up that strong column of a masculine throat to the stubbled texture of his chin.

Not that she was bold enough to do any such thing. Besides, he’d just said he was going to make it good for her. And part of her, the part that was still smarting over the things she’d read on the list, wanted him to exert himself to make it up to her. Not that he would be aware he was doing any such thing, but still, she would know.

Anyway, he inadvertently helped her to resist the temptation by sitting down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, which gave her eyes an entirely new view to appreciate. His back. The broad shoulders, the ridges of muscle down either side of his spine, which disappeared into the narrow waistband of his breeches.

She was a little disappointed when he drew the line at removing them. Although perhaps it was only fair. After all, she was still in her gown. Not that it took him long to take it off her once he set to it. My, but he certainly knew his way round lacings, and corsets.

Her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen by the time he lay down beside her and put his arm about her shoulders. The dexterity he’d just displayed with her clothing convinced her that he truly could make this experience good for her.

Even though he wasn’t all that proficient at flirting and charming his way into a woman’s bed, it didn’t mean he hadn’t had encounters of an...earthy nature, with willing women.

Willing? Oh, what an inadequate word. If any of them had guessed what kind of body he concealed beneath his casually comfortable clothing, plenty of them would have ripped them off just to get their greedy hands on it.

Just as she wanted to get her own hands on it.

She was so glad he didn’t wear the kind of clothing that showed his stunning physique to better advantage. If he’d needed a couple of valets to peel a tightly fitted coat from those bulging biceps, she would have missed the enthralling spectacle of him gradually revealing more and more of his masculinity for her eyes alone.

He wouldn’t have been able to just take her to bed because he felt it was time, either. She liked that they could be spontaneous about this, rather than having to involve servants.

She reached for him as he ran his fingers through her hair—hair that had come out of its fastenings during their first bout of kissing on this bed.

As she ran her hands down his back, glorying in the fact that there were no longer any clothes to impede her exploration, it occurred to her that a ‘modest’ woman wouldn’t be doing this. Wouldn’t have clawed her way under his waistcoat and writhed up against him like some kind of snake when he’d tumbled her on to the bed earlier, either. Nor would a ‘modest’ woman let her husband strip her naked at four in the afternoon—even if daylight was fading—and be glad of the way firelight bathed the room in a warm glow, so she could feast her eyes on her new husband’s magnificent masculine nakedness.

But then, nor would a man who truly wanted a modest wife be looking at her like that—as if he wanted to devour her.

Which was pretty much what he did next, tasting and nibbling her all over as though she was some rare delicacy. He didn’t leave an inch of her unexplored. And everywhere he put his mouth, he left behind such glorious feelings she didn’t know how to describe them.

She bit down on her lower lip when he finally stroked her legs apart and began trailing kisses up the inside of her thighs.

Her aunt Pargetter had warned her, during a private little talk the night before, that the things her husband might wish to do to her, once in the marriage bed, might seem strange and perhaps a little frightening at first. She had advised her against resisting, or protesting, because nine times out of ten he would have more of an idea what would end up making it lovely.

It was all she could do not to laugh out loud. Resist him? Protest about this? Oh, no. The slow slide of his tongue, the little nips of his teeth, combined with the firm caresses of those strong hands, those knowing fingers, were exactly what she wanted.

Oh, very well, so her aunt had got part of it right. He did know more than her about this.

And he was taking the time to make it lovely for her, too. Which was somewhat surprising, considering he’d so far given the impression of always being in a hurry to get things done.

There was just one awkward little interlude, after he’d shucked off his breeches, where what he did hurt quite a bit, but then he brought the lovely feelings back, with skill, with patience, until...until...oh, utter rapture. It was as if she had completely left her body behind. She was floating somewhere—somewhere he’d taken her. And he was there, too. She could tell. His whole body was quivering with it. Pulsing with it.

‘Mary.’ He sighed, as she began to drift back to reality. A reality that had somehow been transformed, though she couldn’t have explained how. And anyway, she felt too peaceful to rack her brains over what had changed between them, or within her, or...

He shifted his weight to one side and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Though how he found the energy to move so much as one eyelid, she couldn’t imagine. She felt as though all her bones had melted. And as for muscles—there was not one left, in her entire body, that wasn’t completely and utterly drained.

‘Thank you for being so generous,’ she heard him murmur, as he tucked her into his side.

Just before she drifted into sated oblivion.

* * *

There was no need to panic. He’d managed to bite back his urge to tell her that the way they’d reached the pinnacle of rapture together had been just about the most blissful experience of his life. He’d turned it into a far more temperate expression of gratitude, thank God.

And he was grateful. Grateful that they were so compatible, sexually. He’d specifically sought a woman he could enjoy taking to bed, hadn’t he? So that getting an heir wouldn’t be a hardship. She’d just ticked off another item on the list, that was all. His heart wasn’t going to be at risk, just because he’d had a momentary, overwhelming feeling of rightness. Of belonging.

No. It just meant he’d made a very sensible choice of bride.

* * *

The next time Mary opened her eyes, it was because someone was insistently shaking her shoulder, pulling her up from a dream that featured her new husband, shirtless, skilfully skating away from her and disappearing into a thick swirling fog while her own useless legs melted away from under her.

‘I am a little sorry to have to wake you,’ said Lord Havelock gruffly.

She blinked up at him sleepily. Last thing she knew he’d been wrapped round her like a living blanket. Now there was a real blanket tucked up to her chin, and he was... She frowned. He was dressed and standing over her looking a touch reproachful.

‘Lying there like that you look...’

He paused, searching no doubt for a polite way to tell her she looked a mess, with not a single pin remaining in her hair, which was more than half over her face. Still, at least that would be concealing the sleep creases she’d no doubt have from the embroidered pillow slip.

‘Absolutely edible,’ he finished with a wicked grin. ‘And speaking of edible, while you slept I ordered that supper I promised you earlier. And it’s arrived. I’m having them set it out in the sitting room, if you’d care to join me?’

He indicated the foot of the bed, where, to her astonishment, she saw the nightgown and wrap her cousins had given her, because, they’d said, her much darned and patched nightgown and a woollen shawl would simply not do for her wedding night.

The nightgown was of the sheerest lawn she’d ever seen. Even when she’d folded it into her portmanteau she’d been able to see the outline of her hand through it. And the wrap was of scarlet silk, patterned all over with lush oriental flowers of some sort.

But he was indicating he wanted her to wear them and join him for supper in the sitting room.

‘I thought you’d prefer a private supper, up here, rather than go through all the bother of getting fully dressed and dining in one of the public rooms.’

Well, there was that.

And also, she’d like to see how he reacted when she walked around wearing a nightgown that revealed as much as it covered. With her hair loose, she suddenly decided, and flowing unbound all the way down her back to her waist. She’d wager he wouldn’t reprove her for not being modest. Given the way he was watching the blankets now, which were only just covering her breasts, he was more likely to enjoy the show.

But all she said was ‘That was very thoughtful of you.’ Because, to be fair, it did sound as if he’d actually thought about how she might feel. This once.

‘I will join you in a moment.’

After catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she had to steel herself to walk into the next room. It wasn’t as easy to walk about wearing attire that was outrageously seductive as it had been to roll about on the bed stark naked.

But she wasn’t, most definitely wasn’t, going to let him get away with claiming he wanted a modest bride, when his behaviour earlier had shown it was the exact opposite.

She made it to the threshold, and paused, certain that her face had gone the same shade of scarlet as the silken wrap. For it wasn’t only her husband who could see her in her scanty nightclothes. But also the two waiters who were setting out their supper.

‘Ah, here she is now,’ he said, drawing the eyes of the two male staff in her direction. Her face went a shade hotter as they looked her up and down before swiftly bending their heads to concentrate on their tasks.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she now noticed that he wasn’t fully dressed at all, but only wearing his breeches and the shirt he’d earlier tossed on to the floor.

‘You can be off,’ he said to the waiters, without the slightest hint of self-consciousness. ‘I will serve my wife.’

She supposed people who worked in hotels must be used to having guests who wandered around half-dressed, at all hours of the day. Who’d very clearly spent most of the afternoon in bed. But she couldn’t bring herself to look their way as they melted out of the room, dreading what she might see written in their faces.

‘You certainly look like a bride now,’ said Lord Havelock, in a tone that had her lifting her head again. Just as she’d hoped, his eyes were gleaming with appreciation as they roamed her diaphanous gown.

‘How do you feel?’

Embarrassed. Rather foolish. Out of her depth, for trying to play the wanton, only to run aground on the shoals of slippery-eyed waiters.

He crossed the room to her, tilted her chin up with one finger and planted a brief kiss on her flaming cheek. And she no longer felt anything but aware of him, standing so close. His warm breath on her face. And the way he’d made her feel in the bed that was only a few faltering footsteps away.

But before she could summon up the words to express even a tithe of what she was feeling, her stomach rumbled. Rather loudly.

He grinned. ‘Hungry! Good. So am I. I hope you like what I’ve ordered,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her across to the table the waiters had been so busy over just moments before.

‘It...it certainly all looks lovely,’ she managed to stammer. The table had been set for two, with fine linen and sparkling crystal, delicate china and fresh flowers. The fire, she also noted, had been stoked up again so that the room was warm enough for them to sit about in a state of undress.

She was excruciatingly aware of his body now. Of exactly where it was and how it all felt. Whenever his legs so much as brushed against the hem of her nightgown, under the table, it brought back how they’d felt, pushing her own sleeker, softer legs apart. The muscles bunching and flexing as he’d...

He’d apparently lost the ability to talk, as well. In fact, the atmosphere reminded her very much of the time they’d striven in vain to make some sort of conversation over the supper table at the Crimmers’. Except that now it was charged with sexual awareness.

His as well as hers, she would stake her life on it.

He might be frowning as he spooned a helping of fricassee on to her plate, but it wasn’t the frown of an angry man. She’d spent years studying her father, learning his moods in the faint hope she could avoid the worst of them. And that frown wasn’t one of displeasure.

If anything, she would say he felt awkward. Though that was absurd! He’d wandered around earlier, ordering the waiters about as though it meant nothing....

But now they were alone.

And he’d readily admitted, that night at the Crimmers’, that he didn’t know how to converse freely with ladies.

Particularly not to ones he’d just married, apparently.

Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising he’d got friends to help him compile a list when he’d decided he had to get married.

Perhaps she’d overreacted when she’d found and read it. He hadn’t intended her to know he’d resorted to such lengths, after all.

And hadn’t she already decided that she ought not to dwell on how this marriage had come about? But to just make the most of what they had?

And when it came right down to it, wouldn’t she rather be married to him, with all his faults, than a glib-tongued man whose charm marked him down as a seasoned womaniser?

So she met his eye and gave him a tentative smile.

He smiled back, his shoulders dropping a good inch as some of his tension melted away.

I did that. I put him at ease.

Her aunt Pargetter had hinted that if their marriage was to be a happy one, it would be up to her. She hadn’t seen how that could possibly be true, but already, today, she’d made a start. She could have flung the list at him when he returned from the lawyers and demanded an explanation, and an apology. She wouldn’t have received one. Instead of making such wondrous love together, they would have had a fight. They wouldn’t be sitting here, remembering how good it had been, and wondering when they could do it again, either. They would be at daggers drawn.

Not that she would ever let him treat her with such disrespect in future. She was not a mouse. And she had no intention of letting him turn her into one. The thought she might ever end up like her mother, too scared to draw a breath without the permission of her tyrannical husband, had almost made her cry off altogether.

Except that she’d seen Lord Havelock was nothing like her father. And they weren’t eloping, in the face of opposition from both their families. They’d come together for very practical reasons.

Not that she felt very practical about him at this moment. Her mind was a whirling jumble of emotions and desire and, above all, hope.

All of a sudden, Lord Havelock broke into her musings by uttering an oath and throwing the serving spoon back into the dish with a clatter.

‘I should have taken you out to the theatre, or something, shouldn’t I? Not kept you cooped up indoors all evening, with only me for company.’

And that was the nub of the matter. He wasn’t an unkind man. Only a touch thoughtless.

And apparently willing to learn to do better.

‘It was just,’ he said, seizing her hand across the table, his face screwed up with contrition, ‘that I’d planned on getting an early night.’

When she flushed, and dropped her head to gaze at her plate, she heard him chuckle.

‘Not because of that. Well, not only that. You see...’ he gave her hand a slight squeeze ‘...we need to get on the road as early as we can, with the days being so short. I don’t want you to have to put up at any of the inns on our way. And if we make an early enough start, providing we don’t encounter any problems, we should be able to make it in one stage.’

‘Yes, I see. Well...um...’ Her heart was pounding so hard she was amazed he couldn’t hear it.

‘I...I don’t mind having an early night,’ she finally managed to confess, shooting him a coy look from under her eyelashes.

‘Well, yes, but that was before my patience ran out and I swept you off to bed the minute I got back from the lawyers. And...’ He cleared his throat. ‘It probably isn’t such a good idea to attempt... I mean...’ He coughed. ‘You are probably a bit... That is, I’ve heard...’ he flushed ‘...that the first time can leave a lady feeling a bit, um, sore.’

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