Georgiana felt a strange tremor ripple through her, and raised her eyes to discover a tall gentleman standing in the doorway leading to the larger salon.

Dressed in the impeccable style advocated by George Brummell himself, and with black hair cropped short and artistically arranged in the windswept look, he seemed to make nearly all the other gentlemen present appear slightly ill-groomed in comparison.

So striking was the change in appearance that Georgiana didn’t immediately appreciate precisely who it was. Only when stark recognition on his own part replaced affectation, and those unforgettable dark eyes stared fixedly in her direction, did she know for sure. Then she very nearly forgot the movements of the dance, almost disgraced herself by missing a step, when heavy lids lowered and a look of such contempt took possession of those rugged features, a moment before he swung round on his heels and walked away …

About the Author

ANNE ASHLEY was born and educated in Leicester. She lived for a time in Scotland, but now makes her home in the West Country, with two cats, her two sons, and a husband who has a wonderful and very necessary sense of humour. When not pounding away at the keys of her computer, she likes to relax in her garden, which she has opened to the public on more than one occasion in aid of the village church funds.

MISS IN A

MAN’S WORLD

Anne Ashley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Prologue

The firelight flickered across the Dowager’s face, making her appear more intimidating than usual. Even her staunchest supporters, her closest friends, would never have called her a beauty; not even five decades before, when she had surprised so many by her betrothal to the sixth Earl of Grenville, thereby achieving a truly splendid alliance. Nonetheless, not even her severest critics, and there had been numerous of those during her lifetime, would ever have stigmatised her as the least light-minded, or as a woman who had failed in her obligations. On the contrary, she had been renowned throughout her adult life for putting duty first, even if this had meant going against inclination. She had always been steadfast in her resolve, a veritable pillar of strength to all those who had come to rely on her support and good sense down the years.

Yet today, finally, after seeing the last of her six children placed in the family vault, much of that zest for life, that spark of determination, had faded from her eyes. Much, it was true, but not quite all, as the only other occupant of the comfortable parlour discovered when the Dowager finally ceased her silent contemplation of the glowing fire in the hearth and raised her head.

‘I do not make this request of you lightly,’ she revealed at last. ‘I appreciate there is a very real possibility that you might be putting your own life in danger by agreeing to my request, should the person responsible for my son’s death discover your quest. But the truth of the matter is there is no one I trust so implicitly.’ The Dowager gave vent to a wheezy half-chuckle. ‘A sad admission for someone of my advanced age, whose acquaintance over the years has been extensive, and yet, it is true. Should you accede to my request, I know you will do your utmost to discover just what my son meant.’

‘And you are sure, ma’am, that he said, “No, not a stranger … It could only have been … one of the five. One of them must have been involved"?’

‘Quite sure. It is something I am unlikely ever to forget, as they were among the last words he ever spoke to me. But, just what he meant by them, I have no notion. My son’s acquaintance was vast, much larger than mine. He might have been referring to any number of different people—peers of the realm, members of the government, high-ranking officers in the army or navy. Or maybe even a secret society. Who knows? But when I do know for certain, that will be the moment to take matters further. Until such time, it would be best if the world continues to believe my son died at the hands of unknown assailants. Which, of course, is most definitely the case. But the one I am determined to bring to justice is the person who organised the attack.’

The silence that followed was broken only by the ticking of the mantel-clock, and the crackling of logs in the hearth, until the Dowager’s companion finally said, ‘It is still your intention to remove to Bath in a few weeks, is it not? That will give me time to ponder on how best to discover what we both dearly wish to know. Delay writing to your good friend Lady Pickering in London. Involving her might not be the ideal solution. A better way might yet occur to me, my lady.’

Chapter One

Spring 1802

‘Why don’t you change your mind, Finch, and spend a week or two with Louise and me? You know how very fond of you she is. Why, she has come to look upon you as a brother! She will adore having you to stay.’

Viscount Fincham regarded his companion from behind half-closed lids. Anyone studying him might have been forgiven for supposing he had been on the verge of sleep during the past few minutes, for he had not uttered a single word since seating himself by the window in the crowded hostelry. Nor had he attempted to sample the tankard of ale the landlord had placed before him. None knew better, however, than the gentleman seated opposite that behind that languid air of blissful unconcern lurked a razor-sharp intellect, an astuteness that was frighteningly keen and occasionally quite disturbing.

An expanse of fine lace fell over one long-fingered hand as the Viscount reached for his tankard and finally sampled its contents. ‘You are in error, my dear Charles. Being heartily bored with life at present, I should make sad company for Louise. Or anyone else, come to that. Besides which, your darling wife has enough to contend with. She would not choose to put up with my megrims so close to her confinement.’

Knowing better than to attempt to persuade his friend to change his mind and accept the invitation, Charles Gingham merely said, ‘What you need, old fellow, is what I’ve been blessed to have these past years—the love of a good woman.’

White, even teeth showed behind a wickedly flashing smile. ‘Evidently you forget I have one already. Caroline is, without doubt, the most skilful I’ve ever had.’

Charles gave vent to a derisive snort. ‘I’m not talking about your birds of paradise, Ben. Good Lord! You’ve had enough of those down the years. And not one of ‘em has meant so much as a groat to you, if I’m any judge. No, what you need is a wife, a lady you will love and cherish, someone who will give your life a new direction, some purpose.’

This time the Viscount’s smile was decidedly twisted, revealing more than just a hint of cynicism. ‘I hardly think that is ever likely to happen, my dear friend. No, perhaps in a year or two I shall marry, if only to beget an heir. After all, a fellow in my position is never short of candidates for a wife. I have the hopeful little darlings parading before me with tiresome regularity every Season in the Marriage Mart. I’m sure if, and when, I take a serious look I shall find at least one female who will meet my exacting standards—divinely fair, impeccably mannered and dutifully biddable.’

Charles Gingham stared across the table, a hint of sadness in his expression. ‘Do you still ponder over what might have been? I know I do. If I hadn’t dragged you across to France with me all those years ago, you might now be a blissfully contented married man.’

‘Do not do offence to your feelings on my account, Charles,’ the Viscount urged him, once again sounding distinctly bored with the topic of conversation. ‘Your sympathy is quite misplaced, believe me. Charlotte Vane, that was, no longer enters my thoughts. She chose to overlook the understanding between us, and marry Wenbury. Had she chosen to await my return from France, she would undoubtedly have eventually become my Viscountess. My brother’s untimely demise was a shock to everyone, not least of all to me. I neither grudged him his superior position in the family, nor craved the title for myself. Fate decreed that I should inherit, however. Had he produced a son, not a daughter, I should have been more than happy to run the estate until my nephew came of age. I would be a liar if I said I do not now enjoy the agreeable benefits the title has afforded me, because I do. And I believe I have carried out my duties with diligence, and consideration towards all those who look to me for their livelihood. I also believe I have a duty to marry one day. But let me assure you that love will never enter into the equation. So long as my future bride, whoever she might be, conducts herself in a ladylike manner at all times, and provides me with the heir I desire, she will not find me unreasonable or exacting in my demands. For the most part she may go her own way, as I fully intend to go mine.’

Charles was appalled by such blatant apathy, and it showed in his expression, and in his voice as he said, ‘I cannot believe you would be so indifferent to the lady you should one day choose to marry. You might fool most all the ton into believing you’re cold and indifferent, but you’ll never persuade me. I know how much Charlotte Vane meant to you. I know what you’re capable of feeling.’

‘Was capable of feeling,’ the Viscount corrected in an ominously quiet tone. ‘Unlike you, Charles, I am no longer a romantic. I leave all that nonsense to the numerous poets of the day. I do not look for love in marriage. Dear Lady Wenbury taught me a very valuable lesson eight years ago. I’ve learned to guard against the—er—more tender emotions. No, I shall be content with a female who behaves at all times with propriety and fulfils all her obligations as my Viscountess.’

No one could have mistaken the note of finality in the deep, attractively masculine voice, least of all the gentleman who had had the honour of being one of the Viscount’s closest friends since the far-off days of their boyhood, and so Charles wasn’t unduly surprised when his lordship tossed the contents of his tankard down his throat and rose to his feet, announcing that they had best leave, or risk missing the start of the mill.

The market town was a hive of activity. Not only was there a prize fight being staged in a field on the outskirts of the thriving community, there was also a horse fair taking place in an adjacent meadow. Visitors wishing to enjoy one or both attractions were making their way along a crowded main street, their ribald comments and guffaws of merriment mingling with street hawkers’ cries as they attempted to sell their wares. So it wasn’t wholly surprising that his lordship, leading the way out of the inn, quite failed to detect that single cry warning him of possible danger. It wasn’t until someone cannoned into him, thereby successfully thrusting him back against the inn wall, out of harm’s way, that he realised one of the drayman’s large barrels had come perilously close to doing him a mischief. He watched it roll harmlessly by before turning his attention to the youthful rescuer at his feet.

‘Good Lord, Ben! Are you all right?’ Charles enquired, emerging from the inn just in time to witness the incident.

‘It would appear I fared rather better than my gallant deliverer here,’ his lordship responded.

Clasping a hand round a far from robust arm, his lordship then helped the youth to his feet, and saw at once a small quantity of blood trickling down the stocking below the left knee. ‘Here, take this, lad!’

After having thrust a square of fine lawn into a surprisingly slender hand, his lordship watched as the youth tied the handkerchief about his leg. ‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’

‘N-no, I do not believe so, sir,’ a gruff little voice answered, before the youth retrieved his tricorn from the dusty cobbled yard, and raised his head at last.

Taken aback slightly, the Viscount found himself blinking several times as he gazed down into the most vivid violet-blue eyes he’d ever seen; framed in long black lashes, they were remarkably striking, and quite wasted on a youth.

Drawing his own away with some difficulty, he requested his friend to locate the landlord’s whereabouts, and then returned his full attention to his unlikely rescuer. ‘Do you live locally? If so, my carriage is at your disposal, and my groom can return you to your home, as soon as the landlord’s good lady wife has seen to your hurts.’

‘There’s no need to trouble, sir. ‘Tis naught but a scratch,’ the boy protested, but his lordship remained adamant.

‘It’s the very least I can do, child, for someone who selflessly saved me from possible injury. Ah, and here’s the very man!’

Tossing the landlord a shiny golden guinea, he bade him take care of the boy by providing whatever his youthful rescuer might request. In view of such generosity, mine host was only too willing to comply, and ushered his somewhat reluctant young customer toward the inn’s main entrance, leaving the Viscount staring after them, his high forehead creased with a decidedly puzzled look.

‘What’s amiss, Ben? You’re not hurt yourself, are you?’

‘What …?’ His lordship managed to drag his mind back to the present without too much difficulty. ‘No, not at all, Charles,’ he assured him, as they set off down the road. ‘It’s just that young lad … Did you notice his eyes, by any chance?’

‘No, can’t say as I did. Why, what was wrong with ‘em? Not crossed, were they?’

The Viscount frowned yet again. ‘No, there was absolutely nothing wrong with them at all. They were perfect, in fact! Perhaps the most striking I’ve ever seen in my life.’

‘No doubt he’ll turn a few fillies’ heads, then, when he’s older,’ Charles suggested, fast losing interest in the topic, for his attention had been well and truly captured by something he considered far more diverting. ‘Looks as if the mill’s about to start. Let’s see if we cannot attain a good vantage point.’

By the time Viscount Fincham had returned to that certain well-kept hostelry, late that same afternoon, he too had successfully thrust the incident earlier in the day, and his youthful rescuer, to the back of his mind. After taking leave of his friend, who lived a mere mile or so the other side of the thriving community, his lordship didn’t delay in heading back to the capital.

As his well-sprung travelling carriage picked up speed, leaving the habitation far behind, Lord Fincham stared absently out of the window, and was considering how best to entertain himself that evening, when he caught sight of a solitary figure, carrying a somewhat battered portmanteau, trudging along the road. Just what it was about the person that instantly captured his interest he was for ever afterwards to wonder. It might have been the set of the slender shoulders, or the brief glimpse of a slightly worn and faded tricorn that struck a chord of memory. All his lordship did know was that he had instinctively reached for his silver-handled walking stick in order to beat a tattoo on the conveyance’s roof, without giving the matter a second thought.

His head groom responded in a trice, and as the carriage drew to a halt his lordship let down the window, and leaned out in order to watch the solitary figure’s approach.

As the youth drew closer, surprised recognition was clearly discernible on the young face. ‘Great heavens! Why, if it isn’t you, sir!’

The boy was more dishevelled than the Viscount remembered. His clothes were now liberally covered in dust, and there were streaks of dirt across his face. He looked decidedly weary, too, as though he had been walking for some considerable time.

A surge of annoyance—borne, he could only suppose, of a guilty conscience—suddenly assailed him, and Lord Fincham found himself saying more sharply than he had intended, ‘Well, don’t just stand there, leaving my horses champing at their bits, lad!’

There was a moment’s hesitation before the youth clambered inside and settled himself opposite, placing the portmanteau carefully on the seat beside him, as though it contained all his worldly goods.

Which was possibly the case, the Viscount ruminated, before his youthful companion asked where he was bound. ‘More importantly, what is your destination?’ his lordship enquired by way of a response. ‘When we—er—bumped into each other earlier, I assumed—quite wrongly, I should imagine—that you resided in the market town.’

‘Oh, no, sir! I was merely exploring the place while I awaited the arrival of the stagecoach to London.’ A rueful expression flickered over delicate features. ‘Unfortunately, the innkeeper’s wife was so very obliging. Not only did she attend to my slight hurts, she also insisted I had something to eat when she learned I hadn’t had a morsel since breaking my fast early this morning. I’m afraid I simply couldn’t resist the offer of sweet game pie and a bowl of broth, and returned to the coaching inn on the other side of town only to discover the stage had departed some thirty minutes previously. The innkeeper there told me of a carrier he knew on the outskirts, but by the time I’d located the premises the carrier had long since departed for the capital, so I decided to continue walking until I found a suitable inn where I might put up for the night.’

‘In that case, your luck’s in, child, for I am bound for the metropolis myself, and can take you wherever you wish to go.’

‘Oh, thank you, sir! That would be most agreeable!’

The smile that accompanied the response was so enchanting that his lordship was quite startled by it. Then the astounding possibility that had momentarily occurred to him at their first encounter once again crossed his mind.

Leaning back against the velvet upholstery, he studied his youthful companion beneath half-shuttered lids. Hair, every bit as black as his own, was confined at the nape of a slender white neck with a length of ribbon. Beneath the tricorn hat the delicately featured face turned slightly, thereby offering him a perfect view of a profile that boasted high cheekbones, a small straight nose, a sweetly shaped mouth with a slightly protruding upper lip, and a perfectly sculptured little chin. Although a frock-coat of good quality adequately concealed the upper body, there was no mistaking the slender straight limbs beneath the knee-breeches and soiled stockings.

‘You have yet to inform me precisely where you are bound, child,’ his lordship reminded his companion, with a satisfied half-smile, as he drew his eyes away from narrow feet shod in buckled shoes.

Those striking orbs once again turned in the Viscount’s direction. ‘Oh, if you could just set me down at some respectable inn, sir, I would be immensely grateful.’

‘Would you, indeed,’ his lordship purred silkily, as he once again cast a speculative glance over his companion’s trim form. ‘Yes, I feel sure we could come to some mutually—er—satisfactory arrangement,’ he added, before he watched one slender hand delve into the portmanteau and draw out a surprisingly bulging leather purse.

‘What would you consider adequate largesse, sir?’

For several seconds his lordship didn’t know whether to feel amused or annoyed. The chit couldn’t be serious! Surely she wasn’t so na?ve as to suppose he was suggesting payment in cash? Or was she?

For several very good reasons Lord Fincham had learned to be mistrustful of the fair sex. Yet, for some obscure reason, which escaped him entirely, he was prepared to give the intriguing little minx opposite, for he no longer doubted her true sex for a moment, the benefit of the doubt. Furthermore, if she wished to continue the charade, then he’d play the game, for the present, at least.

‘Put the purse away, child!’ he ordered, once again more sharply than he had intended, simply because, had the truth been known, he was annoyed with himself for his own indecisiveness where this girl was concerned. ‘I require no payment,’ he said more gently. ‘In view of the service you rendered earlier in the day, it is the very least I can do.’

Even as he said this he was having renewed doubts about their earlier encounter. Had it been all as innocent as it had seemed? Or had the whole incident been very carefully staged by one of his degenerate acquaintances as a jest? For reasons that escaped him entirely, he was once again prepared to give his companion the benefit of the doubt.

‘But as we shall be bearing each other company for the next hour or so, I’d best introduce myself. I am Fincham, Viscount Fincham.’

When she betrayed neither surprise, nor, indeed, any outward sign of discomposure at being in the company of such a distinguished peer of the realm, doubts again assailed him. She must surely have known who he was?

‘And you are?’

A slight hesitation, then, ‘George, my lord George—er—Green.’

The Viscount successfully suppressed a knowing smile. ‘Well, Master Green, are you sure you wouldn’t prefer me to convey you to a relative or friend in the metropolis?’

‘Positive, my lord, for I have neither residing there. But if you could, as I mentioned before, deposit me at some respectable inn, which is not too expensive, I shall be for ever in your debt.’

The hopeful expression was unmistakable. Was she the most accomplished actress who ever drew breath, or in earnest? He remained frustratingly undecided. ‘I might,’ he at last conceded. ‘But first I should very much like to know why you wish to visit the capital?’

The response was prompt enough. ‘In order to find employment, my lord.’

He raised a decidedly sceptical brow at this. ‘Indeed? And what type of employment are you hoping to attain?’

Slender shoulders rose in a shrug. ‘I hadn’t really considered. Maybe a situation in service might suit my purpose best—a footman, perhaps.’

Again his lordship cocked a sceptical brow. ‘How old are you, child?’

Delicate lids lowered. ‘Fifteen, my lord.’

Clearly an untruth. Moreover, one that had been uttered most unwillingly, unless he much mistook the matter. Interesting… . yes, most interesting.

‘A little young for a footman, then,’ he suggested, still willing to play along with the subterfuge. ‘A page, perhaps?’

‘A page,’ she echoed, seeming to consider the possibility. ‘Yes, that might serve very well.’

Dear God, she couldn’t be serious! Her sex would be uncovered in a trice! If she wasn’t in the employ of some prankster, and engaged to entice him into committing some act of folly, then he had possibly done more harm than good by suggesting what he had.

Settling himself back against the plush velvet squabs once more, his lordship experienced a rare pang of conscience, simply because he still couldn’t quite make up his mind about his intriguing travelling companion, which was most unlike him. He was renowned for being a shrewd judge of character, and although it would be true to say he didn’t make snap judgements about people, his first impressions, more often than not, turned out to be accurate.

But young George Green had him well and truly puzzled. Speech alone suggested the chit didn’t come from the lower orders. He strongly suspected, too, that she had received a well-rounded education. So what on earth did she imagine she was doing indulging in such an escapade? If she wasn’t in disguise as a jest, then there was every likelihood she had run away from home, possibly fleeing some form of persecution, or even an arranged marriage that was not to her taste. If he had any sense at all, he told himself roundly, he would do what she asked, and just deposit her at the first respectable hostelry they came to in the capital! Yet, even as this most sensible course of action crossed his mind, he knew he would not act upon it.

He found himself studying her intently again. Yes, dressed appropriately she would undoubtedly make a damnably pretty girl. No, an extremely lovely one, he corrected silently. She was certainly older than fifteen. Eighteen, or maybe nineteen, he decided. And definitely no sweet simpleton, if he were any judge. She knew precisely what she was doing, too. There was some definite purpose in this outrageous charade of hers. He’d stake his life on it! One thing was certain, though, he found her and the situation intriguing and highly diverting, something he hadn’t experienced in many a long year. He was determined to discover who she was and, more importantly, just what she was!

‘I am pleased to discover you are not garrulous by nature, Master Green. None the less, I believe a little conversation would be permissible, even between virtual strangers.’

This succeeded in bringing to an end her intense study of the passing countryside. ‘I do beg your pardon, my lord—only, I’ve never visited the capital before, and am finding the landscape quite interesting.’

‘I, on the other hand, have travelled this route on numerous occasions and find it faintly tedious,’ he countered, ‘and should much prefer to discover a little more about you.’

There was no mistaking the guarded look that took possession of those enchanting features, but his lordship chose to disregard it. ‘Why, for instance, do I find you alone in what, by your own admission, is a foreign part of the land? And why are you not accompanied by a relative?’

‘Both my parents are dead, my lord.’

He found himself readily accepting the truth of this statement, possibly because her gaze had been so unwavering. Yes, already he was well on the way to knowing for sure when she was spinning him some yarn and when she was not.

‘And is there no one else responsible for your well-being, child …? No distant relative or guardian?’

‘No, my lord.’

Now, that was most interesting, for if she had continued speaking the truth, and he was inclined to believe she had, it must surely mean that she was somewhat older than he had first imagined, at least one-and-twenty. It possibly meant, also, that she was not running away from some arranged marriage that was not to her taste. Which instantly begged the question of what lay behind the outrageous escapade? With every passing mile his lordship’s curiosity was increasing by leaps and bounds!

By the time the carriage had drawn to a halt before a certain much-admired residence in Berkeley Square his lordship had decided on his immediate course of action. His intriguing companion, on the other hand, did not betray any outward sign of being at all impressed by her surroundings when she alighted in his lordship’s wake. In fact, when she discovered it was none other than the Viscount’s town house they stood before, she appeared decidedly ill-at-ease, not to say a trifle annoyed.

‘But I thought you said you would deposit me at some respectable hostelry, my lord?’

‘I cannot recall agreeing to any such thing, child,’ he countered, favouring her with one of his haughtiest stares. ‘I can, in due course, arrange for one of my servants to direct you to just such an establishment, if it is what you wish. First, I have a proposition to put to you. But not here in the street, where the world and his neighbour are at liberty to view proceedings.’

His lordship did not trouble to discover whether his youthful companion was prepared to follow him into the house. When the front door miraculously opened, even before he had made known his arrival by beating a tattoo using the highly polished brass knocker, he strolled languidly into the hall, handing his outdoor garments to the high-ranking retainer who had served him diligently from the moment his lordship had unexpectedly come into the title.

‘Bring claret and two glasses into the library, Brindle, and inform Cook I shall not be going out again this evening,’ and so saying he led the way into the book-lined room, fully aware that he was being closely followed by his newest acquaintance.

Choosing not to acknowledge her presence until he had closed the door so that they could enjoy privacy, he then turned to study her. Although she had removed her hat, she had chosen not to hand it over to the butler, and held it securely against the portmanteau in her right hand. Which instantly revealed two things—firstly, she was alert to the correct forms of behaviour; and, secondly, she remained decidedly ill at ease. When she blatantly refused the offer of a seat, he did not force the issue and merely made himself comfortable in a winged-chair, while all the time studying her closely as she, in turn, considered the painting taking pride of place above the hearth.

‘That is your family, is it not, my lord?’

‘Indeed it is, child. The tall gentleman had the felicity to be my sire. My mother, although no beauty, as you can perceive for yourself, was possessed of much wit and charm. I am the younger child, holding the dog.’

He watched fine coal-black brows draw together. ‘My condolences, sir. I trust your brother’s demise was not recent?’

Clearly the chit took no interest in the goings-on in the ton. ‘He died after taking a tumble from his horse some eight years ago.’

What she might have chosen to reply to this he was never to know, for the door opened, and her attention immediately turned to the rigidly correct individual who had served the Fincham family for very many years.

‘You may leave the tray, Brindle. We shall help ourselves. I shall ring when I require you again. In the meantime, I do not wish to be disturbed.’

The major-domo was far too experienced to betray even a modicum of surprise over his master’s most unusual companion, and merely bowed stiffly before leaving the room and closing the door almost silently behind him.

‘Come here, child,’ his lordship demanded, and then sighed when the order was blatantly ignored. ‘I assure you I have no intention of doing you a mischief. I merely wish to look at your hands.’

Gracefully arching brows rose in surprise. ‘My hands, sir! Whatever for?’

The Viscount cast an exasperated glance up at the youthful face. ‘Be warned that should I decide to offer you employment—against my better judgement, I might add—I shall expect my every request to be obeyed without question. Now, come here!’

This time he succeeded in achieving a favourable response. Lightly grasping the member held shyly out to him, he felt for his quizzing glass and through it studied slender tapering fingers and short clean nails. ‘As I suspected, you are not accustomed to hard labour.’

Releasing the finely boned wrist, he reached for the decanter conveniently positioned on the table beside his chair and proceeded to pour out two glasses. ‘As I cannot imagine you have quenched your thirst for several hours, you may sit yourself and join me in a glass of wine.’

Although her expression clearly revealed a hint of speculation, there was nothing to suggest that she might have considered it in the least odd to be asked to partake of refreshment in the company of an aristocrat, which succeeded only in intriguing him still further.

‘Were you truly in earnest when you declared you were in need of a servant, my lord?’ she asked, before sampling her wine in a very ladylike manner.

‘I should not otherwise have said so, child. But before we come to any firm arrangement, I shall need to know a little more about you. Firstly, from whom did you acquire an education?’

There was no mistaking the mischievous little smile before she said, ‘From the former rector of our parish, sir. My mother was his cook-housekeeper for a number of years, and—and he had a fondness for me.’

‘And your father?’

‘I never knew him, and he never knew of my existence. He was a soldier, sir, and died in the service of his country shortly after I was born.’

Studying her above the rim of his glass, his lordship considered what she had revealed thus far. She might well have told him the absolute truth. But it was also possible that if she was indeed the bastard daughter of some person of standing, her mother might well have spun the yarn about a deceased father in order to maintain the appearance of respectability. Undeniably the girl had a quiet dignity that was not feigned, and that certainly suggested she believed her parentage to be above reproach. Which made lending herself to such a start even more surprising!

Deciding to refrain from questioning her further for the present, he said, ‘I am satisfied you could perform the duties of a page. If you should choose to avail yourself of the position, I shall have a new set of clothes made for you on the morrow.’

She betrayed no sign whatsoever of being delighted by the offer. In fact, if anything, there was a hint of mistrust as she asked, ‘But why should you require a page, sir? Are you married?’

‘And what has that to say to anything, pray?’ He cast her a look of exasperation. ‘No, I am not, as it happens. Why do you ask?’

There was a suspicion of a twitch at the side of the perfectly shaped mouth again. ‘Well, because it’s usually ladies who engage pages, sir.’

‘Not always,’ he countered, and then smiled grimly. ‘And that is one of the reasons why I’m prepared to engage your services. I feel the most overwhelming desire to annoy a certain acquaintance of mine. He shall find it quite irksome when he sets eyes on you for the first time.’

‘Shall he, my lord?’

‘Most definitely, child! And now you may begin your duties by tugging the bell-pull, there, by the hearth.’

Taking her immediate compliance to his request to mean that she had accepted the post, he sat quietly, considering his latest responsibility until the summons was answered, and then turned his attention to his major-domo.

‘The child you see before you, Brindle, is my new page.’

Not even by so much as a slight raising of one greying brow did the butler betray surprise, even though there had never been a page employed in the household for as long as he had been in service with the family.

‘Is there a spare room in the servants’ quarters?’

‘Not one that isn’t presently occupied or used for storage, my lord. He could share with the boots for tonight, I suppose, or perhaps it would be best if he doubled up with James, the footman. His room is slightly larger.’

The Viscount frowned heavily. ‘No. For the time being he may use the small room my niece occupies when she stays here.’ Once again he looked directly up at his butler. ‘Now, pay attention, Brindle. Tomorrow, I wish you to take the boy out and buy him a new set of clothes, and whatever other little necessities he might need. In the meantime he is to be fed and you are to arrange for a hipbath to be taken up to his room, where you are to leave him until he rings for it to be taken away. Is that understood? He is also to have his supper up there on a tray. Do not rouse him in the morning. I dare say he is possessed of wits enough to find his own way down to the kitchen.’

‘Very good, my lord. Will there be anything else?’

‘Yes, you may allow Ronan to bear me company for the rest of the evening.’

His lordship acknowledged with a mere nod of his head the shyly spoken ‘goodnight’ from his latest employee. So deep in thought did he quickly become that he was hardly aware when the door opened softly a few minutes later; it was only when his favourite hunting dog came gambolling across the library towards him that he came out of his brown study long enough to return the affectionate greeting with a pat.

‘Am I being foolish beyond measure even to consider housing the chit, Ronan?’ Lord Fincham murmured, his mind having quickly returned to the enigma besetting him at the present time. ‘After all, she is nothing to me.’

The dog, now happily settled on the carpet at his master’s feet, merely cocked an ear, while his lordship smiled grimly. ‘It cannot be denied, though, the minx has certainly succeeded in pricking my conscience. No mean feat, old fellow, I can tell you! But am I being foolish to give her the benefit of the doubt?’ He considered for a moment, before acknowledging aloud, ‘I did the same over you, of course, some three years ago, when the gamekeeper assured me you’d never make a decent gun dog. You have more than repaid my belief in you. Will she do the same, I wonder?’

His lordship gazed down lazily at his favourite dog. ‘It will be interesting to see how you react to the boygirl who will be sleeping in my niece’s bed. After all, you are not overly fond of many people, are you, boy? But, firstly, I must satisfy myself that she is indeed the innocent she appears to be. No doubt some scheme to do precisely that shall occur to me before the morrow. Yes, I shall use the night hours to consider.

‘Then we shall see ‘

Chapter Two

It was Lord Fincham’s custom to rise late in the mornings when residing in town and the following day proved no exception. Every member of his household, not least of which was his personal valet, was awake to his lordship’s every desire and need. Consequently, his hipbath awaited him in the dressing room the instant he had broken his fast and had risen from the large four-poster in the master bedchamber.

Unlike so many of his contemporaries, his lordship had always been a champion of personal hygiene. Eschewing the use of strong perfumes in order to mask unpleasant odours, he had always bathed regularly, something which was becoming increasingly popular since the arrival of that astute arbiter of good taste, George Bryan Brummell, on the London scene a couple of years or so before.

The Beau had set a fashion in gentleman’s attire that many of the younger members in society had quickly attempted to ape—with varying degrees of success, it had to be said. Perhaps because he was so resolute and too discerning a gentleman to be influenced by the latest affectations, Lord Fincham had yet to adopt the less flamboyant styles of dress advocated by Brummell.

He continued to wear silks, velvets and brocades, and an abundance of lace. His wardrobe boasted many fine coats in a range of vibrant colours and in richly embroidered materials. He favoured, still, knee-breeches, and his hair remained long and tied back at the nape of his neck with a length of black velvet ribbon.

In fact, it was only his lordship’s hair that had ever caused his pernickety valet the least consternation. Not once in the eight years he had served the Viscount had Napes had recourse to a powder box. Nor had he ever persuaded his master to don a wig. In every other respect, however, Napes could find no fault with his lordship, and was secretly so very proud to have the dressing of a physique that was truly without flaw. Shoulders, chest and waist were perfectly proportioned and long legs were so straight and well muscled that no artificial aids to correct the tiniest defect had ever been employed.

After washing his own hair, his lordship allowed Napes to pour a pitcher of warm water over his head, and then leaned back, happy to relax for longer than usual as he had nothing planned for what little remained of the morning. For a moment or two he absently studied the valet’s progress, as Napes went about the dressing room collecting various discarded items of clothing, before his mind returned to the matter that had so occupied his thoughts during the early hours before sleep had finally claimed him.

‘Tell me, Napes, have you had the felicity of making the acquaintance of the most recent addition to the household staff?’

‘Indeed I have, my lord,’ he answered in a flat tone that betrayed his complete lack of interest in the new arrival.

His lordship wasn’t unduly surprised by this indifference. Only in matters of dress did his valet betray the least animation. ‘Has the boy broken his fast?’

This did cause the valet to betray a look of mild surprise. ‘I believe so, my lord. He was in the kitchen with Cook earlier, chattering away about something or other. Will there be anything else, my lord? If not, I shall take these soiled items down to the laundry and return presently with clean linen.’

Through narrowed eyes his lordship followed the valet’s progress across to the door. ‘Yes, do that, Napes. But send the boy up with the linen, and then return yourself. I rather fancy indulging in a long soak this morning.’

It was some ten minutes later before there was a slight scratch on the door. Experiencing a sense of grim satisfaction, his lordship bade enter, and then watched the most recent acquisition to his household take a step or two into the room, before stopping dead in her tracks. Violet eyes, betraying a marked degree of mingled embarrassment and doubt, widened noticeably, before lowering to consider some imaginary spot on the floor.

‘I—I’m s-sorry, my lord. Mr Napes quite failed to mention you were still at your ablutions. Where shall I put these?’

‘Oh, just put them down anywhere, child, and pass me the towel,’ he responded with supreme unconcern, while quite deliberately raising himself slowly from the concealing waters of the hipbath. ‘Look lively, lad!’

The mild rebuke was sufficient to regain the page’s full attention. Then a look of fascinated horror, not to mention utter disbelief, gripped delicate features as those striking orbs remained glued to a certain portion of his lordship’s anatomy located between the waist and the knees. A stifled exclamation of alarm quickly followed, the pile of recently laundered shirts was tossed in the air and then fell to the floor as though so many worthless rags, a moment before Master Green fled the room as though the devil himself were nipping at her heels.

Highly amused by the outcome of his little experiment, his lordship gave vent to a roar of appreciative laughter, uncaring whether it could be heard or not by his unconventional and highly discomposed young page.

‘That,’ he murmured, as he wrapped himself in a huge towel and wandered through to his bedchamber again, ‘was most illuminating. Though not particularly flattering, now I come to consider the matter. I’ve never had any unfavourable comments about my manly attributes before!’

‘Beg pardon, my lord.’ Like a cat on the prowl, Napes had slipped silently into the room. There was in his eye a watchful look, as he made his way towards the dressing table where his master sat, running a comb through his damp hair. There was a suggestion, too, of peevishness about the valet’s mouth.

His lordship could hazard a fairly shrewd guess as to why his valet felt aggrieved, but chose not to pander to the excellent dresser’s feelings of wounded pride at having had an underling usurp his exalted place in the dressing room and raised one hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Merely thinking aloud, Napes,’ he assured him, and then watched as the servant disappeared into the adjoining room.

The strangled cry that quickly followed came as no great surprise to his lordship either. Nor, it had to be said, did the subsequently voiced strictures on allowing unskilled menials to handle clothing of such fine quality.

‘For heaven’s sake, calm yourself, man!’ his lordship ordered. ‘The confounded garments aren’t ruined.’

‘None the less, my lord, the boy must learn to take more care of your belongings if … if you wish him to share my duties. He should be punished for such tardiness.’

When this advice was followed by a decided sniff, his lordship raised his eyes ceilingwards. ‘Be assured, Napes, the child was not hired to replace you, or to relieve you of any of your duties. I merely wished to satisfy myself over—’ His lordship checked abruptly. ‘I merely wished to satisfy myself that he had slept well. All the same, your remarks are timely,’ he added, staring thoughtfully into the glass before him, as he confined his long hair at the nape of his neck with a length of ribbon. ‘Ring for Brindle!’

Whilst awaiting the arrival of his major-domo, the Viscount proceeded to dress himself. Although he allowed his valet to remove the smallest of specks from his clothes and polish his boots and shoes to a looking-glass shine, he preferred, with the exception of his coats, to don his own garments, and always tied his neckcloths himself.

‘You sent for me, my lord,’ the butler said, entering the room in time to witness the valet assisting his lordship into a coat of dark green velvet.

‘I did, Brindle.’ He turned, favouring the high-ranking servant with his full attention. ‘Mark me well … No one, and I mean no one, is to lay violent hands on my new page. If the child commits any slight misdemeanour …’ he couldn’t resist smiling to himself ‘… and I suspect he will commit many, you, and you alone, are to guide him in a gentle, understanding way. If he should seriously transgress, you are to inform me and I shall deal with the matter personally.’

He paused for a moment before adding, ‘I shall be most displeased if I discover my orders have been disobeyed over this matter. Is that understood?’

‘Perfectly, my lord.’

‘And you, Napes …?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Good. Now you may be about your duties. And you, Brindle, locate Master Green’s whereabouts and request him to await me in the library.’

Although the butler automatically bowed and withdrew, his face wore a decidedly thoughtful expression as he made his way down the back stairs to the kitchen, where he found the page happily assisting the cook to shell peas at the large table.

The youth had been there for most of the morning, chattering away quite knowledgeably about various domestic practices to Mrs Willard and helping her out where he could. Clearly the cook had already taken a keen liking to the boy. Perhaps the lad had aroused her motherly instincts, for generally she ruled the kitchen with an iron hand and would brook no interference from anyone. The scullery maid and the boots knew well not to get under her feet and she wasn’t above giving the youngest footman a sound box round the ear, if he happened to catch her in a bad mood. Yet Master Green, seemingly, could do no wrong in her eyes.

And it had to be said the child was no harum-scarum guttersnipe, Brindle considered fair-mindedly, as he made his way towards the large wooden structure taking pride of place in the centre of the room. Not only was the lad well mannered, he spoke, amazingly enough, in a very genteel fashion. Yes, Master Green was something of a mystery.

‘You are to attend his lordship, child.’

There was a suspicion of alarm in the eyes that were raised to the butler’s impassive countenance. ‘Not in his bedchamber, I trust?’

‘It isn’t for you to question where his lordship wishes to see you!’ Napes admonished, entering the kitchen in time to hear the decidedly nervous response.

A considering look took possession of those striking eyes as they followed the valet’s progress across the large room, before it was vanquished by a knowing twinkle.

‘Ah, but you see, Mr Napes, I have no desire to trespass on your domain. I think any skills I might have lie elsewhere, perhaps even here with Mrs Willard.’

‘Oh!’ The valet looked taken aback for a moment, not to say slightly relieved. ‘There’s no need for you to worry yourself on that score, my boy,’ he assured, noticeably less sharply. ‘His lordship demands you await him in the library.’

‘Not quite, Mr Napes,’ the butler corrected when the page had left them. ‘He requested the child await him in the library. Requested, mark you.’

‘Well, that do seem strange, Mr Brindle,’ the cook declared, as the butler, continuing to look perplexed himself, joined her at the table. ‘Mind, the child do have winning ways, I’ll say that for him. Perhaps his lordship has a fondness for the lad.’ She gave a sudden start. ‘Oh, my gawd! You don’t suppose.?’

‘That possibility assuredly crossed my mind,’ the butler admitted, following Cook’s train of thought with little difficulty. ‘But, apart from the hair, the child bears no resemblance to his lordship from what I can see. Nor the master’s late brother, come to that. Besides which, I would have thought he was rather too old to be an offspring of his lordship’s.’

‘Not only that, Mr Brindle, the master were so good natured in his youth,’ Cook reminded him. ‘Never a breath of scandal attached to his name in those days. It was only after he came back from France and discovered what Miss Charlotte had gone and done that changed him.

‘A bit before your time, Mr Napes,’ she explained, when she chanced to catch him frowning down at her, looking bewildered. ‘Miss Charlotte were a close neighbour’s daughter. She and Master Benedict were childhood sweethearts, inseparable they were back in them days. His brother only wanted Master Benedict to finish his studies up at Oxford, then he were happy to give the union his blessing and set Master Benedict up in a nice little property a few miles north of Fincham Park, with a nice bit of land attached to it, too. Well, no sooner does Master Benedict finish his studies than he goes jaunting over to France to help his friend Mr Gingham rescue a cousin, or some such. Wicked goings on over there at the time, Mr Napes, murdering all their betters. Wicked it were!

‘Master Ben were away quite some few weeks, I seem to remember,’ she went on, quickly returning to the point of the story, ‘and when he came back he discovered Miss Charlotte had spent some time in London with an aunt or some such, and had upped and wedded Lord Wenbury.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘He were never the same after that, were he, Mr Brindle? Cold, he became, cold and distant.’

‘He certainly became less approachable,’ the butler was willing to concede. Then he shook his head. ‘But that child seems to have stirred something within him again. I swore I heard him laughing earlier, shortly after I’d shown the lad where his lordship’s dressing room was located, and I was about my duties on the upper floor. I haven’t heard him laugh like that in many a long year.’

‘But where did the young fellow come from, Mr Brindle, that’s what I’d like to know? Ever since he came into the title, his lordship has always trusted your judgement when it comes to hiring staff,’ Cook reminded him. ‘So I don’t think he came from any agency.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t. Just as I’m convinced he’s never been engaged in service before. All I can tell you is his lordship brought him back with him yesterday. No doubt the young fellow will reveal more about himself when he comes to know us better.’

His lordship, seated at his desk in the library, was of a similar mind, and had decided not to bombard his unusual page with questions, but to bide his time in the hope of discovering more.

Only just detecting the light knock on the door, he bade enter and watched the girl come shyly into the room. The glance she cast him was brief in the extreme, before she resolutely stared at the floor, her heightened colour visible even from where his lordship sat. Clearly she was still highly embarrassed over the incident in the dressing room. But it was no more than she deserved! his lordship decided, hardening his heart.

‘Come in and close the door, child, I wish to discuss your duties with you. No, over here,’ he added when she remained where she stood. ‘I have no intention of shouting and becoming hoarse.

‘You may sit yourself down,’ he invited when she had finally managed to edge her way across to the desk, though seemingly still unable to meet his gaze.

Wisely, she had betrayed a certain wariness towards him from the first. Clearly she mistrusted him now, and he didn’t like it—no, not at all. If he was ever to discover the truth about her present circumstances he would, quite naturally, need to win her complete confidence. He was determined to do so and not merely in an attempt to satisfy his curiosity.

‘I understand from my valet that you managed to find your way down to the kitchens this morning. I assume, therefore, you realise there is a dog in the house.’

At long last she met his gaze, albeit briefly. ‘Yes, sir—Ronan.’

‘Ah, so you have become acquainted already—good! I hope you got along. He is not always at his best with strangers, especially those of a young age.’

‘He was all right with me. I gave him a bone, which helped, of course. Your cook wasn’t best pleased, because she wanted it for the stockpot. But she forgave me when I offered to help shell the peas.’

Never in his lordship’s entire life had a servant ever attempted to regale him with a catalogue of goings-on below stairs. Yet this outrageous little madam seemed to consider it the most natural thing in the world! Far from annoyed, he was both amused and intrigued by her attitude and decided to tease her a little.

Leaning back in his chair, he feigned a look of amazement. ‘I never realised until today that peas came in shells. I thought only oysters and certain other sea creatures arrived at the house in such hardened coverings. Which only goes to prove one is never too old to learn.’

It was only by exercising the firmest control that he prevented himself roaring with laughter for the second time that day at the look of mingled disbelief and dismay he received. Even so, he couldn’t prevent his shoulders shaking in his effort to contain his mirth, which instantly alerted his engaging companion to his true state of mind.

‘You were jesting, of course,’ she said, with just a trace of peevishness in her voice.

‘Indeed, I was, child,’ he confirmed. ‘But not about Ronan. I am delighted to hear you both took a liking to each other, because I wish you to take charge of him for most of the time, when he isn’t with me. Take him out for walks, but keep him on the leash whilst anywhere near traffic. I should not be best pleased if harm came to him. And for pity’s sake do not release him in Green Park anywhere near the grazing cows! I do not wish to suffer a visit from the authorities informing me that you have stampeded the herd.’

She gurgled at this, a delightfully infectious sound that brought an answering smile to his own lips. Striking eyes then appeared to consider him intently for a long moment before lowering and staring down at the desk.

‘And are those my only duties, my lord?’

‘No, I shall require you to accompany me out from time to time.’

An arresting look flickered across delicate features. ‘Shall you, sir?’

‘Of course, otherwise I shouldn’t have said so,’ he returned, reaching for his quill in order to begin his correspondence. ‘But until you have acquired new clothes, you may concentrate your efforts on looking after Ronan.’

‘Very good, my lord.’ She rose from the chair and went over to the door. ‘I shall begin by seeing if I cannot persuade Mrs Willard to allow him in the kitchen from time to time. She usually shuts him away in the scullery during the day, I believe.’

‘Is that so?’ Lord Fincham responded absently, reaching for a sheet of paper while gazing across at the door. ‘And who might Mrs Willard be, may I ask?’

He received a look of mock reproach. ‘For an educated man you are sadly ignorant about many things, my lord. She’s your cook, of course!’

‘A word of warning, Master Green,’ the Viscount said, oh, so softly. ‘I am not above taking a birch rod to impertinent young cubs.’

Clearly the threat left her unmoved. He received a further gurgle of infectious laughter in response before he was left alone in the room. Although he shook his head, wondering at himself, he couldn’t resist smiling again. ‘I must be mad to tolerate such an impudent minx under my roof,’ he muttered. ‘Either that, or I’m entering upon my dotage!’

It was four days later before his lordship gave orders for his page to accompany him out. At nine o’clock precisely he descended the staircase to find his most recently acquired servant pacing the chequered hall, awaiting his arrival. Dressed in severest black livery, trimmed only with a fine silver braid, and with a cascade of white lace foaming below the pointed little chin, she appeared every inch the aristocratic gentleman’s pampered page. Only when she heard his footfall and glanced up, those magnificent eyes shining, and those perfectly lovely lips parting in a spontaneous smile, was he reminded of her true sex.

She won no answering smile from him this time, only a brief look of mild concern. ‘Yes, you look very well. You may follow me out to the carriage.’

‘Am I to sit upon the box with the groom, sir?’

‘No, you are not. You are to sit inside with me, for there are certain matters I must discuss with you.’

For the briefest of moments he almost forgot himself and assisted her into the carriage first. His concern quadrupled in an instant. If he was ever to forget himself, and show the least consideration for her true sex, the world he inhabited would be outraged. He didn’t care so much for himself. He was Fincham—a matrimonial prize. Shallow society would soon forgive and forget his slight peccadilloes. But the girl …?

No, she would be ruined in the eyes of the world, he reminded himself. And she didn’t deserve that, even though she would lend herself to such a disgraceful venture as posing as a page. Furthermore, although she might never be granted entrée into the highest echelons of society, she had been gently reared, that much was crystal clear, and she should not be denied the chance to take her place in the genteel world. Perhaps when he had first embarked on this madcap venture he hadn’t considered fully what a responsibility he was taking upon himself. But he realised it now, for he no longer doubted her respectability. Consequently, because he had possibly unwittingly encouraged her, he now felt an obligation to stand if not in place of a guardian, then certainly a protector, until such time as she confided fully her reasons for the charade. Then, once he had discovered why she was so willing to risk her reputation … perhaps even forfeit her rightful place in the world.

Well, he would consider that more fully when the time came, he decided finally. For now, he would do the honourable thing … at least up to a point.

‘Now, child, as this is your first venture into polite society,’ he began, then paused as that little head came round and those oh, so revealing eyes, unable to meet his for more than a second or two, lowered. The reluctance to meet his gaze told him much: it wouldn’t be her first venture into society; she had socialised with members of the ton before she had ever met him. How interesting, he mused. And, of course, dangerous. It made his task all the more problematic.

For a moment he toyed with the idea of returning to the house and ending the charade there and then by confronting her, but decided against it. She was not dull-witted. Evidently she didn’t believe she would be recognised. This time he would trust her judgement, he finally decided.

‘As I was saying, as this is perhaps your—er—first venture into society, I wish you to take very great care. Do not speak to anyone unless spoken to first. And in the unlikely event that you are addressed, then you are to say only that you are Fincham’s page. Most important of all, do not draw attention to yourself by staring at your betters, otherwise I might feel obliged to send you to await me below stairs.’

She regarded him in silence for a moment, a touch of concern easily discernible in her expression. ‘But I may speak with you, sir, if I am … troubled … about something?’

He regarded her intently for a moment. ‘You may always approach me, child, no matter where, no matter when, if there is something of importance you wish to discuss with me.’

This seemed to reassure her, for she smiled brightly, almost trustingly across at him. ‘You have yet to inform me where we are bound, my lord,’ she reminded him, as though she had every right to know.

Retribution would undoubtedly have been swift had his punctilious major-domo overheard an underling commit such a solecism. Or perhaps not where this page was concerned, he corrected silently. Evidently Brindle had obeyed his orders to the letter, with the result that the most recent addition to the staff had yet to learn her place in the Fincham household. Far from annoyed, it rather amused his lordship to have his girl-page so far forget herself on occasions as to treat him as an equal.

‘How very remiss of me, Georgie!’ he declared, with only the faintest betraying twitch at one corner of his mouth. ‘We are bound for the home of the Duke and Duchess of Merton. It is a monstrous pile, so stay close. You might so easily get lost.’

When at last they had arrived at the impressive mansion, his lordship was pleased to note that his advice had been heeded. With the exception of handing their outer garments to a waiting flunkey, she remained dutifully at his heels throughout the time they queued on the impressive staircase, waiting in line to be greeted by the host and hostess. Evidently his major-domo had succeeded during recent days in instilling at least the rudimentary conduct of a page into her. Even so, she did not escape the attention of the eagle-eyed duchess.

‘What new affectation is this, Fincham? Never before have I known you to have a page in tow.’

‘A whim, your Grace. Merely a whim. I succumbed to the most wicked desire to ruffle Sir Willoughby’s feathers. You know how he so hates to be outdone by anyone.’

‘Wicked boy!’ She tapped him flirtatiously on the chest with her fan. ‘I do not doubt you will succeed. A most engaging child you have there. I should be interested to know where you found him. You, however, shall find Sir Willoughby in the card room.’

Instructing his page to follow with a flick of one finger, Lord Fincham entered the opulently decorated ballroom. Huge vases of flowers, supported on marble pedestals, were positioned at frequent intervals down the full length of the long room. Swathes of silk in peach and cream were artistically draped across the walls, and gracefully arching potted palms decorated each and every alcove. It was a sight to take any inexperienced girl’s breath away, and his newly acquired obligation proved no exception. Although she refrained from gaping outright, there was a look of wonder in those magnificent eyes of hers that could so easily betray her true sex to any discerning soul. He decided to veer on the side of caution.

‘Await me over there, Georgie, in that unoccupied alcove. And, remember, do not stare!’

As his hopes were not high at his orders being carried out to the letter, he was neither annoyed nor dismayed to discover on several occasions, when he chanced to glance across at that particular niche, a certain blue-eyed gaze considering quite a number of different guests, and by the looks flitting over that expressive countenance a fair few of those present did not meet with approval.

After doing his duty by standing up with the daughter of the house in whose honour the ball had been arranged, the Viscount wandered across to that certain alcove. ‘I should be interested to hear your opinions, dear child, but I rather fancy you had best express them in private, so for the time being you may accompany me into the card room.’

His lordship quickly spotted the worthy he was most desirous to see, and wandered across to the table in one corner, where two gentlemen sat. One was dressed in formal evening garb, whilst the other, in stark contrast, was clad in the height of fashion that had prevailed during the last decades of the previous century.

The bewigged gentleman in the heavily embroidered gold-coloured coat caught sight of him first, and waved one slender white hand in an airy gesture of welcome. ‘Fincham, old chap! Will you not join us?’

‘Your arrival is timely,’ the other said, rising from his chair. ‘You may take my place and keep our friend Sir Willoughby company, whilst I do my duty in the ballroom.’

‘Poor Gyles. He must keep on the right side of his brother. If Merton was ever to cut his allowance, he would find it hard, with all his extravagancies, to keep his head above water.’ After sweeping the pile of coins before him to one side of the table, Sir Willoughby reached for the cards. ‘What is your pleasure—piquet or French ruff?’

‘Either will suffice,’ the Viscount replied equably.

‘I do not intend to remain for too much longer. I have a further engagement this evening.’

Sir Willoughby’s painted lips curled in a knowing smile. ‘With the divine Caro, I do not doubt.’

When his lordship offered no response, the baronet raised his eyes and, much to his lordship’s silent amusement, suddenly felt for his quizzing-glass in order to study more closely the slender form, clad in severest black velvet, standing dutifully behind the Viscount’s chair.

‘Good gad! That is never your page, Fincham, surely?’

‘Loathe though I am to disabuse you, Trent, but it is, indeed, my page.’

The baronet then transferred his gaze to the slender golden-haired youth standing dutifully a couple of feet behind his own chair. ‘You wretch, Fincham! You’ve acquired him on purpose! I do believe he’s prettier than my own! Such divine eyes!’ He appeared genuinely distressed. ‘You know I cannot abide others possessing prettier things than my own. You must sell him to me at once. At once, do you hear! How much do you want for him? Name your price!’

‘Now that’s an interesting proposition.’ Lord Fincham beckoned with one finger. ‘How much are you worth, Georgie?’

When blue eyes regarded him in a mixture of outrage and disgust, he came perilously close to dissolving into laughter, but was spared any further attacks on his powers of self-control by the arrival of the hostess.

Fincham rose at once to his feet. ‘Your arrival is most timely, your Grace. Sir Willoughby here has lost complete interest in our game. Perhaps you could provide him with another opponent more worthy of his skill?’

‘I very much doubt that, Fincham,’ she responded. ‘Your reputation is widely known. There are few here tonight who would pit their skill against one of the favoured five.’ Her smile faded slightly. ‘Or perhaps it would be more accurate now to say … the favoured four.’

His lordship didn’t attempt to respond to this. After exchanging a few other brief pleasantries with their hostess, he turned to leave and caught an almost frozen look on the face of his page. So deeply entrenched in her own private world did she appear to be that it took two attempts before he could gain her attention and instruct her to follow him from the room.

Putting her sudden disinclination to talk down to the lateness of the hour, and fatigue, he didn’t attempt to make conversation until he had taken leave of the host, and had led the way outside to where his carriage stood awaiting him.

‘Get in, Georgie,’ he ordered, so far forgetting himself as to open the door for her. ‘I shall not be returning to Berkeley Square with you.’ He then turned to his head groom, perched high on the box. ‘I entrust it to you to take care of my page, Perkins. I shall make my own way home in the morning.’ And with that he sauntered off down the road, leaving both his servants to stare after him.

‘But why isn’t he coming with us? Where’s he going, do you suppose?’ a bewildered little voice enquired.

The head groom looked down, askance, at the slight figure by the roadside. ‘Cor blimey, lad. Green by name and green by nature, that’s you! He’s going to pay a visit to his mistress, o’ course! He won’t be getting much sleep tonight, if I knows anything. But I needs mine, so climb aboard and let’s get going!’

The instruction was obeyed, but a moment later the carriage door was slammed shut with considerable violence.

Chapter Three

The following morning Brindle located his quarry with no difficulty whatsoever. Seated at the kitchen table, the page was lending Cook a helping hand as usual, although for some reason seeming less sociable than usual. He didn’t perceive anything untoward in this slightly subdued state. The child had not gone to bed until the early hours, and was no doubt feeling slightly out of spirits through lack of sleep.

‘His lordship has returned to the house, Mrs Willard, and requires breakfast as soon as maybe. He will partake of it in the breakfast parlour and desires you, George, to serve him.’

As this was an undoubted honour bestowed upon one so young and inexperienced, the response was not quite what the butler might have expected.

‘Oh, he does, does he!’ Looking decidedly mutinous, the page rose abruptly from the chair, very nearly toppling it over in the process. ‘Well, he can damn well serve it himself, because I’m going out! Come, Ronan!’

It would have been difficult to say which member of the staff present was most shocked by the outburst. Both the scullery maid and the boots stared open-mouthed as the door leading to the mews was slammed shut by the clearly disgruntled young servant. Even Mrs Willard appeared taken aback by the outburst.

‘Well, upon my soul! There’s heat for you, Mr Brindle!’ Cook declared, when she’d recovered from the shock. ‘Have you ever heard the like before? Anyone might suppose the boy doesn’t know his place.’

‘And there you have hit upon it exactly, Mrs Willard, because I do not believe he does know his place!’ Napes announced, having entered the kitchen in time to witness the shocking outburst. ‘And he should be made to learn it! It’s no good, Mr Brindle,’ he continued. ‘I know you look kindly upon the boy, and have from the first, but behaviour of that sort cannot go unpunished. His lordship should be told about this appalling breach of conduct.’

‘But not by you, Mr Napes,’ the butler countered. ‘Kindly remember I am in charge here; I shall decide how best to deal with the matter.’

In truth, the highly skilled and diligent major-domo was in something of a quandary. He was fully aware that it was essential to maintain discipline and standards below stairs at all times, otherwise his authority would quickly be called into question. Yet, at the same time, the valet had been so right: he had developed a genuine fondness for his latest protégé.

Only the day before the boy had joined him at the table, without being instructed to do so, and had helped polish the silver. He had performed the task well. But, then, everything the child attempted he did well, Brindle reminded himself. The page’s culinary skills were quite remarkable in one so young. Even Cook had said he would make a fine chef if he were ever to apply himself. From the first he had proved himself to be willing and able, and so cheerful for the most part. Yet, today, for some reason.

Undecided how best to deal with the matter, Brindle gave instructions for the selection of breakfast dishes, once prepared, to be conveyed to the small back parlour, and was in the act of arranging them carefully on the side table himself when his lordship entered.

‘Where’s Georgie? Not still abed, I trust?’

After signalling the footman and parlour maid to leave the room, Brindle poured his lordship coffee. ‘No, sir. But he hasn’t—er—returned to the house yet. He’s taken the dog for his customary morning walk.’

‘I see. In that case tell him I wish to see him in the library, when he does return.’

A moment’s silence followed, then, ‘I’ll endeavour to do my poor best, my lord.’

It was over an hour later when the errant page finally put in an appearance. One glance at those delicate features, set in a mutinous glower, was enough to convince the Viscount that all was far from well, and that was even before he received a terse verbal confirmation.

‘Well, you wanted to see me, so here I am!’

After very slowly returning his quill to the standish, his lordship gave his full attention to the slender figure still clasping the handle of the door. Naturally enough he was not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner, most especially by a member of his own household; and although it would be true to say he didn’t seem able to bring himself to look upon the girl as a servant, he felt it was incumbent upon him to attempt to maintain the status quo.

‘I believe I warned you before that I’m not above taking a birch rod to impertinent children,’ he said, oh, so very quietly. ‘I shall not remind you of it a third time, Georgie. So, for your own continued comfort, I would suggest you close the door, come over here and tell me what has put your nose out of joint.’

At least part of the advice was heeded. She did, after a moment or two, close the door and slowly approach the desk, but remained stubbornly silent. A less tolerant man might have lost his patience at this point. His lordship, however, out of consideration for her sex, was determined to maintain a calm authority.

‘And I’m still awaiting an explanation,’ he reminded her gently.

If anything the mutinous expression became more marked before she finally unlocked tightly compressed lips to say, ‘The only reason I’m here is because I wish to make it perfectly plain that it wasn’t Brindle’s fault that I didn’t attend you at breakfast. So you mustn’t blame him. He passed on your message, but … but I was in a bad mood, and so went out.’

His lordship sighed heavily when she volunteered nothing further. ‘We progress, but not very rapidly. Might I be permitted to know why you awoke in such a bad humour? You seemed happy enough last night when I left you.’

When she lowered her eyes and stared steadfastly down somewhere in the region of the standish on his desk, he began to fear he’d learn little else without resorting to coercion. ‘Did something occur on the homeward journey to upset you?’ he asked, grasping at straws. Then a clear memory returned, and he recalled she had seemed rather subdued, after his meeting with a decidedly flamboyant baronet. ‘It wasn’t Sir Willoughby Trent’s nonsensical suggestion about selling you to him that upset you, was it?’

It took a few moments but eventually blue eyes did meet his above the desk for a few brief moments. ‘Well, it wasn’t very nice, was it?’

‘No, it wasn’t very nice,’ he agreed, ‘besides being totally ludicrous. I do not own you, Georgie, you are not my slave. You are free to leave my employ whenever you wish.’

A further moment’s silence, then, ‘Well, that’s all right, then. We need not dwell on the matter any more.’

Although her eyes had once again met his fleetingly as she had said this, it had offered opportunity enough to glimpse an almost calculating look lurking in those violet depths that had given him every reason to suppose the artful little madam had made use of his suggestion about Sir Willoughby’s remarks in order to conceal the source of her true ill humour. He decided, however, not to persevere, and with a complete change of subject asked if she could ride.

She didn’t attempt to hide her surprise. ‘Well, of course I can ride!’

‘In that case you may send word to the stables to have my bay and the chestnut saddled and awaiting us in the Square in fifteen minutes.’

‘Can you make it twenty, my lord?’ she asked, pausing at the door. ‘I must seek out Brindle and apologise to him for my behaviour earlier.’

‘Do not consider me for a moment, child,’ he responded with gentle irony. ‘I shall quite naturally await your convenience.’

It was only by dint of tapping into those deep reserves of self-control that prevented his lordship from bursting into laughter when, half an hour later, they left the house together in order to set off for their ride. She took one look at the chestnut gelding, held securely in the groom’s hand, and her jaw dropped perceptibly as she muttered loud enough for him to hear, ‘Oh, my, I never thought of that!’

He realised at once that it wasn’t so much the horse as the saddle that had brought about mild consternation on her part. Unfortunately, unless he wished to give rise to a deal of gossip and speculation about her, which he had done his utmost to avoid thus far, he could hardly startle the groom by demanding a side-saddle be put on the chestnut. Sensible girl that she was, she quickly realised this herself, and mounted the gelding without further ado and, more importantly, without requesting assistance.

By the time they had ridden out of the Square, Lord Fincham was convinced she was well on the way to mastering the foreign saddle. By the time they had reached Hyde Park, he was satisfied she was an extremely competent horsewoman, possessed of a fine seat and a gentle pair of hands. All the same, he veered on the side of caution and decided to keep to the less crowded areas of the park so that she might enjoy the exercise without having to concentrate on avoiding other riders and the numerous open carriages that filed into the park at, this, the most fashionable hour to be seen abroad. Besides which, he thought it was time to discover a little more about her if he could.

He began with what he considered a fairly safe gambit, and one that wasn’t likely to arouse suspicion. ‘You ride very well, Georgie, my boy. Who taught you?’

‘My godfather, sir,’ she answered promptly enough. Then, smiling faintly, ‘He was lucky enough to keep a horse or two.’

‘Is that so?’ He considered her for a moment in silence. ‘Forgive me if I am in error, Georgie, but I gained the impression from something you said that there was no one responsible for you.’

‘No, you are not wrong, my lord.’ She never attempted to look at him, but continued to stare straight ahead between the chestnut’s ears. ‘My godfather died earlier this year.’

He detected a distinct catch in her voice as she said this, and so decided not to dwell on a subject that had clearly evoked painful memories. None the less, what he had discovered about her thus far, and her general behaviour, only went to confirm what he had suspected from the first.

‘Would I be correct in thinking you were never in service before joining my household, child?’

A moment’s silence, then, ‘You would, my lord. But neither have I lived the life of the privileged few. As I told you, for many years my mother was a cook-housekeeper. I was given an assortment of tasks to do round the vicarage. I was not encouraged to be idle. And my godfather, who resided not too far distant, kept many animals,’ she added, as they returned to one of the main tracks. ‘He especially liked pigs—restful creatures, he called them. I spent a great deal of time with him … and the pigs.’

His lordship was positive she was telling the truth, as far as it went. Yet, it didn’t go anywhere near far enough. There was something fundamental she was keeping to herself. Unfortunately he was denied the opportunity to probe further by the sudden appearance of an open carriage. To have attempted to avoid the encounter by turning his mount in another direction would have been to offer the cut direct, and he had no intention of doing so to the lady whose generous hospitality he had enjoyed the previous evening.

‘Great heavens, Fincham!’ the Duchess of Merton exclaimed, as her open carriage drew to a halt. ‘Twice in as many days! I’m astonished! You usually avoid parading with the fashionable as a rule.’

‘Not always, your Grace. Furthermore, I’ve never attempted to avoid you.’

This clearly pleased her. ‘Oh, you wicked creature! If only I were ten years younger! You see, Lavinia,’ she added, turning to the vapid young lady beside her, ‘you should always heed your mama’s advice. I have warned you to avoid such notorious flirts.’

‘Unjust, your Grace!’ his lordship protested, rising to the occasion by appearing affronted. ‘It can never be said of Fincham that he flirted with innocence.’

She favoured him with an arch look. ‘Well, yes, that’s true enough, I suppose,’ she acknowledged, before stretching forwards to tap the coachman on the shoulder with her parasol.

As soon as the carriage had moved away, the Viscount beckoned Georgie to ride alongside again. ‘You see now, child, why I avoid this place as a rule, at least at this hour of the day. You are obliged to exchange pleasantries with those you least wish to meet.’

At this admission questioning eyes scrutinised his profile. ‘But I thought you liked the duchess, my lord. You seemed very friendly towards her last night.’

‘It would be the height of bad taste to ignore one’s hostess, my dear child. Furthermore, I cannot help but feel a grudging respect for her. Merton is not an easy man, and certainly not one whose company I would seek too often, either.’

There was a hint of speculation in the eyes that remained glued to his lordship’s physiognomy. ‘You prefer his brother, perhaps—Lord Rupert Gyles?’

He considered for a moment. ‘Yes, I suppose I do, even though he can be quite feckless on occasions. However, unlike me, he is generally a very sociable, easygoing soul.’

‘But last night, sir, you seemed very sociable, most especially when you were with Sir Willoughby Trent, and the duchess,’ his companion reminded him, turning to stare straight ahead again, ‘though I didn’t perfectly understand what you were talking about. It puzzled me. Something the duchess said puzzled me.’

‘Indeed? And what was it that bewildered you so much?’ his lordship asked, in a mood to be indulgent.

‘She said something about. “the favoured five".’ A troubled frown marred the perfection of a fine young forehead. ‘But there were dozens and dozens present last night who have been blessed to live a life of luxury. Which five was she referring to in particular?’

‘Ah!’ Enlightenment dawned swiftly enough, but the Viscount dismissed the topic with a wave of one shapely hand. ‘It is nothing, child, a mere bagatelle.’

‘Oh, do tell, my lord! It’s so intriguing!’

‘It would seem, Georgie, my lad, you can be tiresomely persistent when the mood takes you.’ Although he sighed, he was once again inclined to be indulgent. ‘Very well. A few high-ranking society hostesses, her Grace the Duchess of Merton included, coined the name for a small group of gentlemen whom Lady Luck seemed to favour at the gaming tables. They have earned the reputation for playing for high stakes. It is perhaps fortunate, therefore, that they win rather more than they lose, as a rule. As I said, child, it is a piece of nonsense.’

‘But you haven’t told me who these gentlemen are, my lord,’ Georgie reminded him, clearly eager to learn more.

‘Your curiosity is insatiable!’ he scolded, but then immediately afterwards relented when he received a look of wounded pride. ‘Oh, very well. You met two of the group last night—Sir Willoughby and the duchess’s own brother-in-law, Lord Rupert Gyles. Lord Chard, who wasn’t present last night, is a further member, and one of the group died earlier this year.’

‘And who was that, my lord?’ Georgie asked quietly, while all the time keeping her gaze averted.

‘The seventh Earl of Grenville. Apparently he was attacked by a band of highway robbers while returning home to his estate in Gloucestershire.’

‘That is four, my lord,’ she reminded him, when he fell into a brown study. ‘Who is the fifth member?’

All at once there was a suspicion of smugness in the Viscount’s expression. ‘Why, you are in his employ!’

Young eyes were instantly turned in his direction, but almost immediately afterwards lowered before the Viscount had a chance to interpret what was revealed in those strikingly coloured depths for a few brief moments.

That day set the pattern for the following week. Every afternoon his lordship set out for a ride with his striking page. This in itself would not have given rise to comment had not his lordship allowed his young servant to ride beside him, and engaged him in conversation for the most part.

He remained at home for most of the evenings, too, which was most unusual. Ensconced in his library, with only his page to bear him company, he whiled away many happy hours enjoying games of chess with his increasingly endearing companion. Only after his most favoured of servants had retired for the night did he venture forth, sometimes to his club, sometimes to the more intimate surroundings of his mistress’s boudoir.

Then, one evening at the beginning of the following week, Lord Fincham broke with routine and requested his page to accompany him out. Forgoing the carriage, he decided to walk the short distance to where a long-awaited party was being held. Unfortunately the gathering proved a dull affair, and his lordship soon tired of the entertainment on offer. Acting on impulse, he decided to go in search of more genial company, and amusement more fitting his mood.

Consequently, on leaving the party, he hailed a hackney carriage to convey him to a discreet house situated in a much less fashionable area of town, where he knew games for high stakes took place most evenings. He was fortunate enough to discover those he sought, all seated at a table in one of the upstairs rooms, and didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation to join them.

As he took his seat he noticed the eyes of the worthy seated opposite glance beyond his right shoulder to the being standing dutifully behind his lordship’s chair. Although there was a touch of envy, and perhaps a hint of resentment too, in Sir Willoughby’s expression, he made no comment and quickly returned his attention to the cards in his hand.

The man on the Viscount’s left, however, betrayed no such reticence, and announced, ‘Naturally, I’d heard you’d acquired a page, Fincham. Until now I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it. In all the years we’ve been acquainted I’ve never known you succumb to whims and fancies.’

‘And he has not this time, Chard,’ Sir Willoughby assured him, before the Viscount could respond. ‘He acquired the boy merely to vex me, unless I much mistake the matter.’

‘And by your peevish tone, Trent, I would suggest he has succeeded in his objective remarkably well,’ Lord Rupert Gyles put in, shoulders shaking in quiet amusement. ‘But what on earth possessed you to drag him with you to this place, Finch? There are persons enough to fetch wine should you require it, surely?’

This was true enough. Although the owner of the discreet establishment did employ several females to entice customers to part with their money at the various gaming tables, besides encouraging them to drink their fill from his well-stocked cellar, he did attempt to run a respectable house. His lordship wasn’t so na?ve as to suppose more intimate relationships did not take place between certain regular patrons and the immodestly attired young women, but the liaisons were never conducted openly.

All the same, he did wonder what Georgie made of the various young women clad in low-cut diaphanous gowns, which left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He took his eyes off the cards in his hand in order to glance up at her, only to discover her surprisingly enough staring so fixedly at Lord Chard that it was almost as if she were attempting to etch each and every line of his harsh-featured face into her memory.

Her regard, as she well knew, went far beyond what was pleasing. More disturbing, still, was the possible reaction of Chard himself should he happen to realise he was receiving such close scrutiny. He was no fool. He might so easily pierce her disguise if she gained his full attention for any length of time. This hadn’t occurred thus far. Apart from that first cursory glance, Chard had betrayed no interest in the page whatsoever.

Lord Fincham decided it would be best if it remained that way.

‘Fetch me a bottle and a glass, Georgie,’ he said, after gaining her attention by raising a finger, ‘and then go downstairs and await me in the vestibule.’

It was quite some time later before his lordship, sated with gaming, went in search of her. He found her easily enough in the vestibule where he had sent her, but not asleep, as expected, in one of the comfortable chairs. Surprisingly wide-eyed and alert, she was in deep conversation with one of the young flunkies engaged to man the front entrance, and deny admittance to any undesirables.

As he led the way out into the early morning air, his lordship heard a distant church clock chime the hour, and experienced yet another of those increasingly regular pangs of conscience where the being beside him was concerned. There wasn’t a hackney carriage to be seen, so there was nothing for it but to walk at least part of the way home.

‘You should have been in bed hours ago, Georgie. It was extremely remiss of me to drag you out tonight, most especially to that establishment,’ he announced as they set off down the street, heading for the more affluent part of town.

‘Oh, but I enjoyed it, my lord. For me it was an adventure. I’ve never been to such a place before.’

He couldn’t help smiling at this. ‘No, I don’t suppose for a moment you have. None the less, I shouldn’t have taken you there.’ He cast her a sideways glance. ‘What did you make of it, I wonder?’

She shrugged, appearing remarkably unconcerned. ‘The females are little more than painted doxies, engaged to persuade gentlemen to part with their blunt, I shouldn’t wonder. The doormen were characters, though, rather rough and ready, and certainly not to be trusted. But the one you saw me conversing with was rather interesting. His name’s George, as it happens. He seems to know everyone. Addressed all the visitors by name. And knew a deal about them, too.’

Discovering this did precious little to ease his conscience. He couldn’t help wondering what sordid facts she’d discovered about his fellow gamesters, not to mention himself! ‘Dare I ask what he disclosed about me?’

‘Nothing that I hadn’t discovered for myself already.’ She cast him one of those wickedly provocative smiles that he was finding increasingly endearing. ‘Said you were a downy one, awake on every suit.’

The instant he learned this, his lordship felt it might almost have been a prophecy. He heard a church clock chime the quarter, and detected something else, too—footsteps behind, closing fast. Crossing the street, he glanced over his shoulder and saw two persons lurking in the shadows, and a possible third on the other side of the road.

‘Georgie, perchance, have you any money about your person?’

‘Yes, my lord, a few coins.’

‘Enough to hire a carriage?’

‘I should imagine so.’ The look he received was unmistakably one of surprise. ‘Why, you didn’t lose all your money, did you, at the gaming tables?’

Concerned though he was, he couldn’t resist smiling at this. ‘What an alarming thought! But, no, child, my reputation remains untarnished, at least where indulging in games of chance is concerned.’

He was suddenly serious. ‘Now, listen carefully. A little way ahead is a side alley. When we reach it I want you to run down there and stop for nothing and nobody until you come to the wider thoroughfare at the far end. With luck you should locate a hackney carriage without too much difficulty. Return to Berkeley Square and await me there. No questions, Georgie!’ he added, when she opened her mouth to speak, and then quite literally thrust her on her way as they reached the alley.

Almost immediately afterwards he detected the sound of heavy running footsteps and swung round. Whipping aside his cloak, he revealed a sturdy silver-handled walking stick, which he wielded to great effect, rendering the first assailant unconscious with a well-aimed blow to the temple. Unfortunately the footpad’s two accomplices bore down upon him simultaneously, one successfully knocking the trusty weapon from his hand, while the other grasped him from behind, holding fast his arms. The second blow directed at his solar plexus had him momentarily gasping for breath. He then attempted to brace himself for the next onslaught. One moment the burly individual standing in front of him was balling his huge boulder of a fist; the next he was, amazingly enough, toppling to the ground, like some sturdy felled oak.

Out of the corner of his eye, his lordship glimpsed his gallant rescuer, silver-handled walking stick still clasped in one slender hand, and cursed under his breath, while successfully freeing himself from the third assailant’s grasp. Drawing back his arm, he accidentally made contact with a high cheekbone with his elbow. An indignant squeal quickly followed before his lordship floored the last of the would-be robbers with a powerful blow to the jaw.

With one sweep of his arm, the Viscount grasped a slender wrist and assisted Georgie to her feet, not knowing whether to feel angry or grateful. ‘Are you badly hurt, child?’ he demanded, attempting to study her in the gloom.

‘I do not think so, my lord, just slightly bruised.’

‘In that case, remind me to beat you when we get home for disobeying my orders!’

He received a gurgle of mirth in response.

Chapter Four

In view of the fact that he and Georgie had reached their respective bedchambers only just after dawn had broken, the Viscount had left strict instructions that his page was not to be disturbed until he had had sufficient sleep. He himself was denied that pleasure by the arrival the following morning of an unexpected visitor. Ordinarily none of the servants would have entered his bedchamber until he rang for attendance. Brindle, however, was well aware that this particular caller was always welcome, no matter the time of day, and so had no hesitation in making the visitor’s arrival known.

All the same, it was almost an hour later before his lordship made his way down to the breakfast parlour in order to greet his very welcome guest. He was almost sure what had prompted the visit, and so didn’t waste time on needless pleasantries. ‘Would it be presumptuous of me to offer my heartiest congratulations?’

‘Not at all!’ Charles Gingham assured him proudly, rising from the chair in order to clasp the Viscount warmly by the hand. ‘A boy! My wonderful darling girl has only gone and presented me with a fine son. Hale and hearty, the doctor assures me. We’ve named him after you. I hope you don’t object? And we very much desire you to be his godfather.’

‘I would have been most offended had you considered another,’ his lordship admitted suavely. ‘Don’t let me interrupt your breakfast, though, Charles. I see my servants have catered for your needs,’ he added, after considering the huge quantity piled high on his friend’s plate. ‘Your second today, no doubt. But, then, you’ve always boasted a healthy appetite.’

‘Let me tell you I was up at five, unlike you, you slug-a-bed!’ Charles defended, brandishing his fork like a sabre. ‘Why, it’s almost midday! Disgraceful!’

His lordship cast a jaundiced eye in the general direction of the mantel-clock. ‘Dear God, so early!’ he groaned. ‘I shall take leave to remind you that one does not keep country hours whilst residing in town. Furthermore, I dare swear I didn’t reach the comfort of my bed much before you deserted yours this morning.’

After instructing the footman to serve coffee and supply him with ham and eggs, his lordship gestured for the servant to leave. ‘So how long do you propose inflicting your company upon me?’

Charles Gingham frankly laughed, not in the least offended. In fact, he had known the Viscount long enough to be sure that the disgruntled tone of one being imposed upon was a complete sham and that his lifelong friend was in a rare good humour. Which was surprising considering his lordship had had so little sleep.

‘Only until tomorrow, old friend. I intend to place an advertisement about our son’s birth in various journals, and I’ll let a few other friends know personally. But I don’t wish to be away from home for too long, though I expect Louise will be glad of the break. She’s complaining that I fuss about her and little Benedict like a mother hen.’

When the Viscount made no comment, Charles’s thoughts turned from his own domestic bliss to his friend’s well-being. ‘I must say I was half-expecting to discover the knocker had been removed from the door and that you’d returned to the country. When we met up a couple of weeks ago you gave the impression of being heartily bored with town life.’

‘Did I …?’ His lordship was nonplussed for a moment, then shrugged. ‘No, I’m not bored, Charles. Quite the contrary, in fact! Life has suddenly acquired a new and rather fascinating dimension.’

No sooner had he volunteered this information than the parlour door was thrown wide, and Charles turned to see a young servant come striding, quite unbidden, into the room. ‘Do you wish me to accompany you out for a ride later—? Oh, I do beg your pardon, my lord! Brindle quite failed to inform me we had a visitor!’

‘How very remiss of him!’ his lordship responded with gentle mockery, while smiling faintly at the look of bewilderment on his friend’s face. ‘No matter, child, come forwards. You remember Mr Gingham, I trust?’

It surprised his lordship not at all when Georgie came forward to study his friend’s physiognomy quite brazenly, though it clearly wasn’t what Charles was accustomed to. His jaw dropped perceptively when those striking orbs scrutinised his features for a full half-minute.

‘Oh, yes, now I remember you, sir!’

‘Er—do you, my boy?’ Charles asked faintly, much to Lord Fincham’s further amusement ‘Why, yes! You were with us at Deerhampton that day.’

‘Was I …? Yes, I suppose I was,’ Charles returned, evidently still unable to recall precisely where he had encountered the singular young person before. ‘Er—you appear to have the makings of a black eye, young fellow,’ he added, having returned the compliment by scrutinising the delicately featured face and clearly feeling some further comment was expected of him.

‘I know I have!’ was the proud response. ‘His lordship gave it to me.’

This was almost too much for the Viscount’s self control. ‘Go away, you abominable brat!’ he managed with only the faintest trace of a betraying tremor in his voice. ‘And, no, I do not require you to accompany me out today, most especially as you’re sporting that injury. I’m not having the polite world believing I’m some kind of tyrannical monster. What’s more, you are not to venture forth again yourself until the bruise has faded,’ he added above that infectious gurgle of mirth that never failed to win an answering smile from him nowadays.

‘I’m not ashamed of it,’ he was promptly assured. ‘I look upon it as a kind of trophy. I’ve never had one before, you see?’

‘Which only goes to prove that those most closely associated with you in the past must have shown praiseworthy forbearance!’ his lordship parried, which resulted in a further gurgle of that infectious laughter. ‘You may bear me company this evening. I shall not be going out. We shall repair to the library and finish that game of chess we began the other evening.’

Still showing visible signs of complete bewilderment, Charles stared fixedly across the table. ‘Who the deuce was that?’ he demanded to know the instant he and the Viscount were once again enjoying privacy.

His lordship raised his black brows in mock surprise. ‘Why, my page, Charles. Who did you suppose it was?’

‘Don’t try to flummery me, Finch! I’ve known you too long. Since when have you ever required the services of a page?’

‘It would be more accurate to say I acquired one rather than required one. Master Georgie Green has been with me since the day you and I attended that prize fight at Deerhampton.’ He smiled softly as a fond memory returned. ‘After all, it was the least I could do after the child had saved me from possible injury.’

‘Well, I suppose that’s true enough, though I doubt you’d have sustained more than an odd bruise or two, if that,’ Charles responded, having at last recalled precisely where he had seen the young person before. ‘I must say, though, I’m most surprised at you, of all people, tolerating such familiarity that borders on impertinence, most especially in a servant. Clearly the boy doesn’t know his place. I can almost appreciate why you inflicted the black eye, though I don’t usually hold with maltreating flunkies.’

At this the Viscount threw back his head and laughed heartily, something his friend had not witnessed him do in many a long year. ‘I would strongly advise you not to pay heed to everything that little demon tells you.’

‘Do you mean he deliberately lies?’

‘No, I would say, rather, that on occasions Georgie can be somewhat sparing with the truth. I did, indeed, inflict the injury, though it was purely an accident. Against my expressed wishes, the child returned to help me fend off three footpads.’

Betraying a glint of emotion in his dark eyes that was impossible for his friend to define, his lordship fixed his gaze on the silver coffee pot that held pride of place in the centre of the table. ‘At Deerhampton I might, indeed, have sustained only minor injuries—last night was vastly different. Had it not been for my page’s courageous intervention, I might not now be sitting here, having only sustained a minor abrasion or two. It is little wonder, therefore, that I have grown inordinately … fond of that child.’

Suddenly realising he was being observed most keenly, his lordship rose to his feet. ‘And now, if you have finished your repast, let us depart the house and announce the arrival of your own to the world at large!’

Although he refrained from alluding to the subject again, his lordship’s unusual attitude towards one particular servant remained in Mr Gingham’s thoughts. He glimpsed the page again on two occasions only throughout the day. All the same, something about the youth, and he knew not what, struck him as odd. It was not until that evening, however, when he returned to the house, after visiting one or two other friends in the capital, that the truth finally dawned on him.

Entering the library unannounced, he discovered the Viscount and his highly favoured young servant seated on opposite sides of the hearth, both engrossed in a game of chess. Consequently he was given a few precious moments in which to study the intimate little tableau without his presence being detected. Not taking his eyes away for a second, he studied the way the page reached for the glass of wine at his elbow and took the most delicate of sips, and the way slender, tapering fingers moved a chess piece across the board with infinite care. There was only one conclusion he could draw.

‘Why, if it isn’t Mr Gingham!’ Georgie announced, catching sight of him at last. ‘We didn’t expect you back so soon, did we, my lord?’

‘Indeed not, child,’ the Viscount agreed affably, not taking his eyes off the chess board. ‘Draw up a chair, old fellow. I hope you don’t object to us playing a while longer. The game is at a most interesting stage, you see.’

Helping himself to wine, Charles took a chair a little away from the players. ‘Do not consider me for a moment, Finch. I shall be quite content viewing proceedings from here.’

Try though he might to calculate the state of play, he seemed unable to take his eyes off his lordship’s worthy opponent for very long, and the more he studied each and every movement of that slender, lithe young body, the more convinced he became that his startlingly disturbing suspicion was correct. He chanced to glance in the Viscount’s direction at one point, and caught him staring directly back at him, the most enigmatic of smiles hovering about those finely chiselled lips.

The instant the mantel-clock announced the hour of eleven, his lordship leaned back in his chair. ‘Child, it is late, and time you were abed. I shall concede defeat. Well played!’

‘Oh, no, sir! That wouldn’t be fair. I have not beaten you. I shall agree to a draw.’ The smile that accompanied this contrasting decision was so enchantingly lovely it almost took Charles’s breath away.

His lordship seemed quite impervious, however, as he said, ‘Very well, stalemate it is. Be sure I shall issue a further challenge in the near future. Goodnight, Georgie.’

As soon as the door had closed behind the servant Charles sat himself in the recently vacated chair opposite his lordship. He didn’t attempt to speak. More importantly, neither did his lordship. As the silence lengthened between them, Charles couldn’t resist looking across at the Viscount and discovered him with that same inscrutable smile playing about his mouth, while all the time staring fixedly down at the empty hearth. He could contain himself no longer.

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