The rake’s return

A decade ago, wallflower Alyssa Drake’s heart broke when Adam Alistair was banished from Mowbray. Now, he’s back—wealthy, titled and more cynical than before! And Alyssa’s determined not to fall under this notorious rake’s spell ever again...

Reluctant viscount Adam knows only betrayal. But Alyssa proves herself an unexpected ally when he finds his life endangered, and they are forced into a sham engagement. Their betrothal may be fake, but there’s no denying the very real passion that explodes between them!

Alyssa turned around as the door opened and stared at the man who entered.

For one disorientating moment she thought she must have made a mistake—that this was surely not Adam. Even accounting for the ten years that had passed, there seemed nothing but a vague resemblance to connect this tall, hard-looking individual with the young man she remembered.

He was still handsome, but it was almost as if all those layers had been stripped away, exposing a hewn granite core. He was dressed for riding like any country gentleman, in pale buckskins and a dark blue coat, but there was a foreign air about him. Perhaps it was because he was tanned and his dark hair—which had once been carelessly long—was cut unfashionably short. But the greatest difference was in his eyes. She had remembered they were grey, but not that they were so dark and watchful. They expressed no emotion. No recognition. Not even curiosity.

‘Miss Drake?’ he said after a moment. ‘You wished to see me?’

Author Note

I wanted to write a story about betrayal. Not just the cost of romantic betrayal, but the long-lasting emotional impact of the betrayal children experience at the hands of selfish, self-serving or abusive parents. How each subsequent betrayal in life just deepens the wound, driving us to thicken our armor, heighten our battlements, deepen our moats.

Our parents are our first models for learning about trust, self-esteem and unconditional love. If those models are faulty we can still learn from other sources—siblings, other family members, friends and, later in life, lovers—but there will always be scar tissue: a fundamental fault line of wariness and mistrust that any new relationship has to overcome. Trust will have to be earned, built, tested, and only then accepted. But couples who manage to overcome those barriers can often reach much richer emotional levels of intimacy than couples who come to love without question or challenge.

The Reluctant Viscount is just such a story about betrayal and redemption—how two scarred and wary individuals make a difficult and uneasy voyage to overcome the impact of early betrayals, risking their hard-earned emotional safety in order to experience trust and love.

The Reluctant Viscount

Lara Temple

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LARA TEMPLE was three years old when she begged her mother to take the dictation of her first adventure story. Since then she has led a double life—by day she is a high-tech investment professional, who has lived and worked on three continents, but when darkness falls she loses herself in history and romance (at least on the page). Luckily her husband and two beautiful and very energetic children help her weave it all together.

To Andy, husband, friend, lover and fellow voyager through the rocky shoals of life.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Alyssa touched her gloved finger to the stone bust of Heraclites that stood precariously on the edge of the wide desk and gave it a push back to safety. The face of the ancient Greek looked worried, which suited someone who saw the world in a state of unrelenting flux and who was known as the ‘weeping philosopher’. Or perhaps she was just reading into the rugged creases of sculpted skin a concern to mirror her own. And nerves. Right now nerves dominated even the concern that had motivated her visit.

She glanced quickly at her reflection in the large mirror on the other side of the study, but then turned away. Even in her best afternoon dress of palmetto green she looked small and insignificant in the imposing but dilapidated study which had once been the late Lord Delacort’s.

It had all seemed easier in her mind once the idea had surfaced. But facing the butler’s obvious surprise and consternation at her request to see Lord Delacort had been enough to make plain it was extremely foolish to come here.

As Stebbins had led her through the large entrance hall which had been transformed into a maze of building materials and piles of threadbare furniture awaiting disposal, he had glanced worriedly back at her, as if debating whether to advise her to flee while she still could. Alyssa had kept her chin up and her demeanour calm, as if there was nothing in the least improper about calling, unchaperoned, on the scandalous new Viscount Delacort within a week of his arrival in Mowbray. She only hoped her reputation was robust enough to survive this very uncharacteristic act. Aunt Adele would be shocked if she knew what she was doing, but there was no way she could approach Adam in the staid presence of a chaperon. As risky as it was, if she meant to ask Adam for help, this was something she had to do alone.

Right now, concerns of propriety were overshadowed by the greater concern that this was a complete waste of time. However important the issue was to her, it was ludicrous to expect Adam to be willing to help her. And he wasn’t Adam any more, but Lord Delacort, she reminded herself. Ten years and many dramatic events stood between this moment and the last time she had seen him.

She wondered if he would even remember her. She had been little more than a child at the time of the scandal. Not quite eighteen and both younger and older than her age. Perhaps he did—after all, he had been surprisingly kind to her and to her siblings in a town where everyone had regarded them as rather unfortunate and wild encumbrances on the brilliant and reclusive poet living in their midst, whom Mowbray society was proud of, though few in the town, if any, had actually read his poetry.

Adam had been young as well, just twenty-one, still up at Oxford, and a very serious student who had already secured a fellowship for the following year. Though he had clearly been the handsomest of Rowena’s beaus, he had also been quite poor. That was why Alyssa had been immediately suspicious when her angelically beautiful cousin Rowena, the belle of Mowbray, had begun flirting with him.

Alyssa knew her cousin well enough to know that looks would count for little with Rowena, since the only beauty that interested her was her own. She’d had her eyes set on the wealthiest landowner in the area, Lord Moresby, who was almost thirty, and though he clearly admired Rowena, he was proving to be slow on the uptake. But Alyssa had never imagined Rowena would be quite as conniving, or daring, or brutal, as to manoeuvre Adam into believing she was about to elope with him while convincing everyone else he was trying to seduce and abduct her. Amazingly, such a melodramatic plan had achieved everything Rowena had desired, at the minor cost of Adam’s reputation and future. His own family had repudiated him and he had been forced to leave Oxford, and the next Alyssa had heard Adam had left England altogether.

Alyssa had grown up in a flash. She had always known she could not trust her father or Mowbray society to support her, but she had not really understood their power to destroy. The day Mowbray expelled Adam in disgrace was the day she realised she could no longer afford to let her siblings, or herself, continue to be ‘those wild Drake children’. Until that day she had focused on teaching them knowledge. From that day on she focused on transforming them and herself into proper members of society. She would not let them suffer Adam’s fate. And she had succeeded beautifully.

But it was not just fear that had shaken her little universe that day. She had been too young and naïve to realise the significance of just how much she had looked forward to the occasions when Adam would stop by their little garden on his way to or from his family’s home in the town to Delacort Hall, where he’d assisted Burford, the old estate agent.

She often taught her siblings outside in the garden so as not to bother her father, but no one had ever taken any interest in them until Adam had one day at the beginning of that fateful summer. They were so used to being ignored they had not even noticed he had stopped by the low garden wall that separated the garden from the lane and was listening to them with some amusement. When he had taken issue with Alyssa’s interpretation of Homer she had been delighted at the opportunity to argue with someone who truly challenged her. And so, somehow it had become accepted that he could join their al fresco lessons whenever he liked. Then, by the time Rowena had carried out her coup, Alyssa had been unwittingly but very deeply in love.

His abrupt disappearance had left her stricken with a misery she could only force deep inside until it had eventually faded to an imprint, like the lacy skeletons of long-dried leaves she and her siblings had used to collect in the woods as children. And she had learned that unlike some poets’ claims, one did not die of love or go into decline. In fact, she and her family had probably benefited a great deal from the whole affair. Her siblings were now all successfully employed or happily married and she herself had become as highly regarded in Mowbray society as any young woman. And if she had never tried to encourage any of the men who had shown an interest in her despite her lack of a dowry, it was just because none of those men had ever made her feel in the least tempted to go and live at the discretion of their whims and rules. She had enough of that with her father. Although at least he left her alone for six days out of seven as long as she helped him when he demanded and made sure no one interrupted his work.

She shook off her maudlin memories and focused on her task. She knew it would not be easy. Simply because Adam had been kind ten years ago was no reason to expect him to act on her behalf. If even a fraction of the tales about him that had surfaced over the past decade were correct, he was a very different person.

Still, she reminded herself firmly, she could not sit idly by without at least trying to stop Percy, and if there was even the slightest chance Adam might exert his influence, it was worth the embarrassment. For better or for worse, her reputation was sufficiently robust to withstand the possible gossip if it became known she had called on Adam. It might be considered eccentric, but then the Drakes would probably always be regarded as a little odd, despite all of Alyssa’s attempts to smooth out her family’s wrinkles.

The sound of steps in the hallway broke into her thoughts and she turned just as the door opened. For one disorienting moment she thought she must have made a mistake, that this was surely not Adam. Even accounting for the years that had passed, there seemed nothing but a vague resemblance to connect this tall, hard-looking individual with the young man she had known. She remembered most clearly his expression of devastated hurt when he had realised the extent of Rowena’s betrayal that day at the White Hart. And his intent look when he had been explaining Homer in the small garden of their cottage. And the warmth of his quick, amused smile.

He was still handsome, but it was almost as if all those elements had been stripped away, exposing a hewn granite core. And he certainly did not look like he was capable of smiling. He was dressed for riding like any country gentleman in pale buckskins, top boots and a dark blue coat tailored perfectly for his broad shoulders, but he looked much larger than she had remembered and there was a foreign air about him. Perhaps it was because he was tanned and his dark hair, which had once been carelessly long, was cut short in an almost military style. But the greatest difference was in his eyes. She had remembered they were grey, but not that they were so dark and watchful. They expressed no emotion. No recognition. Not even curiosity.

‘Miss Drake?’ he said after a moment. ‘You wished to see me?’

She drew a deep breath. She had no idea how or even whether to proceed. It had seemed natural to bring this problem to him when she heard he had arrived at Delacort Hall. She was honest enough with herself to admit that as much as she truly did need help, she had been happy for an excuse to see him again. But neither consideration seemed to apply to this stranger. She had an urge to protest—you can’t be Adam!

‘Yes,’ she said hurriedly, before she lost what was left of her nerve. ‘I need...I was hoping you could... This is about Percy.’

He frowned and moved further into the room, indicating one of the threadbare old chairs. She sat down and he took a chair opposite her.

‘Percy Somerton? My cousin?’

‘Yes. You see, he is courting my cousin Mary Aldridge. She is an heiress and just turned seventeen. She is living with my aunt in Mowbray.’

‘And why is it important that she be saved from Percy’s clutches? He might be a dandy and a wastrel, but he is hardly a dissolute rake like yours truly.’ He said it so blandly it took her a moment to register the self-mockery in his words. She debated telling him the truth and decided to take the plunge.

‘Frankly I think being a dandy and a wastrel are sufficient reasons to discourage the match, but there is more than that at stake. The truth is that Charlie asked me to watch over her. He likes her, you see, and until he went away to Cambridge I had thought she liked him, too, very much. But he knows he can’t offer for her until he can support himself. Especially since she is an heiress. He is too proud. And she is very young. And impressionable. She was miserable when he went away and Percy was very attentive. So...’

‘So you have taken it on yourself to beat back the ravenous hordes until your brother can stake his claim?’

She ignored the mocking tone and continued.

‘You make it sound like I am interfering. My father is her guardian, after all.’

‘Good God, who in their right mind would appoint your father guardian over a gatepost, let alone a wealthy young woman?’ he asked in genuine surprise and she pressed down hard on a smile. So he did remember something about them at least.

‘Well, she is his niece. And my uncle, Mr Aldridge, was an avid admirer of my father’s work. I often think that was why he married my aunt in the first place. You might not remember, but society considers my father to be a great poet.’

‘Which might explain why society is in the state it is,’ he replied laconically and she couldn’t hold back a gurgle of laughter.

‘So,’ he continued. ‘This is all very edifying, but what does it have to do with me?’

Alyssa’s amusement faded at the coolness in his voice.

‘He is your heir—’ she began, but he cut her off.

‘He is heir to Delacort when the world decides it has had enough of me. Just as I was Ivor’s heir when the man was foolish enough to try to jump a hedge on a horse better suited to a farmer’s cart before he managed to sire an heir of his own. Nothing more than that. Percy is neither my responsibility nor my concern and so I made clear to the tradesmen who seemed to share your opinion that I am responsible for him and should persist in Ivor’s bad habit of bankrolling his extravagances.’

Something in the brutal dismissiveness of his words pushed hard at the knot of confused emotions that was roiling inside her and she felt a welcome surge of anger.

‘He may not be your responsibility, but he is your concern. You may turn your back on it, but you are turning your back on something that exists whether it suits you or not!’

His eyes narrowed and to her surprise a slight smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

‘So you haven’t changed that much after all. I was wondering what all this diffident propriety had to do with the girl who spent most of her time in breeches and dispensing lectures from the branches of the Hungry Tree.’

She flushed. She had read somewhere that it was better to be remembered for something outrageous than not remembered at all, but she wasn’t sure she would agree. She took a deep breath and changed tack.

‘I do not presume to know what you have had to contend with all these years, but I do know that at one point you would not have calmly disregarded a blatant injustice. When Percy was bullying Charlie you—’

He interrupted her again. ‘I had forgotten that! What a memory you have. It seems impossible that that little scamp is up at Cambridge. Is he doing well?’

His expression relaxed into a warm smile that was so at odds with what went before that she once again had a peculiar sense of disorientation. She felt herself smile in an almost involuntary response to this sudden glimpse of the Adam she remembered.

‘Very well,’ she answered. ‘And at almost six feet he is definitely no longer a little scamp. Father wanted him to go to Balliol at Oxford like Terry and he did, but I can completely understand why Charlie preferred to get away from us all, for a while at least.’

The warmth in Adam’s smile receded once again. It was as if he kept stepping in and out of the shadows.

‘Very understandable. I seem to remember your household raised chaos to an art form.’

Alyssa felt the sting of insult. She had done all she could to instil some order into the muddle she had been raised in and she was well aware she had failed most of the time.

‘You have no compunction about saying whatever you please, do you?’ she blurted out.

He smiled lazily.

‘I don’t know why you are so sensitive about some plain speaking. You used to speak your mind freely enough once. It is much easier that way. Principles are a damn nuisance, aren’t they?’

‘They may be, but not having any isn’t much better!’

‘How would you know?’ He laughed.

‘How would you know either?’ she shot back. ‘You may talk all you want about not having any, but it is obvious you do, or at least you did have. Otherwise you would not have helped Charlie.’

‘That is different. I liked the boy. I didn’t have to go against any inclinations to help him. And besides, that was a very, very long time ago.’

‘Well, that’s all principles are, in the end. Rules that make sure we don’t hurt people we care about. Not having any principles means you don’t care about anyone other than yourself.’

His smile twisted, turning cynical.

‘You do go for the jugular, don’t you? It won’t do to try to box me in. I have no intention of getting involved in Percy’s affairs. He is his own master. And frankly you would do better than to interfere in other people’s affairs. I doubt you are doing your brother any favours by keeping Mary pristine for him. The best thing for him would be to fall in and out of love at least a dozen times before he is fool enough to think of marrying someone.’

She felt something close to a snarl of frustration bubble up in her and clamped down on it. She should not have expected anything from him. She stood up.

‘Fine. I will do it myself.’

‘That sounds ominous. Do what?’ he enquired with mild interest as he stood up as well.

‘What do you care?’

‘I may not care, but I am curious. Percy is, as named, very persevering. It will take a great deal to detach him from his quarry if he feels he’s closing in on the scent. And if your father is guardian, I sincerely doubt he will present Percy with much opposition. So you have quite an uphill task ahead. Can I watch you try to rout him?’

She knew he was being purposely aggravating and that by standing there glaring at him she was just feeding his amusement, but she was too upset to care. She had not expected him to be willing, but to realise she could elicit from him nothing but rather sardonic amusement on a matter that was so important to her made her want to do some damage.

‘I don’t remember you being so petty before Rowena got her hooks into you. She really took the man out of you, didn’t she?’ she shot at him contemptuously.

The lazy cynicism disappeared in a flash of fury that was no less alarming for being quickly reined in and for one moment Alyssa felt a spark of fear. Then his lids lowered and he shook his head.

‘And I don’t remember you being vicious. Time leaves its mark on us all. Heraclites had the right of that, didn’t he?’ He nodded at the morose statue on the desk, his mocking smile reasserting itself. Alyssa’s own anger disappeared. She felt weary and depressed. She shook her head as well.

‘I’m sorry, that was vicious. And foolish. And it was foolish to come. I should never have bothered you with this. Goodbye, Lord Delacort.’

She didn’t wait for him to ring for someone to show her out, just walked out of the room almost absently, closing the door behind her.

Chapter Two

Adam remained standing for a few minutes after she left, staring at the door, his mouth flat and stern. He stared down absently at the estate accounts and papers that littered the desk, but turned when the door opened. The man who entered was tall and dark-haired like him, but his eyes were a rich warm brown and right now alert with interest and a hint of amused mischief.

‘I thought we were going for a ride? Or are you too busy being besieged by young ladies? I just saw a very pretty specimen wander off through the garden. The English countryside must have changed quite a bit since my boyhood if young women feel free to call on bachelors unattended, especially bachelors of your dubious reputation. Or is she perhaps an old friend, here to renew your acquaintance?’

Adam shook his head ruefully at the innuendo.

‘Miss Drake doesn’t quite fall under any conventional category, Nick. But she most certainly did not come here on any romantic mission. At least not on her own account. She wanted to enlist my help in spiking Percy’s guns. It seems he has got his mercenary sights on an heiress.’

Nicholas Beauvoir cast a critical eye at the worn and faded chairs, then sighed and sat down, propping his immaculately shining boots on a low table.

‘Good for Percy. Why, does that pretty little thing want him for herself? She hasn’t a chance unless she’s wealthy.’

‘Hardly. She likes Percy less than I do. Apparently her little brother is sweet on the heiress, so Miss Drake is guarding the sheep while her brother is off at Cambridge. And she wants me to help chase off this particular wolf.’

Nicholas opened his brown eyes wide.

‘A very primped and pomaded wolf. But why on earth would she expect you of all people to do that?’

‘No idea. She seems to think it is my duty now that I am the head of this misbegotten family.’

‘I don’t know why anyone would expect that,’ Nicholas said reasonably. ‘They never wanted anything to do with you until Ivor died without male issue. Who would have thought that old Lord Delacort would drop dead and lose two sons to mishaps in a mere five years? If you hadn’t been halfway around the world at the time, I am sure they would have found a way of laying the blame at your door.’

‘I wish one of them at least might have waited until they had sired a son before they died. It’s bad enough being saddled with getting this ruin into some semblance of order, I certainly don’t need furious little bluestockings stomping in demanding I do something about Percy’s fortune hunting.’

Nicholas’s brows rose. ‘Is that what she is? She didn’t look the part. How on earth do you even know her? She must have been little more than a child when you were booted out of the county.’

‘I don’t know, she must have been around sixteen or seventeen. And I know her because amongst other things she very kindly tried to warn me off Rowena. To be fair she was spot on—she told me she was sorry that I was about to be hurt, but Rowena was leading me on and had no real intention of marrying me because I was quite poor and that it was probably all for the best, since she would make me miserable if I were unlucky enough to marry her.’

‘Good God! I would wager you didn’t appreciate the lecture at the time.’

‘I remember hoping she’d fall out of the tree.’

‘What tree?’ Nicholas asked, bemused.

‘The lecture was delivered from a branch of the Hungry Tree, so named for its tendency to capture and demolish her siblings’ balls and kites. Their cottage is on Rowena’s family land and Miss Drake and her siblings were always underfoot somewhere.’

‘Why the devil was she was up in the tree?’

‘Rescuing a ball, I think. I offered to help and got that lecture for my pains. And she said I was too fat.’

Nicholas leaned back, clearly enjoying himself.

‘Too fat? You?’

‘Well, too big to help on any but the lowest branches. I was still in my chivalrous phase, but it was wasted on her. I forgot to mention she used to go around in breeches, of all things. It was the strangest household. Her father was always upstairs in his study, writing abysmal poetry, and I think I saw him less than half a dozen times the whole time we lived in Mowbray. Her siblings were always either up to some mischief or following Alyssa about like a tribe of Indians. They were a law unto themselves.’

Nicholas frowned.

‘She didn’t look wild.’

‘Not wild, precisely. Despite the breeches and the tree-climbing she was trying very hard to turn her ramshackle tribe into a proper little brigade. She used to tutor them en masse out in the garden so they wouldn’t bother their father. She roped me into teaching them some Greek plays. It was very odd. The youngest one was seven, but they all sat there on the grass and drank in Antigone and Oedipus.’

‘Oh, no, Adam, not Oedipus!’

‘That’s what I thought, but she insisted. She said it was important they know the classics. I toned it down as much as I could. They were a good audience—the only ones who showed any interest in what I was studying. My parents certainly never did. The only reason they consented to my going up to Oxford instead of starting work with old Delacort’s estate agent right away was because I received a fellowship. That way I would be up there at Trinity earning old Delacort’s goodwill by making sure Ivor did enough not to get himself sent down. Anything to insinuate us further into the Delacort social fold. My mother always made it clear that the chief redeeming feature of becoming plain Mrs Alistair was the Delacort connection. She was the reason we came to live in Mowbray on old Delacort’s charity in the first place. She always hoped Timothy and Ivor would take at least one of my sisters off her hands, preferably both. Until I ruined everything, that is.’

‘Yes, your mother is a piece of work, all right. Now that I think about it, you haven’t said a word about your family since we returned to England. She should be delighted now that you’ve come into the title and estates, no?’

Adam picked up the bust of Heraclites from his desk and walked over to place him on the mantelpiece. He stood for a moment considering the morose face and his own reflection beyond it, then turned his back on both.

‘“Delighted” is a word I wouldn’t associate with my mother. Now that my sisters are eligibly married the benefit of my newly elevated status is minimal, certainly when balanced against my tarnished reputation. I think now that my father is dead she prefers to remain safely in Northumberland to bask in the borrowed glory of my sisters’ husbands. And thank goodness for that. I am very comfortable with the current arrangement where any communication between us is through my sisters.’

Nicholas shook his head.

‘I can see where you got your stubborn streak, man.’

Adam shrugged.

‘I spent two-thirds of my life doing just about everything she wanted and for one act of folly she demands that the only way to make amends is to erase myself from our family’s life and disappear. She didn’t even have the decency to write to me when Father died. She left that task to Sybil and Cammie. But that knife cuts both ways. I promised myself that was the last time I would do what was proper. I didn’t just erase myself from my family’s life. I erased who I was. So now I can do whatever I want and be accountable to no one.’

‘Well, you can certainly do almost anything you want. But I would argue against your being accountable to no one. You took pretty good care of me when I was sick in Punjab, for example.’

Adam smiled, relaxing.

‘I would have done the same for my horse. Besides, I was responsible for you, in a way. I never understood why you decided to come along. You should have stayed at Oxford, then gone home to Berkshire and married one of those pretty little ladies you were always rhapsodising about.’

‘There you have it in a nutshell. Unlike you, I always wanted to live an adventurous life and being a third son meant there wasn’t much for me to do back in Berkshire, lovely ladies or not. I knew an opportunity when I saw it. That’s not to say there weren’t days I would have much rather stayed safe at home and I won’t be going back to that particular village in Punjab in this lifetime, but all told, joining you was the best decision I’ve made. So, get this dilapidated old mausoleum into shape and let’s return to London, where we can continue to reap the fruits of our labour. As long as you don’t fall back in love with the mercenary Rowena now that we are in the neighbourhood. Is she very beautiful?’

Adam frowned in concentration.

‘I think so.’

‘You think so?’

‘It was a long time ago. I thought so at the time, but I can’t quite remember what she looked like.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Adam. This is the woman who broke your heart and you can’t quite remember what she looks like?’

‘I’m certain she had blue eyes. Everyone kept going on about cornflower orbs.’

‘Blast you, Adam, you’re about as romantic as a wet boot. How do you have such luck with women?’

Adam grinned.

‘Luck has nothing to do with it. But I will certainly continue to leave the romance to you, you old fraud.’

‘Well, I admit to being curious about the woman who was your Helen of Troy and catapulted you into battle, so to speak. She must be ten years married now, which is all for the best. Bored matrons are the easiest of prey. Imagine, Adam—if she had not been such a devious fortune hunter, you might even now be the proud owner of a brood of cornflower-eyed brats.’

‘Thank the heavens she was, then.’ Adam stretched lazily. ‘As much as I resented it at the time, Miss Drake was right—marrying Rowena would have been one version of hell. And getting my pride handed to me so brutally has been very useful. Life has been much more enjoyable since. Sometimes it amazes me to remember just how serious I used to be. And stupid. I honestly thought Rowena was the embodiment of all that was good and right in the world. Unbelievable. As you said yourself, it was the best thing that happened to me.’

‘Probably,’ Nicholas conceded. He glanced sideways at Adam. ‘Still, it is strange that you can’t even remember what this beauty looks like. Seems to me you remember this Miss Drake quite well.’

‘The Drake household was singularly unforgettable. It couldn’t have been any more different from mine. She was a wild little thing with big eyes and her hair in a ribbon, and a mind which would have done an Oxford don proud. The last thing I thought she would become was a pattern card of propriety. Still, the fact that she dared come here, and unchaperoned, shows there is still something of that wilful girl she hasn’t managed to tame.’

‘I still don’t quite understand why she came to you about her cousin and not to her father.’

‘She has an overactive sense of duty and her father has none at all. He is one of the most self-centred people I’ve ever encountered, which is saying a great deal. Unfortunately for her I also don’t have quite the same tribal loyalty. Percy is hardly my concern.’

‘So Miss Drake and her little heiress “go to it”?’

Adam’s eyes narrowed.

‘If you are reduced to quoting Shakespeare, I gather you disapprove,’ he stated, his tone flat. Nicholas shrugged.

‘Not at all. I’m just thinking you might. Disapprove, I mean. Remember I’ve known you since we were eight years old.’

Adam stood up and walked over to the window, staring down at the gardens below.

‘I don’t know what she expects me to do. It’s not as if I have any influence over Percy and I refuse to buy him off. I’ll never be rid of him if I do.’

‘That’s true. The only thing that would convince Percy would be cold hard gold or a wealthier heiress.’

Adam turned back towards Nicholas, his eyes narrowing. ‘You’re probably right,’ he said slowly.

‘I mistrust that look, Adam. Last time I saw it we almost ended up in an Indian jail.’

Adam laughed, his intent expression lightening.

‘Don’t complain. That look, as you call it, earned you a nice fortune.’

‘And I’m grateful. I just don’t want to see you get into any trouble.’

‘What possible trouble can I get into in Mowbray?’

Nicholas raised one brow quizzically. ‘Wasn’t the reason you had to leave England because of the trouble you got into in Mowbray? What if you fall back in love with the beautiful Rowena when you meet her again?’

‘Back in lust, you mean.’

Nicholas shook his head.

‘I don’t know how you became so cynical, Adam. You’re worse than I am.’

‘That bad? Miss Drake attributes it to Rowena taking the man out of me.’

Nicholas’s eyes opened wide. ‘She didn’t say that!’

‘She did. Straight for the jugular, or rather, below the belt. To be fair, she apologised.’

‘Well, that’s all right, then. My goodness, I wouldn’t mind meeting this peculiarity up close. So you’re really going to stay here for a while?’

Adam shrugged and nudged a crate of crumpled documents with his boot. ‘I have to spend a couple of weeks on the estate anyway. The place is a shambles. Apparently neither Timothy nor Ivor had any idea what they were doing, the poor fools. Someone needs to oversee the workmen getting this mausoleum into shape until Thorpe can take over and I can’t leave all the negotiations with the tenants to him, at least not initially.

‘Besides, I have an idea about Percy which just might provide us some entertainment while I am marooned here. Remember when we met with Derek and Ginnie in London? She said she missed her days on the stage now that she was a respectable wife and mother. Perhaps she might like to spend a few days visiting the famous Mowbray spa in the guise of a wealthy widow. She should have no trouble attracting Percy’s attention.’

Nicholas shook his head ruefully. ‘Ginnie would have no trouble attracting a blind man’s attention. She will love the idea and will no doubt talk Derek into approving it. He never could say no to her. Still, take care what you’re at, Adam,’ he cautioned, but Adam merely smiled.

‘For a rake, you’re a timid old lady sometimes, Nick. If you’re so worried, you can stay and keep an eye on me.’

‘London society is a bit thin during the summer months, so I just might linger for a while. And I’ll try not to cut you out with the beauty.’

Chapter Three

Adam pulled on the reins gently and halted the curricle just outside an old Tudor-style building on the High Street where a large sign announcing Milsom’s Bookshop and Circulating Library hung above two large bay windows. This had been one of his favourite places in Mowbray ten years ago and it had not changed at all—the sign was even still very slightly crooked. In fact, it was amazing how little had changed, at least outwardly, in the ten years since he had left.

He handed the reins to Jem, his head groom and the only man amongst his staff whom he trusted with his horses, and jumped out of the curricle. A passing matron with a child hanging on to either hand shot him a look of alarm and hurried ahead, dragging her offspring with her, and Adam sighed. He was beginning to understand what it felt like to be a freak in a travelling fair. Mowbray might not be as large as nearby Oxford, but he would have thought it was large enough to ensure that not everyone had nothing better to do than either stare at him or look uncomfortably away. So far the only people who had treated him as a human being rather than an object of curiosity or a source of possible moral corruption were his servants and tenants, and that had taken a week of cautious interaction. It was as if the whole town had taken a leaf out of his mother’s book and erased all memory of the serious young man who had lived there before the scandal. Now he was merely a caricature of a debauched rake.

He headed into Milsom’s. None of the previous Lord Delacorts had been avid readers and this was one deficiency he wanted to right as soon as possible. He had no intention of spending too much time in Mowbray and he didn’t particularly mind being a social pariah, but if there was no other entertainment to be had while immured in Oxfordshire, he might as well have some good books to read. A bell jangled faintly as he entered and two men on either side of a long counter turned towards him.

‘Adam!’ The younger man straightened abruptly from his lounging position and the ornate silver-rimmed quizzing glass he had been twirling slid from his fingers and hit the counter with a dull thud. He had a boyish face and very pale flaxen hair which demanded all of his valet’s considerable skill to whip into the current au coup de vent fashion of artlessly disordered curls.

‘Lord Delacort,’ said the older man, much more pleasantly, and Adam nodded to him first.

‘Good day, Mr Milsom. Hello, Percy. Mr Milsom, I was hoping you might assist me in purchasing some books. I brought a list...’ He produced the folded list and handed it to the older man, who spread it out on the counter, his eyes brightening as he scanned its length.

‘Yes, indeed...’ he murmured absently, nodding to himself. ‘We have some volumes here, but most I will have to request from London, My Lord.’

‘I understand. There is no hurry, Mr Milsom. Whatever you can provide me with today, I would be grateful.’

‘Of course, My Lord. Right way, My Lord.’ Without a glance at Percy he turned and disappeared into a back room, leaving the cousins together.

Percy’s gaze flickered towards the door and then back to Adam; he raised his quizzing glass and viewed Adam’s riding clothes and caped greatcoat with a slightly derisive twist to his generous mouth.

‘You know, Adam, you really should have Libbet give your valet some advice on tailoring now that you’re settled. Stultz, my fellow. I can see you favour Weston and I can’t fault his fabrics and his stitching, but really, that coat is quite commonplace.’

Adam surveyed Percy’s nipped-waist coat, pale primrose-coloured pantaloons, the carefully arranged cravat secured with a ruby pin and the uncomfortably high shirt points. But the most impressive article of clothing was a waistcoat elaborately embroidered with what looked like tulips and long-tailed parrots, shot through with silver and gold thread.

‘Stultz, you say? I don’t think I could quite carry it off with the same panache as you, Percy. Did I pay for that pin or was it poor Ivor?’

Percy’s hand rose towards the gleaming jewel, then dropped. He straightened, pushing away from the counter.

‘It’s not enough to cut off my allowance. You want to dun me now?’ he asked bitterly.

‘Not unless I have to, Percy. Just try not to annoy me too much while I’m here, will you? I’ll be gone in a couple of weeks and you should have the field back to yourself. At your own expense, though, of course.’

‘Blast it, man, you made your point—I told Libbet we need to scale back, but you can’t cut me off completely, Adam. I’m your heir! I’m a Delacort!’

‘Precisely, you’re another in a long line of useless wastrels, myself included. And right now I happen to be in charge, which means you will have to make do with what you have.’

‘Blast you, Adam, you have no right...’

‘But I have every right, Percy. At least for the moment. Keep that in mind and keep your hand out of my pocket.’

Percy took a step forward.

‘I wish you had—’ He broke off, his face unappealingly crimson.

‘What? Got myself killed and saved everyone the bother of dealing with me? Probably, but the fact is that I didn’t. This is the reality. Deal with it. I am sure Libbet can keep you looking respectable even on your income. Though you might have to forgo these...entertaining waistcoats.’

The ugly look on Percy’s face cleared with such rapidity Adam turned around even before the bells on Milsom’s doors announced new customers. Three ladies entered. The first was a sweet-looking young woman in a bright jonquil pelisse over a white dress with several finely embroidered flounces, whose eyes lit up the moment they settled on Percy. She was followed by a plump woman of indeterminate age and unconvincing bright coppery hair tucked under an impressive high poke bonnet decorated with a spray of scarlet mock cherries. The last to enter was Miss Drake, dressed in a simple rose-coloured pelisse over a white muslin frock. Her gaze narrowed as it settled on the two men and Adam tried not to smile at the evident annoyance in her remarkable eyes.

‘Mr Somerton...’ Miss Aldridge breathed and Percy took a step forward.

‘Miss Aldridge! Mrs Aldridge! Miss Drake! How fortuitous! Would it be too much to hope you might join me for a walk along the garden promenade? It would be such a pity to insult the sun by remaining indoors on such a beautiful day! I promise to escort you back to Milsom’s at the first hint of a cloud.’

Adam watched the expressions on each of the women’s faces appreciatively. Miss Drake’s stony look did nothing to daunt Percy or the young Miss Aldridge, who continued to stare at him with a fatuously blissful look. And since Mrs Aldridge happily assented to the change in their plans, Miss Drake had nothing more to do than announce she would join them once she’d collected the book she had ordered. Percy bowed graciously, tucked Miss Aldridge’s hand about his arm and beckoned Mrs Aldridge to precede him.

Adam watched as the party stepped outside, Percy’s fair hair gleaming halo-like in the summer shine before the doors closed behind them. He felt Alyssa hesitate beside him. He could already anticipate the repeat of her appeal and he cut her off before she could speak.

‘It looks like the die is cast, Miss Drake. She could do worse, you know. He may be a selfish fortune hunter, but he is, as he reminded me, next in line for the Delacort spoils once I cash in my chips. She might even like being a dandy’s wife. At least Percy has Libbet to keep him in good form. And the more I think about it, Charlie has no business thinking he is in love with anyone at his age, or frankly at any age. But certainly not until he has had a chance to enjoy life a little.’

She stiffened as he spoke and her eyes took on the hard glint of emeralds. Her eyes were not pure green, but encased a golden ring, like a sun settling into a lake. It was a strange contrast, both hot and cold, a physical manifestation of her contradictory character, he thought. It was a pity, then, that the cold should prevail.

‘You made yourself quite clear when we last spoke, Lord Delacort. I can’t force you to take your responsibilities seriously, but I can refuse to listen to your opinion as to what might constitute the future happiness of two people I care about.’

‘That puts me in my place. You could always complete the effect by sweeping out.’

‘I am sure that would gratify you, but I am waiting for my book. Why don’t you sweep out, instead?’

Adam’s grin deepened.

‘Careful now. You’ve done a good job becoming a proper Mowbray Miss, but your tree-climbing ways tend to show under pressure.’

‘I wonder if anything of what you once were would show under pressure,’ she shot back. ‘Or have you done too good a job at becoming what everyone thinks you are? I use to think most of the tales about you were the exaggerations of tattle-mongers, but quite frankly I think they weren’t doing you justice. I am not surprised you are so sympathetic to Percy. Useless fribbles must stand by each other, no?’

Adam inspected her approvingly. The exotic slant of her green eyes elevated her face from merely pretty to fascinating. He had no idea why her attack amused rather than annoyed him. It was rather like being growled at by a kitten.

‘That’s better. It is so much more comfortable with gloves off, isn’t it? Unless you are going to try hitting me,’ he added, indicating her clenched fists. ‘In which case, keep your gloves on, it’s less painful.’

She forced open her fisted hands and took a deep breath, stepping back. It was fascinating to see the almost physical transformation as she tucked herself back inside.

‘Are you so bored here in Mowbray you have to resort to squabbling with me? Can you find no better sport?’

‘I am perfectly willing if you are,’ Adam offered. She remained suspended for a moment; then her slightly confused look gave way to a frown even as a flush swept up her cheeks.

‘You cannot just go around saying things like that... Oh, for heaven’s sake, I don’t know why I am even arguing with you. It only seems to encourage you. You are determined to live up to everyone’s expectations of the debauched rake, aren’t you? If this is an example of how you mean to conduct yourself, your reception is unlikely to get any more inviting than what you have witnessed these last few days.’

She turned away resolutely, planting her hands on the counter, her gaze fixed on the closed door behind which Milsom had disappeared. Adam laughed slightly and leaned back against the surface, crossing his arms.

‘Is that what all this anxious staring is all about? Is everyone waiting for me to commit my first act of iniquity? And here I thought it was my past, not my potential future that had everyone scurrying for cover. What on earth do they expect me to do? Set up a harem at the Hall? Hold orgies? Do you all gather to lay odds on the possibilities?’

‘Believe it or not, but you are not the only topic of conversation in Mowbray, Lord Delacort. What on earth is keeping Mr Milsom?’

‘He is busy gathering books for me. Are you in a hurry or are you concerned that too much time spent in my noxious presence will sway you from the true and narrow? Shall I leave? Or would that be presuming too much?’

Her lips pressed together firmly, but he saw a dimple waver. Then she laughed suddenly, her shoulders relaxing, and turned to him with a much friendlier smile, again reminding him of the young girl of ten years ago.

‘I concede defeat. You are far better at provoking than I am at disapproving. Is all this to convince me not to bother you about Percy? I have learned my lesson—I assure you I expect nothing of you.’

Adam told himself his return to Mowbray had made him unnecessarily sensitive to nuance. Her eyes were still warm with amusement and there was nothing to indicate that the bite he felt at her words was intentional. And even if it was, it should make no difference if her opinion of him was as low as everyone else’s in Mowbray. He had long ago stopped caring about other people’s opinions. If there was one thing he was used to, it was being weighed and found wanting. He was not about to pick up that bad habit again simply because he was in the one place he’d told himself he would never come back to.

‘That is a relief,’ he said drily.

She cocked her head to one side, her eyebrows lowering with concern.

‘Have I offended you? I did not mean to, at least not this time.’

‘I am not that easily offended. Being informed I arouse no expectations is hardly offensive. Expectations, like principles, are exceedingly tiresome. A great deal too much effort is spent either trying to live up to them or explaining why one has failed to do so.’

The disconcerting anxiety in her eyes faded, replaced once again by mischievous amusement.

‘You have developed a whole philosophy on the subject, it seems. I am glad your studies have not gone completely to waste.’

‘Who’s being provoking now? And I have made very good use of my studies. The classics set the ground for most challenges one encounters in life, and where they fall short, there are several very useful Sanskrit texts that fill the gaps.’

‘From your tone I gather I should probably not ask which texts,’ she said suspiciously.

‘Not in public at least.’

Her eyes, intent and curious, searched his for a moment, but then her long lashes veiled her eyes and she sighed.

‘And so, once again, we circle back to you trying to shock me. I’m afraid you can’t outdo the moment ten years ago when I realised what Oedipus was really about and you didn’t even mean to shock me then.’

‘I was probably misled by your name. Anyone named after the founder of Carthage should be able to deal with Greek tragedy.’

She smiled, but there was a sharp edge to her expression.

‘Queen Alissa? Nothing so grand. I believe my father suggested my name in one of his very few contributions to our upbringing—I am named after alyssum, the Greek word for sanity. Perhaps he feared having children might threaten his. Now I really should go and keep an eye on Mary and Percy. Aunt Adele is not a very effective chaperon. Could you please tell Mr Milsom I will return later for my book? Good day, Lord Delacort.’

She turned towards the door, not waiting for him to respond. He watched the door close behind her, turning as Mr Milsom stepped hurriedly out of the back room.

‘I was quite certain I heard Miss Drake,’ he said in a puzzled tone as he placed a wrapped stack of books on the counter and pulled a single book from beneath it, brandishing it at the closed door.

‘You did, but she was in a bit of a hurry, I’m afraid,’ Adam informed him.

‘But her book!’

Adam glanced at the book Mr Milsom held and raised his brows as he recognised the title. He had once read part of The Treasure of Orvieto on a voyage between Cape Town and Zanzibar, but it had been lost along with some of his belongings when they had run aground on the African coast. Still, he had read enough to know it was hardly standard reading fare for young women. Perhaps she was collecting it for her father. He had not expected that the reclusive and very annoyingly moralistic poet William Drake would indulge in popular tales of adventure. Still, he had long since learned people were rarely what they appeared.

‘I will deliver it to her, if you like,’ he said and held out his hand imperatively.

Mr Milsom hesitated, looking rather worried, but in the end he handed it over. Authority had its advantages, Adam realised. He rather thought that however diffident people were around him, there was little he could not demand in Mowbray.

Adam added the book to the wrapped stack of books on the counter and stepped outside, heading towards his curricle. He knew he should probably go and deliver her book as promised, but he did not head towards the garden promenade. He wouldn’t mind glancing at the novel again. The aggravating Miss Drake could wait until the next day for her book.

Chapter Four

Adam glanced up at the tree, now devoid of toys and looking somewhat smaller than he remembered. It stood just at the edge of the Drakes’ cottage garden, its extensive roots creeping down the bank and into a small stream that ran alongside the lane towards Mowbray. The cottage was strategically situated at a fork in the lane that connected Mowbray with both Delacort Hall and Rowena’s old home, Nesbit House. Adam had passed it more times than he could remember.

It was rather peculiarly proportioned, with the bottom half rather long and sprawling and the upper storey built on only half the cottage. That was, if he remembered correctly, where the poet was rumoured to live and work, often not appearing for days or even weeks on end. The children had all slept, cooked, eaten and played downstairs, in a world separate both from their parent and often from the outside world. Years ago the cottage had been surrounded by an unkempt wilderness which had been extremely useful for games of hide-and-seek. Now the lawn was trimmed and a profusion of vivid summer flowers crowded neat flower beds along the short gravel path to the house and under the front windows. Despite its small size, the garden looked lush and cheerful and the cottage itself had lost its ramshackle air. It seemed Miss Drake had tamed more than her own appearance and behaviour.

This was the first time since his arrival that he had ventured off Delacort land aside from his trip into Mowbray the previous day. He planned to go riding with Nicholas later, but for the moment he just wanted to walk down the familiar lanes. When his family had first moved to the town he had found every excuse to remain in his students’ lodgings in Oxford, but from the moment he had laid eyes on Rowena, his dedication to the classics had melted under the heat of his infatuation for the local beauty. That last summer he had spent every available moment in Mowbray, vying with her many admirers for the privilege of a smile.

As a poor relation of the old Lord Delacort, effectively living in Mowbray on his charity, Adam had had few illusions about his ability to compete. He should have been suspicious when Rowena started encouraging his attentions, but at the time he had only been convinced that love was triumphing over lucre.

She had played him skilfully, ultimately convincing him that an elopement was their only chance for happiness. Yet he’d found their ‘secret’ rendezvous near the White Hart had been transformed into a scene from the worst music-hall farce with Rowena playing the kidnapped belle, himself as villain, Lord Moresby as Sir Galahad and most of Mowbray as either condemning chorus or avid audience.

He clearly remembered the scene, with his mother standing shoulder to shoulder with old Lord Delacort, demanding he leave that very day, while his father had stood mutely by, eyes downcast. And then there’d been the anticlimax of the farce as the young Miss Drake had elbowed her way past Lord Delacort and demanded that Rowena admit she had planned this all along. Rowena had cleverly fallen into a swoon, judiciously finding herself in Lord Moresby’s arms, and Adam’s fate had been sealed.

‘Not Carthage! Dido is done to death!’ a voice exclaimed and Adam turned around, dragged back from his memories. A man of about sixty was walking down the lane, slightly hunched and with his hands clasped behind his back. He caught sight of Adam and stopped, one hand on the cottage gate, the other extending an accusing finger in Adam’s direction.

‘Carthage will just not do! A different setting is called for!’

His eyes were a paler green than Miss Drake’s, but this was unquestionably the acclaimed poet William Drake.

‘What about Glasgow?’ Adam offered.

‘Glasgow?’ the poet asked, aghast.

‘It is certainly different,’ Adam explained.

They both turned at the sound of a husky laugh.

‘Why not, Father? You might start a new literary fashion,’ Alyssa said as she stepped out of the cottage and headed up the short gravel path towards the gate.

‘Are you acquainted with this philistine?’ Mr Drake demanded.

‘This is Lord Delacort, Father. Lord Delacort, this is my father, Mr William Drake.’

‘Aha! You are the hedonist!’

‘Father!’ Alyssa exclaimed angrily, but Adam merely laughed.

‘You honour me, Mr Drake, but I doubt the original Greek hedonists would consider me worthy of the title. And I don’t think philistine is quite appropriate either. Perhaps you might care to try again? Third time lucky?’

Alyssa giggled and her father threw her a venomous look, swinging open the cottage gate, which gave a squeal of protest.

‘Alyssa, did you find the name of Aeneas’s brother-in-law?’

‘Alcathous, Father.’

‘Alcathous, of course. Well, I am not to be bothered further today. My Aeneas is at a most delicate stage. Good day, Lord Delacort.’

Alyssa remained standing by the gate as her father stalked into the cottage.

‘I am so sorry he—’ she began ruefully, but he cut her off.

‘Don’t apologise. You are not accountable for him.’

She frowned at the annoyance in his voice and pushed slightly at the gate, which squealed again.

‘Fine. I won’t. You are as bad as he is anyway.’

‘Now, that is a worthy insult. Much more effective than your father’s.’

She smiled reluctantly and as her eyes settled on the book in his hand she flushed.

‘I was wondering if you planned to return my book. Mr Milsom was mortified when he realised you hadn’t delivered it as promised.’

‘I almost didn’t. I am only on the fifth chapter. But form prevailed. Do you mean to say this book is for you? Somehow I had thought it must be for your father.’

Her eyes lit up with laugher once more, but there was embarrassment there as well.

‘Hardly. Father does not indulge in reading fiction. He considers all contemporary writing outside of his own to be a waste of ink and paper.’

‘How very broad-minded of him. Still, tales of intrigue in the Sicilian court are hardly conventional reading material for a young woman.’

She shrugged and the light was extinguished from her eyes, as if a cloud had passed between her and the sun.

‘You are an authority, then, on young women’s reading habits? Why shouldn’t a woman read, or even write, about adventures, and travel...or whatever she wishes?’

Adam raised his hands in surrender.

‘I’m not saying they can’t or shouldn’t. Merely that they usually don’t, that is all. I should have known no standard definition would apply to you. I apologise for even suggesting it might.’

‘Your apologies are almost worse than your insults, Lord Delacort. Admitting that I might be right on the grounds that I am peculiar is hardly flattering. If that was even your objective, which I doubt!’

‘Not peculiar. Special,’ he offered. ‘Exceptional?’

She shook her head, but one dimple threatened to appear.

‘I can see you are well used to trying to talk yourself out of trouble. But if this is a sample of your usual efforts, I am surprised you have managed to survive so far.’

‘I am usually more skilful. Fearing for one’s life tends to sharpen one’s focus. Here, take your book. I will ask Milsom for another copy so I can find out what happens after that very improbable hero tries to... Sorry, I shouldn’t reveal the plot...’

Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown and again she looked much more like the resolute but overwhelmed young girl he remembered from years ago.

‘It seems strange that you might enjoy a fictional adventure after you have lived through real ones,’ she said wistfully.

‘Real adventures are rarely as enjoyable as fictional ones, Miss Drake. My strongest memories of my so-called adventures are of fear, hunger, dirt and a very firm resolve never to find myself in a similar situation again if I were lucky enough to survive. Unfortunately I tended to forget these resolutions all too often when either curiosity or greed came into play. But for now I intend to only pursue adventures in printed form.’

He held out the book once more, but she shook her head.

‘You may finish reading it, then. I am busy anyway. Perhaps it will keep you out of trouble. Were you heading into town?’

‘Just wandering.’

Her eyes met his and they softened.

‘Ten years is a long time,’ she said sympathetically.

‘True. I think the Hungry Tree has shrunk.’

Her laughter rolled out, husky and infectious. He moved towards the gate.

‘Why on earth are you still here?’

Her brow contracted in confusion.

‘What?’

‘Why are you still living here, in Mowbray? You must be, what...twenty-six or twenty-seven? You should have been married and as far away from your parasite of a father as possible.’

To his surprise she didn’t seem offended. Her eyes shone with amusement and he noticed now that she had only one dimple, conveying an impression of reined-in mischief. Or an internal battle between warring inclinations.

‘And how is marriage any better? I believe I have a great deal more freedom than most wives.’

‘But hardly the same benefits.’

Her eyes met his with a disconcerting directness. A slight flush spread across her cheekbones, but there was nothing coy or flirtatious in the look. Still, he was disconcerted by the tightening of his body. Without thinking he took another step towards the gate, but stopped as three figures on horseback appeared over the rise, heading in their direction.

Alyssa turned towards them, her face losing its animation, warning him what was coming before he even recognised the riders. He sighed in resignation as Rowena, Lord Moresby and Percy approached. He would have happily avoided this particular meeting, but he knew he would have to deal with this moment eventually. It was best to get it over with sooner rather than later. He stood by the gate inspecting the woman who had changed the course of his life and he felt a sudden stab of disappointment and a sensation of being quite old.

Rowena was undoubtedly beautiful, but he could hardly credit he had ever been young enough to have acted as he had. There had been so many women since her, some even more beautiful than her perfect English porcelain loveliness, but none had ever excited the kind of do-or-die fervour he vaguely remembered she’d inspired in him.

Though her betrayal had been very effective in wrenching him out of his infatuation, in some corner of his mind he had sometimes wondered what it would be like to see her again. The reality, as he watched her pull up her horse a few yards from him, was both a relief and a disappointment.

Even her demeanour now, with her lips slightly parted, her eyes cast down in patently false modesty, was as artificial as any actress on stage. He had fallen in love with a beautiful statue and endowed her with all manner of fine qualities which had absolutely nothing to do with the object of his desire. He felt a flicker of both contempt and pity for the boy he had been, that he hadn’t been able to see what even the young Miss Drake had seen so clearly.

‘Good morning, Alyssa.’ Rowena nodded in Miss Drake’s general direction, but her gaze was on Adam, her lashes dipping over her lovely eyes. ‘Welcome back to Mowbray, Lord Delacort. Percy tells us you have already met since your return and I believe you know my husband, Lord Moresby?’

The power of form over inclination carried them through the necessary polite exchange, but as soon as was decently possible Lord Moresby urged his horse onwards, his jaw set and his face flushed. Rowena, holding her playful mare easily, followed, her smile as serenely self-satisfied as a cat with the remains of a mouse between her paws. Surprisingly Percy lingered for a moment, bowing to Miss Drake with a boyish smile.

‘I trust I will see you, Mrs Aldridge and Miss Aldridge at the Assembly on Thursday, Miss Drake?’

‘I believe so, Mr Somerton.’

‘Lovely, I am looking forward to it.’ He smiled, not in the least abashed by her stiffness towards him. He turned to Adam and nodded abruptly in strong contrast to his sunny approach to Miss Drake, then rode off. Adam turned back to see her watching the riders disappear around a bend in the lane, her mouth tight. He felt quite tired suddenly.

‘So this is what it is going to be like. The sooner I get out of Mowbray, the better.’

‘At least it won’t be boring,’ she offered and he laughed.

‘I think that is a Chinese curse—may you live in interesting times.’

‘You have been to China?’ Her eyes lit up. But just as quickly, the proper young woman reasserted control and she half-turned towards the cottage. ‘I apologise. I dare say it is tedious to be asked questions about your travels all the time. Good day, Lord Delacort.’

‘Was Percy referring to a dance at the Assembly Rooms?’ he asked and she turned back, her brows rising.

‘Yes. They have one every Thursday during summer. Why? You don’t actually mean to attend, do you?’

‘Why not? It might be amusing.’

‘Amusing...’

‘Yes, amusing. As in diverting. Entertaining. After all, this is now my home, at least for the next couple of weeks. It is time I became reacquainted with my neighbours.’

She stood, hands on hips, inspecting him suspiciously, the way she might look at her siblings when they were up to mischief.

‘You do expect the worst of me, don’t you?’ he asked sardonically.

‘Of course not. I was just wondering... You must do as you please.’

‘I usually do.’

‘That much is obvious if even half of what one hears is true,’ she replied with disdain and he felt a surge of annoyance. Everywhere he went in this perfect little corner of England he found more proof that propriety equalled sanctimonious dishonesty. For a moment he had actually thought this peculiar young woman might be cut of a different cloth, but it was all in the trimming—underneath she was the same as all the rest. She might have started out differently, but everything about her now was a statement of conformity. Even the well-tended garden that had replaced the wild jungle of ten years ago was testimony of her descent into grace. The familiar urge to undermine, to topple, prodded at him.

‘Probably more than half, sweetheart. And you never answered my question.’

‘What question?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘And don’t call me sweetheart. You may delight in upsetting people, but I don’t.’

‘Did I call you that? A slip of the tongue. And you are still avoiding my question. Why did you never marry and get out of here? Are you too scared to leave the comfort of Papa’s tyranny or did no one ever ask?’

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open in shock.

‘Are you doing this on purpose? If you think the fact that I am unmarried gives you leave to insult me, you have forgotten who you are dealing with, Adam!’ She turned abruptly and headed towards the house.

Adam bit back a curse. Whatever he thought of her, he had gone too far. He surged after her, grabbing her arm, but immediately dropped it as she turned and directed the full force of her furious gaze up at him.

‘Don’t!’ she bit out between clenched teeth and he took a step back.

‘I apologise. I didn’t mean... I’m a fool.’

‘You don’t have that grace! I never thought you of all people would become a bully! You may think I am weak to have stayed with Father while you were indulging in big, brave adventures around the world, but you know nothing of what it means to be brave for other people even at a cost to yourself. So don’t you dare preach to me ever again!’

Adam remained standing as she swept up the path and into the house.

* * *

When Adam stalked into the breakfast room a quarter of an hour later, Nicholas was sprawled in a chair, still in his dressing gown, holding a cup of coffee.

‘How was the tour of childhood pastures? The coffee’s fresh—’ Nicholas said, but broke off as he registered Adam’s expression. ‘Adam? What’s to? Did something happen? Did you come across the beauty?’

Adam shrugged and poured himself some coffee.

‘I came across the full cast of the Mowbray farce and managed to make a fool of myself.’

‘In front of the beauty?’

‘No. I insulted Miss Drake.’

Nicholas’s brows rose.

‘She of the Hungry Tree? How did you manage to insult her? Did she ask you for help with Percy again?’

‘No. I didn’t give her the chance.’

The silence stretched out for a moment and then Adam continued.

‘I don’t know why I did it. I’m just so tired of all the games people play here. The sooner I’m back in London, or frankly, out of England again, the better. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on her. She is just doing what everyone else does. It’s not her fault she is so desperate to conform.’

‘Well, then, apologise. You’ve annoyed more than your fair share of women these past years, Adam, and you always seem able to get round them in the end.’

Adam met his friend’s gaze.

‘This isn’t the same.’

‘Fine. You’ll probably be antagonising most of the neighbourhood in short order anyway, so might as well start sooner rather than later. Anyway, I’m off to dress and then we’ll go for a good gallop. It will clear your mind.’

Adam sighed and put down his glass.

‘A gallop might be a good idea. There’s an excellent run across the fields to Mare’s Rise. Just be careful of the wooded area once we cross the first field, it gets very narrow between the trees for a hundred yards or so before opening up again.’

‘Good. I’ll let you win this time, since you’re in a foul mood. No leniency the next.’

Adam shook his head, grinning reluctantly.

‘Hubris unbound. Have you ever won yet?’

‘It’s not you, it’s Thunder. He’s an unfair advantage. He’s like that Greek god horse in the Odyssey, you know, Poseidon’s brat. What’s its name? Marmion?’

‘Arion, in the Iliad. And you’ve just given me an idea.’

‘I have? Is it clever? I knew I’d be good for something.’

‘Go and get dressed,’ Adam suggested, unimpressed.

Chapter Five

‘This came for you, miss.’ Betsy laid a small paper-wrapped package on Alyssa’s desk and stood back expectantly. Alyssa looked up from her writing, surprised.

‘For me? From where?’

‘I think it was one of the new footmen from Delacort Hall, miss, but I couldn’t rightly say. I did ask whether it was meant for Mr Drake, but he said, no, it was for Miss Drake.’

Alyssa put down her pen and reached hesitantly for the package and then paused, glancing up.

‘Thank you, Betsy. That is all.’

Betsy withdrew, clearly disappointed to be sent out before the unveiling, and Alyssa sighed. There was no way Betsy would keep this choice piece of gossip to herself and goodness knew what people would make of it. Alone, she untied the package to reveal a small silk pouch with something flat and firm inside. She emptied it on to the desk and an ancient silver coin rolled out and finally settled, showing a standing female figure holding a branch and sceptre. Two thousand years had rubbed away at the letters, but the word ‘Clementia’ was still visible encircling the figure.

She stared at this amazing treasure, a tribute to the Roman goddess of clemency and forgiveness, her heart thumping uncomfortably. After a moment she pressed the tips of her fingers to her eyes, wishing she wasn’t such a fool. It was ridiculous to cry. It was ridiculous to feel anything because of him. She knew this gesture meant nothing. Selfish people were very good at manipulation. Her father was a master at interspersing his domineering commands with clever wheedling and Rowena usually managed to convince everyone around her to do precisely what she wanted in the end. Ten years ago Alyssa had believed Adam was very different, but that had been as much a fiction as any adventure tale she had ever read.

Well, she was through with selfish people who did what they pleased and then thought they could manipulate their victims into forgiving them. She was not a child any longer and she would give no one such power over her ever again. Adam was not a man worth risking her heart over a second time, even in the extremely unlikely event someone like him, who had enjoyed the favours of beautiful women all around the globe, might be interested in a thoroughly provincial oddity who was only mildly pretty. She shoved the coin back into its little pouch. She would return it to Lord Delacort as soon as possible. In a couple of weeks he would be gone from Mowbray once again and everything would return to normal.

* * *

The following morning, Alyssa dressed for walking and set out towards Mare’s Rise. She had debated how to return the coin in the most discreet manner possible, which meant she couldn’t have Betsy deliver it or send it by post. She tried to imagine what the gossipy postmaster, Mr Curtis, would make of it if she asked to send a package to Lord Delacort. Finally she decided her best chance was to waylay Lord Delacort near Mare’s Rise. It was common knowledge he had taken to galloping his thoroughbred, Thunder, along the straight stretch past the rise every morning and this was likely to be her best chance to see him alone and be able to return the coin privately.

It did not take her long to reach Mare’s Rise and before she had even made it to the top she heard the pulse of hooves approaching. She stood on the crest of the small hillock and watched as Thunder lived up to his name, moving across the field towards the lane that ran through the woods so fast he hardly seemed to need the ground beneath him to stay in motion. Rider and horse were beautiful together, she thought. Then they disappeared into the trees. She started walking down the rise, watching the point where they should come into sight again, then stopped abruptly.

The squeal of the horse was so unexpected she wondered if it was perhaps a bird’s cry. Then she picked up her skirt and ran the rest of the way, forcing her way through the low, tight trees and brush that lined the path.

Thunder was standing over Adam and she could hardly see the man, only that he was stretched out on his side on the ground, unmoving. Thunder raised his head at her approach and nickered and Alyssa saw Adam was already raising himself on one elbow. But she didn’t stop running until she had reached them.

‘Are you all right?’ she gasped, clutching her side. ‘Don’t get up yet.’

Adam was still holding Thunder’s reins, but he let them go to brush at the dirt and leaves that clung to him and directed a puzzled look at his horse.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

Alyssa refrained from stating the obvious. ‘I didn’t see the fall. I just heard Thunder cry out and then nothing. He may have tripped in a rabbit hole. Were you off the path?’

Adam pulled himself to his feet with a groan and she resisted the urge to help him.

‘Right in the middle,’ he replied, brushing leaves and twigs from his coat. ‘I always stay in the middle between the trees if we’re coming in fast. There are definitely no rabbit holes or anything there.’

Alyssa frowned and moved towards Thunder. He stood calmly, his left foreleg resting on the tip of the hoof. She bent down to glance at his knee and cannon bone, but aside from scratches she could see no damage, so she turned in the direction they had come from and took a few steps down the lane. The ground was damp and she could clearly see where Thunder had stumbled. She went next towards the trees and knelt down again when she found what she was looking for. After a moment she pushed to her feet, ramming into Adam, who had come to stand behind her. He winced.

‘Careful. I’ve had all the damage I can bear for one day. Let me see.’

She tried to stop him, but then realised the absurdity of the gesture and stood back. He didn’t say a word as he took in the thin stretch of dun-coloured rope wrapped very low around the trunk of a poplar tree.

‘That’s one hell of a prank,’ he said slowly. ‘Did you see anyone around here?’

Alyssa shook her head and after a moment’s hesitation she kneeled down again. She extracted a pair of small scissors from her reticule and sawed off the string.

Adam watched.

‘A memento of my near demise?’

She glanced up at him.

‘Don’t be flippant. You might just as easily have broken your neck at that speed. You are lucky Thunder didn’t break his knees.’

‘Thunder!’ Adam exclaimed, as if waking up, and went back to crouch down by his horse, running his hand gently down the stallion’s legs. Thunder whinnied and nudged Adam with his muzzle.

‘It seems we are both luckier than we deserve, old boy,’ Adam said quietly. ‘Just scrapes and bruises, but we will have Jem put something on that, just in case.’

‘You should have someone put something on you, too,’ Alyssa said, holding out a handkerchief. ‘You’re bleeding.’

Adam glanced down at the small white square of linen she extended.

‘Does this white flag mean you’ve accepted my token of penance?’

She blinked. She had forgotten why she had come. She opened her reticule once again and extracted the silk pouch, holding it out as she had the handkerchief.

‘I can’t keep the coin. It’s too valuable. And besides, I shouldn’t have become so angry—’

‘You had every right,’ he interrupted her, but she raised her hand. She was very aware of the muddy rope she was still holding and she had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched.

‘I may have had the right, but it was still foolish. And a waste of energy. But there is no point in discussing this. You should get Thunder back home. And put something on those scratches.’

‘I’m not eight years old, you know.’

‘So you say. Please take the coin.’

‘It’s a gift. I don’t take back gifts.’

‘Oh, for once, would you not argue! And we shouldn’t be standing here like this. Not after what happened!’

His eyes narrowed.

‘You really are worried, aren’t you? It was just a stupid children’s prank. If they had known what they were doing, they would have secured it higher off the ground. They probably didn’t even realise anything serious might happen.’

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

‘Fine. If you won’t take it, I will send it by the post, which will be unnecessarily embarrassing and costly.’

He ignored her comment and glanced around the forest, frowning.

‘Come, walk with me back to the Hall and I will send you home in the gig. I need to see Thunder back to the stables and I don’t want you walking back alone.’

‘It’s not far...’ she began.

‘I know it isn’t, but if there are mischief-makers out there now, I don’t want you alone with them. Come, you can make sure I don’t keel over on the way, weak from blood loss.’

She smiled reluctantly.

‘So now it is serious.’

‘Of course it is serious. How am I supposed to attend the dance with my face looking as if I’ve been tied in a sack with a wild cat?’

She smiled up at him, thinking he looked unfairly handsome, scratches included. She shook her head and started up the lane to the Hall.

‘It will just lend colour to the stories already making their way around the neighbourhood. I had no idea you were responsible for fomenting rebellions in South America.’

‘I was?’

‘Apparently. There is another one I particularly like. That you cleverly escaped the hangman’s noose in Australia after abducting the governor’s wife and daughter.’

‘Both of them? How precocious of me. Especially since I have never been to Australia. By what stratagem did I effect this escape? It might be useful in case I need to do so in future.’

‘They were sketchy on the details, unfortunately. And then there was the tale that you stole the Sultan of Oman’s prize mare.’

‘That has a grain of truth in it, I’m afraid. But it was the Sultan of Brunei and it isn’t precisely stealing when he himself wagered I couldn’t do it, is it?’

‘Not precisely,’ she admitted. ‘One out of three is not bad. I am sure more tales will surface. It is quite wonderful how you have unleashed the creative forces latent in Mowbray.’

‘I am always glad to be of service.’ He bowed slightly and winced. Her hand went out involuntarily, as if to support him, and he grinned down at her.

‘I repeat. I am not eight years old.’

‘I forget,’ she said tartly and kept walking.

‘No, you’re just used to managing everyone.’

His amused tone took the sting out of his words and she relaxed slightly. He might have changed a great deal in ten years, but his essence was still there. She had remembered him as serious and scholarly, but there’d always been this warm undercurrent of humour and even irreverence, which was probably why her siblings had liked him so much.

‘I’ve offended you again,’ he said suddenly, his voice more serious, and she came out of her reverie.

‘Sorry? I wasn’t listening...’

His frown faded.

‘Well, that puts me in my place.’

They came out of the woods heading towards the stables which stood at the back of Delacort Hall. She barely registered where they were going; her mind kept replaying that moment she had come over the rise and seen him lying there, unmoving. And the image of the rope twined about the tree. They had almost reached the stable when she realised she was still clasping the rope and the pouch with the coin. She thrust them at him.

‘Here, take these.’

He took them automatically, but before he could speak, head groom Jem came out of the stable and hurried towards them.

‘My lord! What happened?’

‘I am fine, Jem, and, more importantly, so is Thunder. We took a spill near Mare’s Rise and Miss Drake was kind enough to come to our aid. Could you have a gig brought round to take her back to Drake Cottage? And have Thunder’s foreleg seen to? I’ll come by the stables in a moment. Oh, and send someone to ask Mr Beauvoir to join us in the stables as well.’

Jem cast Adam a searching look, but merely nodded and took Thunder’s reins, leading him away. Adam pulled off his gloves, inspecting the damage to them ruefully.

‘Thunder’s foreleg and my favourite riding gloves. I’m beginning to be quite annoyed with whoever conceived of this prank. Come, we’ll wait over here by the garden gate. I think it best we stay outdoors.’

She sat down next to him on a bench by the ornate gate leading to the gardens. He cast the gloves, muddy rope and silken pouch on the bench with a carelessness that amazed her.

‘Concerned for my reputation, or yours?’ she asked, ignoring the urge to remonstrate against his casual treatment both of what had just happened and of the precious coin.

‘Mine, of course. There’s a limit to how much abuse it can take.’

‘You passed that limit eons ago, Lord Delacort.’

‘Well, there’s always hope I might come full circle. Who knows? I might even take to writing sermonising poetry like your esteemed sire. Put all my classical learning to good use.’

She shook her head, holding down hard on a smile, and stood up as a groom pulled out of the stable yard in a gig. Adam stopped her by moving between her and the stables, holding her arm lightly.

‘About what happened today...I want to keep that between us.’

She looked up at him, realising she had been mistaken. There was something in his eyes that was anything but casual—he might have treated it lightly, but she could see past that to the implacable determination that probably accounted for his survival so far.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

The hard look in his eyes lightened.

‘Well, I won’t be galloping Thunder for a while.’

She frowned, not in the least reassured by him reverting to humour. She didn’t speak because she knew there was nothing she could say he would listen to. He watched her, his smile turning sardonic.

‘You are a suspicious little thing, aren’t you? But I am serious. I am asking you not to mention anything about this. All right?’ he repeated, still holding her arm. She could feel the rough callouses on his palm and realised what strength it must take to ride a horse like Thunder. His grasp was impersonal, but his fingers were warm on her skin, and despite the fine weather she wished she had worn a long-sleeved dress. She didn’t answer immediately and his grasp tightened slightly as he turned her to face him more fully.

‘All right?’ he asked once more, but his voice sounded distant. She nodded and he drew her towards the gig. She let him hand her up and settled herself beside the groom and didn’t look back as they drove away.

* * *

Adam watched the gig pull away, absently rubbing his hand. When the gig had disappeared behind the trees he glanced down at the peculiar collection on the bench and went to gather the items up. He put the small silken pouch into the pocket of his muddied buckskins, picked up the rope and headed towards the stables.

Nicholas was already there, crouching down next to Thunder as Jem applied a sticky salve to the horse’s scrapes. Nicholas pushed to his feet at Adam’s entrance, but Jem kept at his work. Adam noted, thankfully, that the groom had cleared the stables of its many inhabitants.

‘How is he, Jem?’

‘Lucky, My Lord,’ Jem replied. ‘He’ll mend quick. But I’m curious as to what did this.’ He indicated a long scrape along the front and side of Thunder’s leg and Adam held out the rope.

‘This. Tied low between the trees on the narrow stretch near Mare’s Rise,’ he replied calmly and Nicholas’s brows rose. Jem glanced up, but then went back to applying the salve.

‘I know I am not very popular in these parts, Jem, but do you think there is someone here at the Hall or on the estate who has such a grudge against me? I am asking you to be honest. I won’t hold it against you.’

Jem finished with the salve and rose stiffly to his feet, rubbing his hands thoughtfully on a rag.

‘I know you wouldn’t, My Lord. If you ask me, it is no one at the Hall or on your grounds. They live in hope you’ll stay here permanent like. There’s not a man or boy on the estate who wants to see Mr Somerton in your shoes.’

Adam smiled tightly.

‘Somehow I don’t consider that much of a compliment. But I take your point. Most likely not someone from Delacort. A child’s prank, perhaps? Though somehow this does not quite strike me as a very childish act.’

‘Any youth that malignant is likely to have done similar acts in the past,’ Nicholas added.

‘My thinking as well, Mr Beauvoir, and I haven’t heard of any such mischief in Mowbray. May I see the rope, My Lord?’ Jem asked.

Adam handed it to him. ‘It looks like simple enough rope, I can’t make much from it.’

Jem shook his head. ‘Nor can I. Could find such rope anywhere. I don’t like it, My Lord. Miss Drake isn’t one for gossip, but the stable hands saw the state of your clothes and there’s no hiding Thunder’s leg. There’s bound to be talk again.’

Adam frowned.

‘Again?’

Jem sighed and handed back the rope.

‘When Lord Ivor died so soon after Lord Timothy there was talk of a curse on the Delacorts. Nonsense, but you know countryfolk. There’s no avoiding it.’

Adam frowned.

‘I thought Ivor was thrown by his horse. And Timothy died of inflammation of the lungs.’

‘So did I, but there was some talk at the time. And now you were thrown from your horse as well. These things do happen. I am just saying you be careful. If I might be so bold, I’ve been in service at Delacort for more than forty years and this is the first time I’d be sorry to see a change of hands. We know what’s said about you in Mowbray by those above us, but for all that work here at the Hall, what you’ve done since you came here has got people hopeful things will be different from here on out. So I’d as lief not see you carried back on a hurdle or worse, My Lord.’

Adam felt an uncharacteristic flush rise to his face. He almost told Jem not to count on him too much, but kept his peace.

‘Not my favourite image either, Jem. Let’s keep this between us for now. I need to think. And if you think of anything, let me know. Come on, Nick.’

Nicholas nodded and followed Adam out of the stables. Once out in the open and away from the building, Adam glanced at his friend.

‘You have been unusually quiet, Nick. Impressed by the Delacort Curse?’

His friend’s ready grin appeared.

‘Hardly. I’m no more inclined to the supernatural than you, Adam. I’m just trying to reconcile this...prank, as you call it, with your very foppish cousin.’

‘Not an easy thing to do. I was wondering the same. Somehow I find it hard to imagine Percy scrambling around the forest setting traps. And even though Ivor was unlucky enough to be killed when he was thrown, Percy was raised in the country and he should know the chance of that happening again is pretty slim. Most people don’t break their necks being thrown from a horse. At best he might have hoped I would break a limb or be knocked unconscious. Just petty revenge for cutting him off?’

Nicholas shrugged.

‘Stranger things have happened. You should keep your eyes open. What was that Jem said about Miss Drake?’

Adam grimaced. For some reason he did not want to discuss her part in what had happened.

‘She came across me just after the fall. She found the rope.’

‘What was she doing out near the Rise?’

Adam pulled the silk pouch out of his pocket.

‘She came to acknowledge but return my apology.’

Nicholas took the pouch and emptied the coin into his palm. His brows rose.

‘No wonder. It’s just a tarnished old coin with some scribbles on it. You’re slipping, Adam. That’s what I call adding insult to injury.’

Adam took back the coin and pouch, shaking his head.

‘What a waste of two years at Oxford, Nick. At least Miss Drake recognised its value. Which was precisely why she returned it.’

‘A young lady of strict principles. Not your type. Pity.’

‘Hardly. Since I have no intention of staying here for more than another week, a flirtation would have been impractical even if she was interested.’

Nicholas raised his brows again.

‘Implying you are?’

Adam remembered the heat that had flowed through him when he had taken her arm. He wondered if it was in part because she insisted on not taking him seriously. He was not used to young women treating him with quite that combination of scolding amusement.

‘Being treated like a schoolboy puts me on my mettle.’

Nicholas laughed. ‘What a masterly tactic on her part. Are you sure she isn’t just playing a deep game?’

‘No such luck. She’s no actress, just outspoken.’ He changed the subject. ‘Did you bring your dancing gear?’

‘Of course. I have to have it on hand when I continue to the family pile in Berkshire. Why?’

‘We are going to an Assembly on Thursday. Everyone who is anyone in Mowbray will be there. Percy certainly. And Ginnie.’

‘She agreed? And Derek will let her come?’

‘I received her letter this morning. She said Derek and the boys will have to survive without her for a week and she will be up by chaise tomorrow. She’ll stay at the Fulton Hotel near the Pump Rooms. Apparently she spent the last two days buying clothes and I had my secretary in London supply her with some very expensive baubles so she can make a grand entrance at the Assembly.’

‘Good old Ginnie. She will enjoy being back on the stage, so to speak. Do you think Percy will take the bait?’

‘Hopefully it will keep him occupied and away from both Miss Drake’s cousin and from me.’

Nicholas laughed and rubbed his hands together cheerfully. ‘And I thought I was going to be bored to tears out here in the country. Next we will be attending Public Teas and playing whist with the dowagers. This is shaping up to be a fine holiday.’

Chapter Six

‘What a reception,’ Nicholas murmured appreciatively as they surveyed the Assembly Room and the Assembly Room surveyed them. ‘Reminds me of the time we stumbled into a secret meeting of Thuggees, except that this is perhaps marginally more terrifying. Are you quite certain you didn’t do anything other than try to elope with one of their fair virgins ten years ago? No buried bodies? Alchemy? Necromancy?’

Adam shot him a sardonic look. The ballroom was a slightly smaller copy of the room at the Ship in Brighton. It stood some seventy feet long and was lit by four massive glass chandeliers balancing hundreds of candles. Ten years ago Adam had thought it the epitome of splendour. After years of attending the most sophisticated ballrooms around the world he thought it still held a certain charm and certainly took itself very seriously. He knew Nicholas would milk this for all it was worth.

‘Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’

‘Of course. Who is that alarming dowager holding court in the corner? She either has a squint or she is giving you the evil eye.’

Adam turned in the direction of Nicholas’s nod.

‘Lady Nesbit. Alarming is right. She is Rowena’s grandmother and the undisputed leader of Mowbray society and the Pump Rooms. I used to think she was the driving force behind the snaring of Lord Moresby, but then I realised it was a joint effort with Rowena.’

‘Ah, I surmise that is the beauty next to her, then. My, she is a delectable piece, matron or not. And I see what you mean—she looks very used to leading the dance. Ah, she’s spotted you, man,’ Nicholas whispered. ‘She’s heading straight towards us!’

Adam frowned. He didn’t really want to deal with Rowena now. He had other fish to fry.

‘Lord Delacort. How nice you could come.’

There was such a wealth of innuendo in Rowena’s proper greeting that Adam smiled grudgingly. He bowed.

‘Lady Moresby. May I introduce Mr Nicholas Beauvoir? Nicholas, this is Lady Moresby.’

‘An old friend of Adam’s,’ she clarified, extending her hand. Nicholas bent over her hand formally, his mouth clearly held firmly against a threatening grin.

‘What a coincidence. So am I,’ he replied. ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

Her whole being seemed to convey her conviction that it was indeed a pleasure to make her acquaintance.

‘Are you going to invite me to dance?’ she asked Adam archly as the first notes of a cotillion strained to be heard above the murmur of voices that had increased in intensity as Rowena had intercepted Adam and Nicholas.

But Adam was watching a new couple entering the ballroom. Mr Figgs, the Master of the Pump Rooms, was short and round, with an amiable smile and an impressive head of springy white hair. He was walking proudly beside a woman whose entrance was causing quite as much of a sensation as Rowena’s audacious waylaying of Adam. The new arrival glanced around the room insouciantly, and when her eyes skimmed past Adam and Nicholas, the hint of a smile played about her generous mouth, but her eyes did not linger.

‘I don’t think that is a good idea, Rowena,’ Adam said casually. ‘It was nice to see you again, though.’ He smiled down at her, bowed and moved on. The buzzing around them increased.

Adam found a good vantage point midway through the Assembly Room and he and Nicholas stopped to watch. Ginnie was easy to spot in her dramatic red gown and the diamonds he had provided shimmered as much as the extravagant chandeliers above them. Mr Figgs had introduced her to a serious-looking man Adam vaguely remembered as one of the landowners out by Cumnor. The man looked surprised but not displeased to find himself leading such a dazzling stranger on to the dance floor.

Nicholas glanced over at Adam.

‘You’ve set the fox amongst the hens now, man,’ he said, shaking his head ruefully, and Adam smiled but didn’t answer.

‘Here, isn’t that your pretty tree-climber? What was her name again?’ Nicholas indicated another dancing couple that had come into view and Adam turned.

‘Miss Drake.’

‘She is a pretty thing. And the best dancer here. Introduce me later, will you? I wouldn’t mind seeing those eyes up close.’

‘Don’t be a fool, Nick. I told you she’s not flirtation material. She’s as proper as they come.’

‘Devil a bit. That just ups the stakes. Where’s Percy?’

‘What? Oh. Over to the right, talking with Mr Figgs.’

‘Well, he hasn’t changed much. Still the dandy. Now he’s giving you the evil eye.’

‘He’s furious with me for closing the Delacort purse. He seems to think that as my heir he is entitled to an allowance beyond his own income. I disabused him of that notion.’

‘A kind of advance on your demise? How touching of him. I suppose it must have been a disappointment that you survived. There is a certain irony to that—the last two Lord Delacorts succumb to the most mundane of illnesses and accidents and you endure environments which should by all rights have shaken you free of your mortal coils.’

Adam grinned. ‘That’s the second time you’ve abused Shakespeare in the past few days. Have you been brushing up on your reading behind my back?’

‘Not much else to do while you’re out repairing your predecessors’ damage to the estate. Now that we are making a foray into society I might find something or someone else to occupy me. Wait, look, Percy is on the move and has Mr Figgs in tow. This is almost too easy.’

They watched as the two men moved down the side of the hall, intercepting Ginnie and her dance partner as they stepped off the dance floor. Mr Figgs made the introductions, Percy bowed, smiled angelically and led Ginnie on to the floor to join the set forming for a country dance. Adam scanned the room. Miss Drake was standing by a rosewood sofa where Mrs Aldridge and Miss Aldridge were seated, the latter watching dismally as Percy took his place with the stunning stranger. Miss Drake herself was also watching the pair, her head slightly tilted to one side. Then she glanced down at Miss Aldridge and moved into her line of vision, blocking the dance floor from view.

Adam shook his head. He should have sent her a coin of Artemis, protectress of the vulnerable, rather than Clementia. Miss Drake persisted in trying to shield everyone around her. She took life far too seriously. Someone should teach her how to relax and enjoy herself. With Mr Figgs’s Rules of Conduct at the Assembly Room in mind, he headed leisurely in her direction.

* * *

Alyssa wished she was anywhere but where she was. The whole neighbourhood had been awash with talk once Mr Figgs had disclosed that the new Lord Delacort would be attending Thursday’s ball with his guest, Mr Beauvoir. Between that and talk of his accident, which everyone had bloodthirstily attributed to his notorious recklessness, Adam’s name had come up so often at each of the neighbourhood teas or visits Alyssa had attended with her aunt and cousin that she’d begun to wonder what they’d all spoken of before his return.

The worst had been at Lady Nesbit’s on Tuesday. Rowena had sat with a calculatedly pained look upon her beautiful face and hinted mournfully that Adam had clearly not recovered from his tendre for her, even after all these years. Alyssa had sat and fumed and wished again that he had never returned to Mowbray.

All this excitement reached fever pitch the moment he entered the Assembly Room. Alyssa waited with a sense of impending doom for something terrible to happen. When she saw Rowena approach him she held her breath along with the rest of those present. What followed was so anticlimactic Alyssa almost felt sorry for Rowena. It was worse than if he had snubbed her altogether. But to converse with her with apparent amicability and then move on to stand appreciatively viewing the dazzling widow who had arrived was possibly the worst combination he could have chosen as far as Rowena was concerned.

Alyssa tried to focus on her own concern, Mary, who was now gazing miserably at Percy as he talked animatedly with the lovely widow while leading her through the country dance. Alyssa sighed in frustration. She had still not come up with a plan to detach Mary from Percy. She knew her father would likely consent to any offer not overtly unsuitable. And as Adam had pointed out, Percy was suitable, at least on the surface.

Ever since Ivor had come into the Delacort title, Percy had acted as if he, and not Adam, was next in line. It had been clear that he had assumed, like many others, that Adam was unlikely to survive his exploits. It had not been an outlandish assumption. Even if one discounted many of the accounts of Adam’s escapades as exaggerated, there were protracted periods of silence which gave as much or more food for speculation. Certainly Percy could not be completely blamed for his presumptions. But however disappointed Percy might be, it didn’t mean he had any right to solve his problems by targeting Mary, not while Alyssa had a say in it, and furthermore...

‘Do you waltz?’

She blinked and turned. She had been so intent on the problem she hadn’t even noticed Adam had come to stand beside her.

‘Waltz?’

‘Waltz. The dance. Do you?’

‘I... Yes. But why?’

‘Mr Figgs’s Assembly Room rules state I have to try to make myself agreeable to the company present, by which I gathered he means squire wallflowers and converse with dowagers. So, I suppose if I am to be allowed to attend another dance I must do the pretty and invite some unfortunate maiden to dance. From the list he so helpfully provided I see the next dance is a waltz. Hence the invitation.’

She couldn’t help smiling. She was beginning to realise this man enjoyed being deliberately provoking.

‘How can I resist such a flattering invitation? Wait, I can. Go and find another wallflower. I am busy.’

‘I know, glaring at Percy is hard work. Take a rest. Ah, they are just about to start.’

He grasped her elbow firmly and gave her a little push in the direction of the dance floor, attracting the attention of her aunt and the group of matrons to her right. She caught the alarmed look on her aunt’s face and sighed inwardly. To break free now would attract more attention than to proceed.

‘Fine,’ she said grudgingly and saw the corners of his mouth quirk up in a smile. But he did not reply, just led her on to the dance floor and then, when they were in position, clasped her hand and placed his hand at her waist.

She loved dancing and over her many years at the Assemblies she had danced with most of the men of Mowbray who cared to indulge in the pastime. With some she flirted mildly and with most she stoically endured their total lack of skill while still enjoying the music. But even the most skilled or audacious of her dancing partners had never allowed their hand to sit quite so low on her waist and they certainly maintained a much more decorous distance.

Dancing with Adam was different. She could not point to anything conclusive other than that he employed the Continental rather than English style of the dance, holding her more closely than she was used to. Instead of a light, impersonal pressure his hand was insistent, slightly splayed along her waist, below the line of her stays, so she could feel each finger where it angled her towards him. And his other hand was contrarily so light against hers that his fingers kept shifting against the palm of her glove, only pressing in when he needed to guide her in the dance, so that her whole arm became sensitised. She was accustomed to talking while dancing, but somehow it was hard to focus on anything other than his hands.

She glanced up and met Adam’s dark grey eyes. He wasn’t smiling outright, but a shadow of amusement glinted in his eyes, the same look that she was becoming used to in her encounters with him. As if he knew what she was thinking and found her predicable but mildly entertaining. A wave of annoyance mixed with determination tingled through her.

‘Your hand,’ she said and his brows rose, the picture of innocence.

‘My hand?’

‘A bit lower, please.’

The heads of the dancers next to them turned as he burst out laughing. He slid his hand upwards slightly, very gently, and her body arched away momentarily from the contact before she could call herself to order.

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