Valbourg turned and drew her against him, one hand gently grasping her chin and tilting it back.

His fingers were warm against her skin, the scent of him sweet in her nostrils. Catherine tried to pull away but he held her too firmly. Then his mouth closed over hers—and she had no desire to go anywhere.

Desire exploded like a dried-up seed bursting in the welcome rains of a long-awaited storm. The touch of his mouth, the slow, sensual caress of his lips, set her blood pounding and made her heart race, so that in an instant the protective wall she had built around herself shattered, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.

But, oh, how she wanted this. To feel the strength of his arms around her and to experience the mastery of his kiss. It was everything she had imagined it would be and more. Equal parts heaven … and hell.

AUTHOR NOTE

For the final book in my Gryphon Theatre trilogy I decided to focus on two characters who made their first appearance in NO OCCUPATION FOR A LADY: the dashing Lord Valbourg, eldest son of the Marquess of Alderbury, and the beautiful Catherine Jones, a gifted actress whose ethereal voice earns her the nickname ‘Angel of London'.

Catherine has come a long way from her humble beginnings in remote Wales. Celebrated now as one of London’s finest talents, she lives life on her own terms, refusing to take lovers or to be cast in the role of rich man’s mistress, as so many actresses are. But her reasons for remaining chaste aren’t prompted by a desire to maintain her virginal reputation. Something far more important is at stake. Something Catherine isn’t willing to put at risk.

Valbourg, too, has reasons for keeping the beautiful songbird at a distance. As sole guardian of his late sister’s child, and heir to his father’s title, he knows what entering into a relationship with her would do. But when it comes to love logic seldom enters into it. Sometimes the only way of keeping what you have is giving up what you desire most.

I thoroughly enjoyed exploring the world of Regency theatre, as I did creating the cast of characters who populated it. Then, as now, the theatre is a vibrant world filled with gifted performers, eccentric characters and diverse personalities. I hope the characters whose lives revolved around the Gryphon Theatre engaged and entertained you as much as they did me.

No Place for an Angel

Gail Whitiker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

GAIL WHITIKER was born on the west coast of Wales and moved to Canada at an early age. Though she grew up reading everything from John Wyndham to Victoria Holt, frequent trips back to Wales inspired a fascination with castles and history, so it wasn’t surprising that her first published book was set in Regency England. Now an award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels, Gail lives on Vancouver Island, where she continues to indulge her fascination with the past as well as enjoying travel, music and spectacular scenery. Visit Gail at www.gailwhitiker.com

Previous novels by this author:

A MOST IMPROPER PROPOSAL*

THE GUARDIAN’S DILEMMA*

A SCANDALOUS COURTSHIP

A MOST UNSUITABLE BRIDE

A PROMISE TO RETURN

COURTING MISS VALLOIS

BRUSHED BY SCANDAL

IMPROPER MISS DARLING

NO OCCUPATION FOR A LADY**

NO ROLE FOR A GENTLEMAN**

*part of The Steepwood Scandal mini-series

**linked by character

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

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 One

The Gryphon Theatre, London—summer 1828

The single rose arrived precisely on schedule, exactly one half-hour after Catherine Jones took her bows and walked off the stage at the Gryphon Theatre.

The rose, cut at the peak of perfection and tied with a white satin bow, was brought to her dressing room by the same young man who appeared after every performance; an envoy sent to deliver the long-stemmed tribute on behalf of an admirer who preferred to remain...anonymous.

‘Curious, don’t you think, Lily,’ Catherine mused to her dresser, ‘that after all this time, the gentleman still refuses to identify himself.’

‘Downright queer, if you ask me, miss,’ Lily said bluntly. ‘The other men who send you gifts all want you to know who they are in the hopes you’ll offer them the appropriate thanks. Why not this one?’

‘I don’t know.’ Catherine drew the velvety pink petals across her lips. ‘Perhaps he is married and does not wish his wife to know he has been showering roses on another woman for the better part of five months. I know I wouldn’t.’

‘I’m not sure rich men care about that sort of thing, miss,’ Lily said. ‘And he must be rich, given what he’s spent on all those flowers. Lord, what if he’s a duke...or one of those handsome Arabian sheiks!’

Amused that the girl would think one as significant as the other, Catherine smiled. ‘It can be of no consequence to me what he is. A dear friend once told me I can encourage neither prince nor pauper, no matter how rich one or poor the other. And she was right.’

‘But why? You’re not married or engaged, so why shouldn’t you enjoy the company of gentlemen the same as everyone else?’

‘Because I have responsibilities and obligations others do not,’ Catherine said quietly, preferring not to think about the meeting she was to have in two weeks’ time with the man who had taken control of her life five years ago. A man who might have been her father-in-law had a terrible accident not happened to prevent it. ‘Never mind that. What’s this I hear about you and Mr Hawkins walking out together? Is it true?’

The question, introduced as a way of diverting Lily’s attention, launched the girl into a blushing recital of the young man’s attributes, allowing Catherine—who wasn’t expected to answer—to close her eyes and let the sound of the girl’s voice drift around her. She didn’t mind that Lily enjoyed the occasional night out. The girl had a good head on her shoulders and knew better than to let any man take advantage of her. Still, it was difficult at times not to feel a little envious of her dresser’s amorous adventures.

What wouldn’t she have given, Catherine mused, to be able to flirt with a gentleman without fear of reprisal? To have the freedom to spend an evening in his company and not have to worry about who might be watching. To indulge in a few hours of harmless pleasure for a change.

But such choices were no longer hers to make. The errors of her past dictated the path of her future, and the price for straying from that path was too high. She had already sacrificed more than any woman should have to...

‘I mended the tear in your rose-coloured silk,’ Lily said now. ‘And I added a new piece of lace around the neckline. But I don’t know why you would want to wear that gown tonight when your turquoise satin is far more fashionable.’

‘Yes, but it is also a great deal more revealing and, given that I shall be performing in front of the Marquess of Alderbury’s entire family, I think it best I appear in something a little more conservative,’ Catherine said. Plunging necklines and diaphanous gowns were all very well for her performances on stage, but for private concerts like the one she was giving tonight, she preferred a more modest appearance. One never knew who might be watching.

She glanced at her rose again and stroked the petals with a lingering caress. Who was he, this mystery man who bestowed such exquisite flowers yet refused to show his face? Someone who had no desire to reveal his identity—or someone who dared not?

‘Are you sure you’re up to singing at Lady Mary’s reception tonight, miss?’ Lily asked. ‘You’ve already been on stage the best part of four hours, and Mr Templeton’s scheduled an early rehearsal for the morning. You should be home resting.’

‘I will have plenty of time to rest when I get back from my trip,’ Catherine said, slipping the rose into the vase with the others. ‘Besides, I have only been asked to sing six songs. Hardly an arduous task.’

‘I might agree if you hadn’t performed twice that many in the last four hours,’ Lily said, pinning the last of Catherine’s golden curls into place. ‘Still, I suppose you know best. Is it to be the pearls or the rubies tonight?’

‘The pearls, I think. They look better with the gown.’

‘Either work nicely.’ Lily unlocked the jewellery box. ‘Both make you look like a lady.’

Yes, Catherine reflected, just as jewels and costumes had made her look the part of a siren, a goddess, a street waif and a witch. All roles cast by the charismatic theatre owner, Theodore Templeton, and for which she had achieved a level of fame unimaginable five years ago, when she had left Miss Marsh’s house in Cheltenham with few hopes and even less money. Now she had the wherewithal to afford a house in a decent part of town, the staff to maintain it and the clothes necessary to play the part. She might not be as well known as the illustrious Mrs Siddons, but many favourable comparisons had been made in terms of their acting abilities.

But it was her voice that had catapulted Catherine to the forefront of the industry, her incredible four-octave range making her one of the most talked-about performers of the day. She had even been invited to sing before one of the royal dukes on his birthday.

Sometimes it was hard to remember she had been born the only daughter of a governess and a schoolmaster, so far had she risen from those humble beginnings.

‘Here’s your shawl, miss,’ Lily said, draping a lightweight silk wrap around Catherine’s shoulders. ‘I’ll just get my things and we can be off.’

‘We?’ Catherine glanced at her dresser in confusion. ‘It isn’t your job to accompany me to private engagements, Lily.’

‘I know, but you had to send poor Mrs Rankin home early, and I know she doesn’t approve of you going out on your own,’ Lily said, referring to the widow who had been Catherine’s companion since her arrival in London. ‘So I thought I would go myself.’

‘But you told me you were seeing Mr Hawkins this evening.’

‘I was, until Mrs Rankin fell ill. Then I told him I wasn’t available.’

‘Well, go and find him and tell him you are available,’ Catherine said, slipping the strap of her fan over her wrist. ‘I doubt he will have left the theatre yet. He’s likely still helping Mr Templeton take the sets down.’

‘But what if that man Stubbs sees you gallivanting around Mayfair without a chaperon?’ Lily persisted. ‘Mrs Rankin told me he makes notes of everything you do and everyone you see.’

‘I will hardly be gallivanting and so I shall tell Mr Stubbs if and when I see him,’ Catherine said, surprised the normally tight-lipped Mrs Rankin had been so forthcoming with information. ‘Lord Alderbury is sending a private carriage to collect me, and at the end of the evening, I shall take a hackney home. Now go and find your young man.’

Lily did not look convinced. ‘I don’t think Mrs Rankin is going to be very pleased about this, miss.’

‘Don’t worry, Lily, everything will be fine. I shall go to Lord Alderbury’s house, sing for his guests and then leave,’ Catherine said confidently. ‘You’ll see. There won’t be any trouble at all.’

* * *

‘Are you going to read me a story tonight, Uncle Val?’ the little boy asked. ‘I’m really not very sleepy.’

‘You never are, even when you don’t have a fever,’ Valbourg said, stowing the last of his nephew’s toys in the large wooden box. ‘I would be quite worn out if I did all you do in a day.’

‘Is that because you’re old?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Valbourg straightened. ‘Who told you I was old?’

‘Aunt Dorothy. Right before she told Grandfather it was time you were married.’ Sebastian gazed up at his uncle with wide, trusting eyes. ‘Are you getting married, Uncle Val?’

‘I wasn’t planning on it, no.’

‘It would be all right if you did. I mean, as long as you didn’t send me away.’

‘Send you away? Why on earth would I do that?’ Valbourg asked, sitting down on the edge of Sebastian’s bed. ‘This is your home now and has been for the past two years.’

‘I know, but Aunt Dorothy said the lady you marry might not want me to stay here any more,’ the boy whispered, his flushed face evidence of the fever that had only recently broken. ‘She said she might prefer to have her own children around her rather than someone else’s.’

Anger swelled like a balloon in Valbourg’s chest. Damn Dorothy! Why couldn’t she mind her own business? She should have known better than to say something so hurtful in front of an impressionable young boy. ‘I am not going to send you away, and you mustn’t listen to anything Aunt Dorothy says. I shall marry when I am good and ready and not a moment before. So let’s have no more talk about you leaving, understood?’

‘Understood,’ Sebastian said, relief chasing the shadows from his eyes. ‘I’m not getting married either. I think girls are silly,’ he proclaimed with all the certainty of a six-year-old. ‘Don’t you?’

‘They certainly can be.’

‘Uncle Hugh doesn’t think so. He said I’ll come to like girls very much when I am his age, because he started liking them very much when he was mine.’

Valbourg sighed, wondering if there was any member of his family he wasn’t going to have a word with. ‘I think we’ll leave that discussion for another time. Your aunt Mary’s betrothal ball is this evening and she won’t be pleased if I am late.’ He tucked Brynley Bear, Sebastian’s loyal companion, into the bed next to him. ‘Nanny Lamb will be in to read you a story, all right?’

‘Yes, all right,’ Sebastian said, though Valbourg could tell from the expression on the boy’s face that his thoughts were still distracted. ‘Don’t you want to get married, Uncle Val?’

‘I suppose, when the right lady comes along. But for now, it’s just going to be you, me and Brynley Bear rattling around in this big old house. And here’s Nanny Lamb to read you a story.’ Valbourg leaned forward and kissed his nephew on the forehead. ‘Sleep well and I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Uncle Val?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I’m glad you don’t want me to leave. I do miss Mama and Papa, but I’m happy I came to live here with you rather than with Aunt Dorothy,’ Sebastian confided. ‘She looks a lot older than you and, sometimes, she smells funny.’

Valbourg’s mouth twitched. ‘Yes, she does, but it isn’t polite to tell ladies things like that, so we’d best keep that to ourselves, all right?’

‘If you say so. Goodnight, Uncle Val.’

Valbourg ruffled the boy’s dark curls and then vacated his seat on the bed. He regretted not being able to stay and read Sebastian a story. Reading to his nephew had become one of the highlights of his day. The childishly innocent stories took him back to his own untroubled youth, and the quiet time he spent with Sebastian was a reminder of what really mattered in life. It was only when he had an important engagement like this evening’s that he let Nanny Lamb take over.

It might seem a surprisingly domestic arrangement for the Marquess of Alderbury’s eldest son and heir, but Valbourg had no complaints. Having Sebastian living with him was the best thing that could have happened to him—even if it had come about as the result of the most unfortunate circumstances and a promise rashly given to his youngest sister six years ago.

A promise he never thought he’d be called upon to fulfil.

‘Ah, good evening, my lord,’ Finholm said as Valbourg arrived at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Is Master Sebastian feeling better?’

‘I believe so, though Dr Tennison said he would stop by again in the morning,’ Valbourg said. ‘If you need me, just send word to Alderbury House.’

‘I’m sure everything will be fine,’ the butler said. ‘Master Sebastian is a plucky little lad. I doubt there will be any cause for concern.’

‘I hope not, Finholm. Goodnight.’

With the butler’s reassurances ringing in his ears, Valbourg set off for his sister’s engagement celebration, content in the knowledge that he was leaving Sebastian in good hands. It was amazing how completely the responsibility for raising a child changed his priorities. Before his nephew had come to live with him, Valbourg had lived a life as irresponsible as most; gambling too often, drinking too much and amusing himself with a string of beautiful young mistresses. He had given no thought to his future because he’d had no reason to expect it would be any different from his past.

He certainly hadn’t expected Fate to walk in and turn his life upside down. Who could have foreseen that his youngest sister and her husband—both only twenty years old—would be struck down by illness, forcing Valbourg into the role of guardian to their four-year-old son? Who could have known that with Sarah’s death, the sybaritic lifestyle he’d led would come to an abrupt end? That the room he had used as a study would be converted to a nursery, or that Nanny Lamb would be coaxed out of retirement and that overnight, the heir to a marquessate and one of London’s most eligible bachelors would become a sober and responsible family man.

Certainly not him.

But, in fact, that was precisely what had happened, and in the two years since Sebastian’s arrival, Valbourg had become a model of sobriety and restraint. A paragon with no vices and few regrets.

Except one—and he would be seeing her tonight. Miss Catherine Jones. The Angel of London. The one temptation he had tried—and so far succeeded in—resisting.

It must be Fate interfering in his life again, Valbourg reflected moodily as he set out on foot for his father’s house. Only a perverse deity would bring the Angel into his life at a time when he could do absolutely nothing about it—because only Fate knew how desperately he wanted her. He had, ever since the first time he had seen her on the stage of the Gryphon Theatre in the role of Flora, goddess of spring.

Garbed in a flowing white gown and with her silken hair caught up in a coronet of roses, Catherine Jones had appeared to him like something out of a dream; a golden-haired goddess sent to bewitch and beguile him. Her incredible, bell-like voice had filled the theatre and caused the chattering crowd to raise their lorgnettes and peer with wonder at the glorious creature standing before them.

Unfortunately, it was not only her voice that had captivated Valbourg. When at the end of that first performance, she had stared out into that vast auditorium, raised her sapphire-blue eyes to the first row of boxes, and her gaze had connected with his—and she had smiled. From that moment on, Valbourg had been lost. The thought of holding Catherine in his arms kept him awake at night, while the desire to lose himself in the softness of her body made him ache.

Quite simply, the woman was intoxicating; more seductive than the finest wine, more addictive than the strongest opium. And like an addict, Valbourg kept returning to the Gryphon Theatre night after night, simply for the pleasure of watching her. She never glanced in his direction again, but it didn’t matter. The die had been cast. Valbourg became her greatest admirer...and she didn’t even know his name.

But she would after tonight, because tonight, she would be singing at his sister’s betrothal celebration. Mary had specifically asked him to engage Miss Jones to entertain their guests, and his father had asked him to look after the young lady while she was in his house.

Not an onerous responsibility. Indeed, Valbourg could think of a hundred men who would have jumped at the opportunity. But not him. For him it would be an exercise in frustration. A test of will-power...because the day he had become Sebastian’s guardian was the day he had vowed to lead an exemplary life. One that gave no one any room to criticise his behaviour or a reason to take Sebastian away—which a liaison with Catherine Jones would most certainly do. That meant he had no choice but to keep her at arm’s length. He would greet her when she arrived at his father’s house and introduce her to his sister and her fiancé at the appropriate time. If called upon to do so, he would even talk to her as though she was any other woman and not the bewitching creature who charmed with her music and ensnared with her beauty.

He had a reputation to uphold and a six-year-old boy to take care of. Not even the glorious Catherine Jones could be allowed to jeopardise that!

* * *

The Marquess of Alderbury’s town house was an imposing Georgian edifice graced with five levels of windows, a row of sculpted Gothic columns and a fringe of grinning gargoyles that glared down on unsuspecting visitors. A house built to impress and intimidate.

Catherine was not intimidated. She might have been when she had first arrived in London five years ago, but so much had changed in her life since then she no longer gazed with open-mouthed wonder at such things. Her employer, Theo Templeton, owned an exceedingly gracious residence just a few streets away, and she had often been invited to attend receptions given by the former actor and his flamboyant wife, also a former stage actress. Together, they had introduced Catherine to an eclectic group of actors, writers, artists and entrepreneurs, few of whom would have been made to feel welcome in the drawing rooms of polite society, but all of whom were accepted and embraced in the Templetons’.

Catherine had been similarly welcomed, because in that gloriously ornate room, no one knew about the scandals in her past. No one knew about Will Hailey, the young man with whom she had fallen in love and committed that one terrible mistake, or about Thomas, the beautiful, golden-haired child who had resulted from it. No one knew about Will’s father, the Reverend James Hailey, who had ripped Thomas from her arms when he was but a baby and then told her to leave. A man whose hard-hearted actions had necessitated the dramatic changes in her life.

No one knew any of that because here she was just Catherine Jones, the much-admired singer who had taken London by storm; a woman celebrated for her talent rather than looked down upon for her sins.

A woman who had buried her pain so deep no one even knew it existed.

Catherine glanced down at her gloved hands and sighed. She must be talented indeed to be able to fool all of London into believing she was happy.

The marquess’s carriage rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stone steps and one of the liveried footmen jumped down to open the door. He was too well trained to peer inside, but Catherine knew he was waiting for her to disembark...something she knew better than to do. Actresses were not deposited at the front door of elegant residences. They were admitted through the servants’ entrance and taken up the back stairs, hopefully without being seen by any of the guests. No doubt, the butler would soon come out and instruct the driver to move on.

But to her dismay, no such direction came. And when a shout rang out from one of the carriages in line behind them, the footman finally poked his head in and said, ‘Excuse me, miss, but we have to move on.’

Catherine bit her lip, wondering who was responsible for the mistake. She glanced at the crowds milling beyond the carriage door and knew exactly what they would think if she were to emerge from Lord Alderbury’s carriage now. Unmarried women of good birth did not arrive unescorted at evening events and certainly not in the carriages of their hosts. That suggested an association well-bred people chose to ignore. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t sit in the carriage all night.

And so she climbed out, trying to appear nonchalant as she stepped into the crowd of richly dressed women and their elegant escorts. A few of the ladies raised well-groomed eyebrows while others just whispered and smiled behind their fans.

Catherine smoothed out the folds in her gown and pretended not to notice. She wanted to tell them she had been specifically invited by the Marquess of Alderbury to perform at this evening’s soirée, but if that was the case, why had no one been sent to meet her? Had his lordship forgotten she was coming—?

‘Good evening, Miss Jones. Welcome to Alderbury House.’

The voice, polite, reserved and as smooth as warm honey, came from somewhere to her left and, turning around, Catherine saw a gentleman walking towards her. He wasn’t old enough to be the marquess, but neither could he be mistaken for a member of the household staff. Tall, dignified and impossibly handsome in exquisitely tailored evening clothes, his self-sufficient air suggested a man who was at home in his surroundings. One who had been born to the role. Another member of the family, perhaps? ‘Thank you, Mr...?’

‘Valbourg,’ he said. ‘My father is engaged elsewhere, but asked that I be on hand to greet you. I apologise for having kept you waiting.’

‘My apologies, Lord Valbourg,’ Catherine said, belatedly aware that she was addressing the marquess’s eldest son. ‘I hope you will convey my gratitude to your father for having been so kind as to send a carriage to collect me from the theatre.’

‘Actually, that was my doing,’ Valbourg said. ‘Since I asked you to come immediately after your performance, I thought the least I could do was provide comfortable transportation to bring you here. A carriage will also be made available to take you home at the end of the evening.’

‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,’ Catherine said, well aware that the infamous Stubbs would be watching for her arrival and preferring not to have to pay him extra to forget what he had seen. ‘I am able to make my own way around London.’

‘I’m sure you are, but you will not be required to do so this evening.’ He indicated the stairs. ‘Shall we?’

There was nothing in his tone to indicate disapproval of her response, but Catherine felt it none the less. Obviously Lord Valbourg did not deem it appropriate for a woman to travel around London on her own and had no doubt formed an opinion as to her character and morals as a result. Pity. She didn’t like being judged on appearances, especially when those appearances were misleading.

The truth was, she seldom went anywhere on her own because Mrs Rankin, the lady who had been with her since her arrival in London and who acted as both companion and chaperon, made sure she did not. It was only as a result of the lady being so dreadfully ill—and Lily being otherwise engaged—that Catherine had come on her own tonight. However, suspecting there was little she could say that would change his opinion, she gathered her skirts and started up the stairs beside him. She would deal with the issue of the ride home later.

They entered the hall, a magnificent room sumptuously furnished and sprinkled with priceless artwork and gilt-edged mirrors. Guests were directed up the white marble staircase and to the left, where Catherine assumed the marquess and his family were receiving.

She was taken up the stairs and to the right.

‘I thought you would like to see where you will be performing,’ Valbourg said politely. ‘Refreshments, if desired, will be brought to you there.’

Catherine inclined her head. ‘Thank you, my lord.’ As kind as Valbourg’s offer was, she knew what he was saying. She was the paid entertainment; not an invited guest. Strange how that still had the power to hurt. ‘Actually, I never eat before a performance,’ she added in a voice as remote as his. ‘I find it affects my voice.’

‘Then I wonder at you having the stamina to perform so magnificently in Promises night after night.’

Her head came round sharply. ‘You’ve seen the play?’

‘Indeed. I was curious to know what all of London was talking about.’

‘Really.’ She resented having to ask, but curiosity got the better of her. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Very much.’ Valbourg glanced briefly in her direction. ‘And you were...exceptional.’

His gaze lingered for no more than a moment, but it was long enough for Catherine to form an impression of sculpted cheekbones, dark eyes and a firm, sensuous mouth. Lord Valbourg was an elegant and powerful man; one whose slightest glance would bring women flocking to his side in the hopes of securing his affection.

How fortunate she was not one of those women.

‘Thank you,’ she said, returning her gaze to the stairs. ‘I would not have thought Promises the type of play a man like you would enjoy, but I shall certainly pass your comments along to Mr Templeton.’ She flicked another glance in his direction. ‘I cannot recall having seen you in the audience.’

‘Why would you? I am but one of the many thousands who stare at you every night,’ Valbourg said. ‘In such crowds, all faces blur into one, none of them distinguishable or particularly memorable.’

And yet, yours would be, Catherine found herself thinking. In fact, as she glanced at Valbourg again, she realised there was something familiar about his features. The black, wavy hair, the dark slash of eyebrows above expressive eyes and a slender, aristocratic nose. And that mouth, capable, no doubt, of humbling a man with a few carefully chosen words, or of bringing a woman to ecstasy with a lingering kiss—

‘I say, Brother, what gem have you brought into the house tonight?’ A very different voice cut into her musings. ‘Can it be the Angel of London come to grace us with her presence?’

Valbourg stopped and turned around, causing Catherine to do the same.

‘Ah, Hugh, I wondered when I would be seeing you. Miss Jones, allow me to introduce my brother, Lord Hugh Nelson. Hugh, Miss Catherine Jones.’

Brother. Yes, Catherine could see the resemblance. Though he looked to be younger than Valbourg, Lord Hugh shared his brother’s dark hair, sculpted cheekbones and slender, aristocratic nose. But where Valbourg’s eyes were a warm chocolate brown, Lord Hugh’s were the cool clear grey of a winter morning. His clothes were more dandified than Valbourg’s, and where the latter’s build suggested a man who enjoyed outdoor pursuits, Lord Hugh’s was already tending towards corpulence.

But it was in their attitudes towards her that Catherine saw the biggest difference. Valbourg’s regard was polite but uninterested. Lord Hugh’s was engaged and appreciative, leaving her in no doubt as to the nature of his thoughts.

‘So, we are to be treated to a performance by the Angel of London,’ he murmured, reaching for her hand. ‘How honoured we are.’

His words were as flattering as his regard, but Catherine suspected honour had very little to do with them. ‘Thank you. I was delighted to be asked and look forward to performing for your father’s guests.’

‘Not nearly as pleased as we are to have you. I say, Val, why don’t you leave Miss Jones in my care until Mary is ready for her to sing?’ Lord Hugh said, his hands pressing moist heat into hers. ‘I’m sure you have more important things to do.’

‘As a matter of fact, I do not,’ Valbourg said, pointedly freeing Catherine’s hand from his brother’s. ‘Mary charged me with the responsibility of looking after our guest and that is what I intend to do. Come, Miss Jones, the music room is just ahead. I’m sure you would like a chance to rehearse before the guests start arriving. One of the footmen will keep watch outside.’ He levelled a warning glance in his brother’s direction. ‘I have left instructions that no one is to be admitted until you are ready to begin.’

With that, he placed his hand in the middle of Catherine’s back and gently propelled her forward.

Catherine was not sorry to walk away. She was familiar with Lord Hugh’s type: men who had been indulged since birth and were used to having what—and who—they wanted. He no doubt enjoyed the company of actresses and ballet dancers, many of whom were, for the most part, elegant prostitutes, and while Catherine did not think of herself in that way, she was realistic enough to know that others did.

For that reason, she was surprised when a few minutes later, Valbourg said, ‘I apologise for my brother’s behaviour, Miss Jones. There is nothing he likes better than to find himself in the company of beautiful women, and while I cannot say he would not have made an improper advance, he would certainly have tried to monopolise your time.’

Catherine slowed, her expression thoughtful. Valbourg thought her beautiful? ‘Thank you, my lord, but there is no need to apologise. I have encountered your brother’s type before and am perfectly able to take care of myself.’

‘Are you?’ A glint of amusement warmed the brown eyes that suddenly turned to meet hers. ‘Have you a bronzed Nubian bodyguard you call upon at such times?’

Catherine allowed herself a small smile. ‘No, but I do know a few techniques that can come in useful. Ways in which to deflect a gentleman’s unwanted amorous attentions.’

‘If force is required to put distance between you and an admirer, he can hardly be called a gentleman.’

‘Ah, but he can,’ Catherine said. ‘A man will always treat a lady with respect, but he is not obliged to show the same consideration when in the company of an actress.’

‘He is when in this house,’ Valbourg said. ‘If you are treated with anything less than the respect you deserve, you are to find me at once and I shall deal with it.’

There was no trace of amusement in his voice now and Catherine was flattered by his concern. For all her fame, actresses were seldom accorded such consideration. It was refreshing to know there were still decent men in the world and that Lord Valbourg was one of them. What a pity their situations in life would prevent her from having a chance to know him better.

‘Thank you, my lord, but I doubt any of your father’s guests would be so inconsiderate as to misbehave beneath his roof. It would be a poor repayment of his hospitality.’

‘It would indeed, Miss Jones,’ Valbourg said. ‘And for everyone’s sake, I hope they remain aware of it.’

* * *

After making sure that Miss Jones was safely ensconced in the music room, Valbourg left her alone to practise, insisting she lock the door as soon as he left. The lady might believe herself wise to the ways of the world, but Valbourg knew there was very little she would be able to do against a man who had serious seduction on his mind. For that reason, he waited until he heard the click of the lock falling into place before making his way back to the ballroom.

Not surprisingly, his brother was waiting for him; a drink in his hand and a scowl on his face. ‘I say, Val, I didn’t care for the way you spoke to me back there. You had no right to be so dismissive in front of Miss Jones.’

‘And you had no right to move in on her the way you did. Dear God, Hugh, she is a guest in our father’s house,’ Valbourg said tersely. ‘Could you not have restrained yourself?’

‘She is an actress, not a guest,’ Hugh informed him. ‘One no doubt possessed of the same questionable morals as all the rest. She is only here to sing for her supper, and you can be damn sure she’ll be looking for a wealthy man to take her home. For a hefty price, of course.’

‘Which just goes to show how little you know about her. Catherine Jones hasn’t been any man’s mistress since she arrived in London,’ Valbourg said. ‘Her reputation is spotless. Would that the same could be said of yours.’

‘I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,’ Hugh said, securing a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter. ‘Just because you choose to live like a bloody monk doesn’t mean I have to.’

‘No, but something resembling restraint would be nice for a change,’ Valbourg drawled. ‘Speaking of conduct, watch what you say around Sebastian in future. I’d rather not have him thinking your conduct with women is one worth emulating. As for Miss Jones, keep your distance. She is here for our sister’s enjoyment. Not for your own personal pleasure.’

His brother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why so protective, Valbourg? It’s not like you to warn me away from a woman. Can it be you’ve a mind to bed the wench yourself?’

Valbourg manufactured a smile for the benefit of a passing guest. ‘I won’t dignify that with a reply, but I trust we understand one another, Hugh.’

‘Miss Jones is off limits.’

For a moment, it was as though they were boys again; each determined to emerge the victor in an ongoing battle of wills. Hugh, three years younger and always the more competitive, still felt the need to prove himself, even though it was usually the elder brother who triumphed. Valbourg refused to allow emotion to cloud his judgement and took the time to weigh the pros and cons of a situation before deciding how to act. Logic trumped anger; reason suppressed passion. It was the only way of making intelligent and rational decisions.

Not that reason or intelligence had anything to do with how a man behaved when it came to a woman, Valbourg reflected narrowly. ‘I want your word on this, Hugh. Miss Jones is a guest in this house. Whatever her occupation or background, she is to be treated with respect while she is here. I will not allow you to harass or embarrass her.’

It was a hollow threat and they both knew it. Catherine Jones was an actress and as such, fair game for any man who wanted her. Indeed, for many actresses, becoming an aristocrat’s mistress was the far more desirable career. By ordering Hugh to behave like a gentleman, Valbourg had all but thrown down the gauntlet—and his brother had never been slow to pick it up.

Surprisingly, however, Hugh only shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Very well, I won’t try to take advantage of Miss Jones. While it galls me to have to play the part of the gentleman, neither do I have any desire to be raked over the coals by you, or by Father after you trumpet your knowledge of my conduct to him. But mind you watch all the others, Brother,’ Hugh said, lowering his voice. ‘You can’t protect her from every red-blooded male who walks through that door, nor from the thousands who go to see her at the theatre every night. Catherine Jones is a beautiful and desirable woman. And you and I both know there’s nothing a man wants more than a woman someone tells him he can’t have.’

Chapter Two

Valbourg mulled over the significance of his brother’s words as he stood listening to Catherine Jones perform a few hours later. The guests had all assembled in the music room, and when Catherine appeared, elegant in a gown of rose-coloured silk and with pearls glowing at her ears and throat, they had burst into applause, aware that a special treat was in store for them. She had positioned herself beside the piano, waiting for her lady accompanist to begin the opening strains of her first song.

A hush had fallen over the room as Catherine began to sing. In contrast to her petite body, her magnificent voice had swelled to fill every corner of the room, each note crystal clear and perfectly struck. It was as though the music lived within her, the glorious sound bursting forth every time she opened her mouth.

Even her physical appearance changed as she sang. Caught up in the music, her body began to sway, her arms and hands floating gracefully in time. Indeed, there was something decidedly sensual in the way she moved and, judging from the expressions on the faces of most of the men in the room, Valbourg wasn’t the only one who was aware of it.

‘Oh, Val, isn’t she wonderful,’ his sister Mary whispered in his ear. ‘I cannot thank you enough for arranging to have her sing for us.’

‘The pleasure was all mine, dearest. After all, what kind of brother would I be if I did not see to your every wish, especially on a night like this?’

‘You would be like Hugh, who neither sees nor cares about anyone’s desires but his own.’

‘Now, Mary, Hugh is a product of his upbringing,’ Valbourg felt compelled to point out. ‘Third in birth order and second in line to the title, he has always felt the need to compete with me for our parents’ affection and respect.’

‘And never succeeded. At least not with Papa,’ Mary said in a wry tone. ‘Mama spoiled him outrageously, but you were always Papa’s favourite.’

‘Actually, I believe Sarah held that honour,’ Valbourg said softly. ‘Father never spent as much time with any of us as he did with her.’

‘Perhaps because he sensed he wouldn’t have as much time with her as he would with the rest of us.’ Mary sighed. ‘Thank goodness we still have Sebastian. Every time I look at him, I see a little reminder of Sarah in his face. Is he feeling better today? Papa told me you had to have the doctor round to see him.’

‘I did, but thankfully his fever broke last night,’ Valbourg said. ‘He will likely be weak for a few more days, but Tennison said he should make a full recovery.’

‘Thank goodness. I know how worried you were about him.’ Mary hesitated a moment before adding, ‘Still no regrets about having him come to live with you?’

‘Not a one.’

‘Then you don’t mind living the life of a monk? Sorry, dearest. Hugh’s words, not mine,’ Mary said with a smile. ‘But I don’t suppose they’re all that far off the mark. Everyone knows how much you’ve changed your life to accommodate Sebastian’s arrival and I really couldn’t blame you for feeling a little put out. I understand your evening entertainment is now restricted to tame forms of cards and the company of safely married couples.’

‘Dear God, have I truly become so boring?’

‘I’m afraid so. And we all know you’ve Dorothy to thank for that.’

Yes, because when his eldest sister Dorothy had heard that Valbourg was assuming responsibility for Sebastian’s upbringing, she had bluntly called it the most idiotic idea she had ever heard. It didn’t matter that Sarah had asked him, rather than Dorothy or, God forbid, Hugh, to care for Sebastian in the event something should happen to her and her husband. Dorothy maintained it was ridiculous that a man who was only concerned with drinking and whoring should be responsible for the well-being of a child. Even their father had suggested it might be in everyone’s best interests if Sebastian went to live with Dorothy and her husband, given that they already had a son and a daughter in the nursery.

But Valbourg had stood firm. He informed them he had given Sarah his word that he would honour her request and honour it he would. For the most part, he just ignored Dorothy hovering in the background like a dark foreboding cloud.

And then, as though summoned by the mention of her name, Dorothy appeared, drab in a fawn-coloured gown that did nothing for her complexion or her figure.

Not, Valbourg reflected, that his eldest sister had been particularly blessed in either regard. ‘Good evening, Dorothy.’

‘Valbourg,’ she said, adding with a brisk nod, ‘Mary.’

‘Hello, Dorothy. I was beginning to wonder whether or not you were coming.’

‘I was delayed by a crisis below stairs,’ Dorothy said. ‘Some scandal involving one of the maids. Mrs Plinkin came to see me about it just as I was leaving. I told her I had neither the time nor the patience to deal with it and that she should just get rid of the girl.’

‘Compassionate, as always,’ Valbourg murmured.

‘Don’t take that tone with me, Brother,’ Dorothy snapped. ‘I don’t want my children exposed to behaviour like that under my own roof. Speaking of servants, I really must talk to Papa about his new valet. The man is rude and condescending and needs to be taught his place. But I suppose that is what you invite when you hire an Irishman.’

‘I don’t know why you would say that,’ Mary objected. ‘I find Tully very pleasant to deal with.’

‘Of course, because you find everyone pleasant. It is the reason you will fail so miserably as a wife,’ Dorothy stated. ‘Servants need to be taught their place. You do that by maintaining a firm hand. I don’t care if my servants like me. All I require is their obedience and their willingness to work hard.’

‘Which I am sure they do,’ Valbourg remarked. ‘But if Mary’s servants work hard it will be because they like and respect her, not because they are afraid of her. As for her new role, I have no doubt she will make Tyne an excellent wife.’

‘Of course I will,’ Mary said, stung by her sister’s criticism. ‘I love him and he loves me.’

‘Love,’ Dorothy said with a sneer. ‘A highly overrated emotion that serves as no useful foundation for marriage whatsoever. You would have been better off accepting Lord Troon’s proposal.’

‘Troon? The man is sixty if he’s a day,’ Mary said, incredulous. ‘And he is not at all handsome.’

‘Handsome? Of what value are looks when in twenty years’ time they will have vanished, leaving you shackled to a man with whom you likely have nothing in common and with no financial recompense to salve your wounds for being so silly as to accept his proposal in the first place. At least Troon is a worthy catch. He is heir to a dukedom.’

Mary blinked at the harshness of her sister’s reply, but Valbourg simply smiled. ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, Mary. Tyne may not be as wealthy as Troon, but I suspect his looks will last far longer so that even in thirty years’ time, you will have no reason to regret your decision to marry him.’

‘Oh, yes, be sarcastic if you like, but people would do a lot better if they made decisions based on logic rather than emotion,’ Dorothy said. ‘Speaking of which, when do you intend to do your duty and settle down, Brother? You are past thirty now and responsible for the welfare of a young boy. No doubt you would both benefit from the influence of a sensible woman in your lives.’

‘Is that a criticism of the way I am raising Sebastian?’ Valbourg enquired, unwilling to let the remark pass.

‘Not at all. Much to my surprise, you have cast off your dissolute ways and emerged a surprisingly respectable man,’ Dorothy said. ‘But it is past time you gave some serious thought to settling down. You are Papa’s heir, after all.’

Valbourg’s sarcastic rejoinder was lost in the burst of applause that greeted Catherine as she finished her song. He looked up in time to see her execute a graceful curtsy, and though her face was lightly flushed and her blue eyes still sparkled, he could see how weary she was. And why not? It was nearly three in the morning and she had already performed her required six songs as well as three encores. It was time to pay the girl and send her home.

‘Come, Mary,’ Valbourg said. ‘If you wish to meet Miss Jones, now would be the time.’

‘Meet her?’ Dorothy’s pencil-thin eyebrows rose. ‘Why on earth would you wish to meet her?’

‘Because she was kind enough to come here and sing for our guests,’ Mary said.

‘Are you not paying Miss Jones for her time, Valbourg?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then let that be an end of it. One must be careful around women like that, Mary,’ Dorothy warned. ‘Flattery goes to their heads. Gives them airs. Worse, Miss Jones may think Valbourg is interested in her and he certainly doesn’t need that kind of complication in his life. No, tell Harrison to give the girl her money and send her on her way. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go and have a word with Papa. See if I can talk some sense into him before the Irishman robs him blind.’

With a curt nod, Dorothy left, taupe-coloured feathers bending in the breeze.

Mary leaned over and whispered in Valbourg’s ear, ‘Is it truly awful to admit that one doesn’t care much for one’s sister?’

‘Not as awful as it is honest.’

‘It doesn’t seem very charitable.’

‘Honesty seldom is,’ Valbourg said in a wry tone. ‘Come, let us speak to Miss Jones while the Dragon is otherwise engaged.’

* * *

They lined up to speak to her. Knights and their ladies, barons and their baronesses, even a viscount and his viscountess—all took a moment to express their admiration of her voice. Only one crusty old earl and his equally crusty countess left without acknowledging her, but Catherine took the snub in her stride. The majority of guests had been kind enough to speak with her, rendering unimportant the few who were not.

The gentlemen, of course, suffered no such inhibitions. Anxious to convey their compliments, they all rushed forward, asking if they might fetch a plate of refreshments or assist her to a chair. Catherine accepted Mr Brinkley’s offer of a glass of wine and Lord Styles’s insistence on a small plate of food, but the other offers she kindly but firmly refused. All she wanted to do now was go home. She had enjoyed performing for Lady Mary, but the euphoria was wearing off and it was only a matter of time before weariness rushed in to take its place. She wanted to be home in her own bed before that happened. She had to be up again in a few hours.

Suddenly, a path opened and Lord Valbourg, Lady Mary Nelson and her fiancé, Lord Tyne, approached. Valbourg and his sister made a striking pair, Catherine noted. Both so beautiful and blessed with all the good things life had to offer. Oblivious to the darker, more insidious side of human nature—

‘Miss Jones, I cannot thank you enough for coming to sing for us tonight,’ Lady Mary said, taking both of Catherine’s hands in hers. ‘I see why they call you the Angel of London, for truly God’s own choir could not contain a more divine voice.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Catherine said, genuinely touched by the woman’s charity. ‘It was a pleasure to sing for you and Lord Tyne, and I am so glad you enjoyed it.’

‘We did. My brother, too,’ Lady Mary said, reaching for Valbourg’s arm. ‘“The True Lover’s Farewell” is one of our family’s favourites. Mama used to sing it to my sister and I before we went to bed.’

‘I’m so pleased. Is your sister here?’ Catherine asked, glancing around the room for a younger version of Lady Mary. ‘I don’t believe we have been introduced.’

She turned back in time to catch the look that passed between brother and sister and wondered if she had said something wrong. Seconds later, she realised she had when Valbourg said, ‘Sadly, my sister is no longer with us. She passed away two years ago.’

Catherine’s eyes widened in dismay. So, all was not blissful in the house of Alderbury. Tragedy had touched this golden family, stealing one of their own and leaving an empty place in their hearts. ‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I would not have performed the song, had I known.’

‘But you did not and therefore owe us no apology,’ Valbourg said. ‘I doubt there is a song in the world that doesn’t evoke poignant memories for someone.’

That might be true, but it did not take away from the fact that she had been the one to bring those painful memories back, Catherine thought regretfully. She might not know Valbourg well, but she sensed he was a man who betrayed little of his feelings, yet felt them keenly, especially when it came to his family.

‘Will you take some refreshment, Miss Jones?’ Lady Mary asked, forcing a cheery note into her voice. ‘Valbourg told me you came here straight from your performance at the Gryphon.’

‘Thank you, but I’m really not hungry,’ Catherine replied. ‘Lord Styles has gone to fetch a plate, but at the risk of sounding rude, I would rather go home. It is late and I have an early rehearsal in the morning.’

‘Of course. How selfish of us to keep you here talking. Val, have arrangements been made for Miss Jones’s transportation?’

‘Indeed. I shall go and see to the carriage now.’

‘Oh, please don’t bother,’ Catherine said quickly. ‘As I said before, I am quite capable of travelling around London on my own.’

‘And as I said earlier, that will not be necessary. It is late and you have been kind enough to perform at my sister’s betrothal celebration,’ Valbourg said. ‘I suspect Theo Templeton would have something to say if I did not take the very best care of you.’

Catherine lowered her eyes, as much to hide her confusion as to acknowledge the unexpected kindness. What was wrong with her? It had been years since a gentleman’s words had brought colour rushing to her cheeks, but Valbourg had done it several times this evening, and with no effort at all.

She would have to be careful. While he might not approve of her, he nevertheless aroused feelings Catherine thought gone for ever; feelings that had lain dormant since Will’s death. It was unsettling to discover they had simply been...misplaced.

Especially now when she was so close to achieving her goal of regaining custody of her son. To forfeit that now through a careless or unguarded action would be the height of folly and something for which she would never forgive herself.

‘Well, I suppose we should be returning to our guests,’ Lady Mary said to her fiancé.

‘And I shall go and see to the carriage,’ Valbourg said. ‘If you would be good enough to wait here, Miss Jones, I shall make the arrangements and then come back for you. In the interim, please do enjoy some of what Lord Styles brings you. My father really does have one of the finest chefs in London.’

He left with his sister and her fiancé, and moments later, Mr Brinkley returned with the promised glass of wine and Lord Styles with a small plate of food. Catherine was quite sure there was enough on it to feed Mrs Rankin and herself for three days, but smiling her thanks, she took the glass and the plate and sat down at a small table as the room continued to empty and the majority of guests returned to the ballroom. Unfortunately, several of the gentlemen lingered.

‘A delightful performance, Miss Jones,’ Lord Tantemon said. ‘The music is as beautiful as its mistress.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ Catherine said, avoiding his gaze. Tantemon was one of her more persistent admirers. He had never strayed beyond the bounds of polite behaviour, but neither was he reluctant to make his feelings known.

‘I heard Valbourg say he was going to arrange for a carriage, but mine is already waiting close by,’ he said now. ‘Perhaps you would allow me the pleasure of taking you home.’

‘I say, steady on, Tantemon,’ Lord Styles objected. ‘I brought Miss Jones supper, so I claim the right to take her home.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Styles. This is not a supper dance. Doing one does not entitle you to the other.’

‘I am grateful to both of you for your offers,’ Catherine intervened, ‘but since Lord Valbourg has already gone to the trouble of arranging a carriage, I do not intend to offend him by leaving with someone else.’

‘You are gracious, dear lady, but Valbourg won’t care,’ the ever-dapper Mr Brinkley said. ‘He is only seeing to your welfare because his sister asked him to. I, on the other hand, would welcome the opportunity of spending time alone with you.’ He leaned down and whispered in her ear, ‘My offer still stands. You have but to say the word.’

‘Thank you, Mr Brinkley, but so does the answer I gave when first you made it.’

Catherine heard a guffaw from one of the other gentlemen. ‘I told you you were wasting your time, Brinkley. The lady has better taste than that.’

‘Obviously,’ the barrister snapped. ‘She refused you!’

‘Now, gentlemen, you are unkind to pester Miss Jones in this manner,’ Lord Hugh Nelson said, strolling across the room to join them. ‘Can you not see that the poor girl is trying to eat? I suggest you all go away and leave her alone.’

‘What, so that you can proposition her with no one around to listen?’

‘You malign me, sir,’ the gentleman said, affecting a look of injury. ‘My intentions towards Miss Jones are strictly honourable.’

‘Fustian, you’ve never had an honourable thought in your life,’ Styles said. ‘And standing so close to the Angel, I doubt you’re having one now!’

Ribald laughter followed the inappropriate comment, and knowing it would only get worse, Catherine put down her glass and stood up. ‘Well, gentlemen, if you will excuse me—’

‘Oh, no, sweet angel, you cannot leave yet,’ Lord Tantemon objected. ‘We so seldom have the opportunity of enjoying the pleasure of your company in such a private setting. Surely you would not be so cruel as to deprive us of it now?’

‘I’m afraid she would,’ Valbourg said coldly from the doorway. ‘Miss Jones, are you ready to leave?’

It wasn’t really a question and, grateful for the timeliness of Valbourg’s return, Catherine stood up. ‘I am, my lord.’ She wanted nothing more than to turn her back on every one of the powerful men gathered around her, but aware that she was still performing and that it would not be in her best interests to alienate any of them, she added with forced affability, ‘Though the company is very pleasant, I am exceedingly weary.’

A number of polite objections and expressions of sympathy greeted her remark, but Valbourg merely stepped forward and offered his arm. For a moment, their eyes met...and Catherine’s widened in surprise. He knows. Despite his chilly demeanour, he knows how uncomfortable I am and he is offering me a dignified escape.

Humbly, she placed her hand on his arm, gratitude warring with pride as she lifted her chin and walked out of the room with him. She had no wish to feel indebted to him. Valbourg had made his feelings about her quite clear, both by his attitude and his remarks. But at the moment, his position and authority offered her the protection she needed and for that, Catherine was grateful.

At the top of the staircase, she swept up her skirts and, with one hand on his arm, gracefully began to descend. Heads turned in their direction. Some guests even called out to them, but Valbourg did not stop. He just kept on walking, leading her towards the front door and freedom.

It seemed, however, that her departure was to be delayed further.

‘My apologies, Miss Jones. I thought the carriage would have been here by now,’ Valbourg said after a glance outside assured him that such was not the case. He hesitated, then led her into a small chamber that opened off the hall. ‘If you would be good enough to wait here, I will go and see what is keeping it.’

Catherine nodded, suddenly too weary to do much more. Lily was right. Two performances in one night were exhausting, especially given the emotional overtones of the latter part of the evening. She wasn’t used to dealing with men like Valbourg and having to pretend a lack of interest drew heavily on her emotional reserves. How fortunate that after tonight, she would have no reason to see him again.

The room in which she waited was beautifully decorated. Silk wallpaper festooned with exotic flowers and birds covered the walls, while more birds were painted on the domed ceiling. Catherine walked around, stopping to admire an exquisite tapestry hanging on the far wall when an all-too-familiar voice said, ‘Well, well, what’s this? A beautiful bird trapped in a gilded cage. How...appropriate.’

Catherine turned around, not at all pleased to see one of her more troublesome admirers leaning against the now-closed door. ‘Good evening, Lord Lassiter.’

His eyes widened. ‘You remember me?’

‘How could I not? You made quite an impression when you appeared at my dressing-room door with a diamond the size of Gibraltar dangling from your fingers.’

‘Sadly, it did nothing to tempt you into my bed.’

‘It would have taken a great deal more than a diamond to do that, even if I had been interested,’ Catherine said. ‘Which I was not.’

‘Feisty Miss Jones,’ Lassiter said, pushing away from the door. ‘Still playing hard to get. But I rather like that in a woman. It makes the eventual capitulation all the more exciting, don’t you think?’

‘I couldn’t say.’ Catherine’s smile was cool. ‘I don’t play hard to get because I am not interested in being caught. By you or anyone else.’

‘Really. So you prefer to live alone, scraping by on the pittance you earn on stage rather than being able to enjoy the many pleasures life has to offer.’

‘I enjoy life well enough,’ Catherine said. ‘As I told you at the time, I’ve no need of help from you.’ She wasn’t afraid of Lassiter, but neither did she wish to cause a scene in Lord Alderbury’s house. Pity she hadn’t seen him come in. She could have made a dash for the door—beyond which the sounds of the reception were now decidedly muted. As, no doubt, would be any sounds that might emanate from this room.

‘I fail to see why you persist in playing this ridiculous game, my love,’ Lassiter said, beginning to circle her like a hungry wolf stalking its prey. ‘I am a wealthy man and a generous one. You could have anything you wanted. Jewels, gowns, a carriage at your disposal day or night. All yours simply for the asking.’

‘If I agree to become your mistress.’

‘Of course. One must be prepared to give in order to receive,’ Lassiter said, narrowing the distance between them. ‘And surely giving yourself to me would not be such a hardship. I am not unattractive, nor nearly so old as Crosby, whom I understand you also sent away.’

‘Yes, with the same answer I gave you,’ Catherine said, backing up until she felt the edge of the credenza against her lower back. ‘At least he was gentleman enough to accept my decision.’

‘Only because he found another mistress.’ Lassiter leered at her in a way that made him look even more like a wolf. ‘I, however, have not and I am willing to overlook your earlier error in judgement. So, what do you say? Is it to be your bed tonight...or mine?’

He was so close Catherine could see the network of veins on his nose and smell the staleness of his breath as he opened his mouth, his tongue flicking suggestively, obscenely, over yellowed teeth. ‘Come, sweet angel,’ he murmured, ‘give me but a taste of those honeyed lips.’

He placed his palms against the wall on either side of her head, his body angled in such a way that if Catherine brought her knee up and connected in just the right place, he would drop like a felled tree, giving her the time she needed to bolt for the door. It wouldn’t have been the first time she had employed such methods, but she had learned that success was all in the timing. If she didn’t get it right, she would find herself in an even worse predicament.

She closed her eyes and counted it down in her head. Three...two...one...

Suddenly, there was a muffled curse, a screech, and the weight of Lassiter was gone—but not because of anything Catherine had done. She opened her eyes to see the viscount sprawled on the floor on the other side of the room, while a few feet away, with his legs firmly planted and his arms crossed over his chest, stood Valbourg.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Lassiter demanded. ‘I wasn’t accosting the wench.’

‘Mind your language, Lassiter. There is a lady present.’

‘Lady? She’s no—’

‘Miss Jones, are you unharmed?’ Valbourg interrupted, all the while keeping his eyes on the fallen peer.

Catherine swallowed. The question, like the threat, had been quietly spoken, but there was no mistaking the rage simmering just below the surface. ‘I am. No harm done.’

‘How fortunate for you, my lord,’ Valbourg murmured. ‘Otherwise you would have found yourself in a very unpleasant situation. Now remove yourself from my father’s house before I forget I am a gentleman and give you the thrashing you so richly deserve.’

Lassiter blanched. The threat, all the more dangerous for the silken tone in which it had been uttered, left no room for discussion. He clambered to his feet and bolted, leaving the door open behind him.

Valbourg walked over and closed it. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

His back was towards her, giving Catherine a moment to regain her composure. She was shaken—because she hadn’t expected to be attacked in a house like this by a man whose upbringing should have prevented it. ‘I am, my lord, though I don’t think I was in any real danger. I was about to give Lord Lassiter his comeuppance.’

‘You were?’ He turned around. ‘You will understand if I say it didn’t look that way from where I was standing.’

‘No, I suppose not. But in truth, I was just waiting for...the right moment.’

‘The right moment,’ Valbourg repeated with a smile. ‘So despite the fact he had you pinned against the wall so tightly the outline of his fob is likely imprinted on your skin, you still felt there was going to be...a right moment.’

‘Yes.’ Catherine raised her chin. ‘I can explain how if you like. I can even show you—’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said, holding up a hand to forestall the demonstration. ‘It’s time we got you home. Your carriage awaits, my lady.’

My lady. Valbourg’s words brought the blood rushing to Catherine’s cheeks far more than Tantemon’s innuendos or Lassiter’s advances. If his intention was to humiliate her, he had more than succeeded. She was not a lady and never would be. She was an unwed mother and actress. And tonight she had been on stage, just as when she was performing at the Gryphon. She had appeared in costume and walked into Valbourg’s world as though she belonged there—but she did not. The fairy tale had come to an end. It was time to go home, where there were no costumes to hide behind or masks to disguise who and what she really was.

She walked out to the carriage in silence, a few steps ahead of Valbourg. It wasn’t the magnificent barouche in which she had arrived, but a smaller, more intimate carriage drawn by two gleaming black horses and with a single driver up top. A carriage that was still very much the property of a gentleman.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, turning to face him. I had...a most enjoyable evening.’

‘I doubt that, but it is kind of you to say so.’ Valbourg handed her an envelope. ‘I hope this makes up for what you suffered tonight.’

Catherine took the envelope, but did not open it. She had no reason to suspect the marquess of short-changing her. Instead, she climbed into the carriage and immediately became aware of the lingering scent of lavender, making her wonder who had been in the carriage last. Lady Mary, perhaps, or another equally elegant lady of commendable family and high birth? The sort of lady Valbourg would be expected to marry.

Chiding herself for allowing her thoughts to drift in that direction, Catherine turned to bid him goodnight—only to gasp when she realised he was climbing into the carriage after her. ‘My lord?’

‘Don’t worry, Miss Jones, you are perfectly safe with me,’ Valbourg said, settling on to the seat opposite and pulling the door closed. ‘But if you think I intend to let you drive through the streets of London alone at this time of night, you are mistaken.’

‘But I am perfectly safe in a closed carriage!’

‘That was what I thought when I left you in the music room and then again in the Chinese Salon,’ he said drily. ‘I will see you safely home if for no other reason than to assure myself a good night’s sleep.’

* * *

They travelled without speaking for a time, Valbourg keeping his attention on the street, his expression remote, his eyes as dark as the night that surrounded them. Catherine took advantage of his distraction to study him. When she had first seen him walking towards her on the steps of Alderbury House, she had thought him older. But now, having spent time in his company, she realised he couldn’t have been more than thirty, despite the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes—

‘Why haven’t you taken a lover?’

The question made her jump. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘A lover. Forgive me if you find the word offensive, but I doubt the topic is one with which you’ve not had some experience.’

Catherine bristled. ‘If by experience you mean I have been approached about such things, you’re right. If, however, you refer to my having accepted such offers—’

‘I do not...because I know you have not. But let there be honesty between us, Miss Jones,’ Valbourg said. ‘You admit the subject has been raised in the past, in which case I hardly expect you to suffer a fit of maidenly outrage when I bring it up.’

No, she wasn’t likely to do that, Catherine acknowledged. But the fact he felt free to talk to her about the subject told her exactly what he thought of her...and that did bother her.

‘I fail to understand why you would ask such a question, my lord. What possible interest can it be of yours?’

‘I should think what happened to you this evening would be a more than sufficient explanation.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘If you were under someone’s protection, you would not have been taken advantage of the way you were earlier.’

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Catherine retorted. ‘Being someone’s mistress would entitle me to a greater degree of respect than what I currently enjoy.’

‘Come, Miss Jones, we both know being a gentleman’s mistress earns you no more respect than being an actress does,’ Valbourg said. ‘But it does come with certain advantages. For one, you would be better taken care of.’

‘Indeed. I would be given food and lodging in exchange for pleasures owed to my keeper whenever and wherever he chose to exact them,’ Catherine was stung into replying. ‘Forgive me if I do not find that preferable to the situation in which I currently find myself. Now, if you don’t mind, I would rather not continue this conversation. As surprising as it may seem, I find it...degrading.’

Valbourg shook his head. ‘I do not find that surprising at all. And it was not my intention to offend you, Catherine. I know you haven’t taken a lover, and while I do not know what your circumstances were before you arrived in London, I doubt they were all that much different from what they are now.’

Catherine raised an eyebrow at the casual use of her first name. Did he think to disarm her with familiarity? ‘Why would you say that?’

‘Because the opportunities you have in London would be far superior to any you might have been offered in the country. If you were willing to become some shop-owner’s mistress, you would not hesitate to become the mistress of a much wealthier man here.’

The implication stung. ‘You flatter me, Lord Valbourg. Obviously, your opinion of me is very high.’

‘Actually, it is,’ he said quietly, ‘which is why it pains me to have to ask you the question.’

It was surely one of the strangest conversations Catherine had ever had. A gentleman, asking her why she hadn’t become some other man’s mistress...but not because he seemed to have any interest in making her his. ‘For what it’s worth, I choose not to be a mistress,’ she said. ‘Singing is my passion and I am grateful to Mr Templeton for having given me the opportunity to do what I love night after night in his beautiful theatre. And to pay me for the privilege.’

‘Granted, but what of your future? There will come a time when the public tires of you. Or when the work becomes too demanding. What will you do then? Retire? Move away? Marry?’

‘I will never marry,’ Catherine said. ‘I have a career. One I love and that I intend to pursue. If I were to marry, all of that would change. A husband would not allow me to appear in public.’

‘He would if he were a fellow performer.’

‘It has been my experience that actors make poor husbands.’

‘Personal experience?’

‘No. Experience gained from watching those around me.’

‘So you’re not hiding an abandoned husband in some remote country village,’ Valbourg said with a small smile.

Catherine did not return it. ‘I assure you, I am not.’

Thankfully, the carriage began to slow. Catherine turned her gaze towards the window, aware that they had arrived in a part of town she knew well, but that was still a few streets from where she lived...which was exactly what she had intended when she had given the false address. It would have been bad enough for Stubbs to see her arriving home in a nobleman’s carriage. It would have been disastrous had he seen the owner of the carriage sitting in the carriage with her.

‘I take it you’re not going to tell me why you refuse to take a lover?’ Valbourg said, the question dragging her back into the moment.

Catherine sighed. Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? She didn’t want to lie to him, but she could not...would not...tell him the truth. ‘Lord Valbourg, it would be impossible for you to understand what my life has been to this point. Or for me to predict how it will be in the future. I can tell you that events in my past dictate how my future will be lived and it doesn’t matter whether I like it or not. The past is the past. It cannot be changed.’

‘So you’re telling me you did something you regret and your life is now ruled by that event.’

‘Something like that. Now I really must go,’ Catherine said. ‘It has been a long day and I am exhausted.’

He didn’t say a word. He simply looked at her in silence. But when she went to reach for the door handle, he leaned forward and held out his hand.

Confused, Catherine sat back. What was he doing? His expression, while serious, was in no way threatening, leading her to believe he wasn’t about to try to ravish her. So what did he want?

Her gaze rested on his a moment longer and then, with a sigh, she cautiously placed her hand into his.

Valbourg’s fingers closed around hers, warm and reassuring. ‘Thank you for agreeing to perform for my family and guests this evening, Miss Jones. While I regret the unfortunate incident that took place, I do not regret the time we were able to spend together. You are a beautiful and talented woman and I know you will do well in the future. But if you ever have need of my help, you have only to ask and it will be given.’

With that, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Catherine stared back at him, her thoughts a confusing tangle of emotions. What was she to make of all this? Did he dislike her—or desire her? Was he inviting her in or warning her to stay away? She had no idea. But too tired to figure any of it out, she gathered up her skirts and climbed out of the carriage.

By the time she looked up, it was already pulling away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the darkened street. A few minutes later, it began to rain.

Fortunately, or perhaps miraculously, a hackney came trotting around the corner and Catherine hailed it, relieved she wouldn’t have to travel the rest of the way on foot.

* * *

She was unlocking her front door when a dark figure separated itself from the shadows. ‘Good evening, Miss Jones.’

Catherine gasped, a combination of fear and exhaustion prompting the unguarded response. But when she realised who it was, she closed her eyes and said tersely, ‘Dash it all, Stubbs! You frightened the life out of me!’

‘My apologies, but you’re coming in later than usual and without the ever-watchful Mrs Rankin by your side.’

‘Mrs Rankin is ill. I sent her home and went alone to Lord Alderbury’s house.’

‘The Marquess of Alderbury?’ Stubbs repeated. ‘Well, well, and what would someone like you be doing at a fine house like that until this time in the morning?’

‘Performing.’

‘Oh, aye.’ He smiled and winked suggestively. ‘For a gentleman?’

‘No. For Lord Alderbury and about a hundred of his guests, at a ball to celebrate his daughter’s engagement,’ Catherine said with as much patience as she could muster. ‘I was invited to sing.’

‘Well, ain’t that nice,’ the man said. ‘Expect me to believe that, do you?’

‘I expect you to believe it because it’s the truth,’ Catherine said. Had the circumstances been different, she would have told Stubbs to mind his own business, or at the very least to go away and leave her alone. But it would have been foolhardy to do one and she knew better than to expect the other. ‘You can verify it easily enough, Stubbs. No doubt details of the reception will appear in the society columns tomorrow.’

‘No doubt they will,’ Stubbs agreed, his gold tooth briefly catching the light from the overhead lamp. ‘Enjoy moving with the toffs, do you, Miss Jones?’

‘I don’t move with them, Stubbs. I sing for them. There’s a difference.’

‘But they pay you well for your trouble.’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t do it otherwise.’

‘I wonder you do it at all, a famous actress like you,’ Stubbs said, his cracked leathery face reminding Catherine of one of the gargoyles crouched atop the marquess’s house. ‘Would have thought you already had everything you need. Except your boy, of course. And believe me, money’s no guarantee of ever getting him back.’

Despite the warmth of the evening, Catherine shivered. ‘What do you know about Thomas?’

‘I know the vicar believes he’s watching out for the boy’s soul. And that it would suffer if he were to come to live with a fallen woman like you,’ Stubbs said, leaning against the wall. ‘If Hailey were to hear you’d done something foolish with one of your toffs—’

‘He won’t hear that because I haven’t done anything foolish,’ Catherine said. ‘You know what kind of life I lead, Stubbs. Where I go and who I see. I’ve maintained the same lifestyle for the past five years. Why would I be so foolish as to do something to jeopardise it now?’

‘Who knows? Stronger women than you have given in to temptation. Women who do everything they can, but still can’t make ends meet.’

‘Well, I can and Reverend Hailey knows it. And when the Gryphon shuts down in a week’s time, I intend to go and collect Thomas.’

‘Do you now? Well, let me give you a word of advice. The vicar ain’t your only worry when it comes to the boy. His wife’s taken a real fancy to him and all. Takes him with her wherever she goes. Treats him like her own son.’

‘But he’s not her son. He’s mine!’

‘Damn it, woman, keep your voice down!’ Stubbs said, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. ‘You’ll have the whole bloody street awake. And there’s no point blowing up at me. I’ve got nothing to do with it.’

No, he didn’t, and belatedly, Catherine realised she would gain nothing by lashing out at him. Stubbs was only a pawn. Her real fight was with the man—and now, by all accounts, the woman—for whom Stubbs worked. ‘So, are you going to report my evening’s activities to your master?’

‘Depends. How much is it worth to you that I not say anything?’

Catherine clenched her teeth and pulled out the marquess’s envelope. This was always how the game was played and it was the reason she continued to give private concerts. Stubbs threatened to send a false report back to Hailey and she paid him not to do so. In short, blackmail. It didn’t matter that she had nothing to hide. Stubbs was in the position of power and he didn’t hesitate to use it. ‘I trust this will help convince you that nothing worth reporting happened tonight.’ She handed him his usual stipend. ‘Do we have an accord?’

Stubbs made a pretence of counting the money before stuffing it into a small leather pouch he carried for the purpose. ‘A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Jones.’ He doffed his battered beaver and scurried away like a rat into the night.

Catherine unlocked the front door and went inside. It had been an unpleasant end to the evening, but in truth, she had been lucky to escape as lightly as she had. If Stubbs had seen her getting out of Valbourg’s carriage—with Valbourg still inside—it would have taken a lot more than five pounds to guarantee his silence. Worse, it could have been Moody, the other man Hailey employed to keep an eye on her, in which case she would have been forced to hand over a great deal more of her night’s earnings. Moody was a nasty piece of work; a man who had been in and out of prison and who seemed to have no conscience whatsoever.

Sell his own kid for a bob, Stubbs had once told her. And with someone like that hanging around, Catherine knew she couldn’t risk stepping out of line. Any association, no matter how innocent, between herself and a man of wealth or title would be turned into something sordid and dirty. Between Moody and Stubbs, she had more than enough reasons for avoiding any kind of involvement. With Lord Valbourg or anyone else.

Chapter Three

The following afternoon brought a bit of welcome news in the form of a letter from Miss Gwendolyn Marsh, the spinster with whom Catherine had lived for her pregnancy and the first few months of Thomas’s life and with whom she still maintained a friendship.

Gwen wrote in an elegant, flowing hand.

My dearest Catherine,

How I look forward to seeing you again. It feels as though it has been much longer than six months between visits this time. I have followed your success, of course. I understand Promises is still the rage in London, and I am smiling to myself, remembering the nervous young girl who came to stay with me all those years ago, with nary a thought of performing on stage, let alone becoming one of its brightest stars!

But I digress. I am glad to hear you will be travelling to Grafton to collect Thomas.

I am so happy for you, my dear. You have worked very hard for this, forgoing the pleasures enjoyed by most young women your age, and you deserve now to reap the rewards...

Catherine let the letter fall to her lap, her mind casting back over the events of the past five years. Yes, she had worked hard, but what choice had she had? Making a success of her life was the only hope she’d had of regaining custody of Thomas.

She remembered as though it were yesterday the day she had arrived on Gwendolyn Marsh’s doorstep, pregnant with Will Hailey’s child. Will, the only son of the Reverend James Hailey and his first wife, Ruth, had been Catherine’s first love; an attachment formed when Will had started coming to her house to take lessons with her father. A thoughtful, quietly spoken lad, Will had actually been eight months younger than Catherine, but his gentle manners and studious air had made him seem older, and it was, perhaps, inevitable that a friendship would spring up between them.

They saw a great deal of each other over the next few months, the friendship deepening into an attraction and eventually into love. Unfortunately, Will didn’t tell his parents about his feelings for Catherine. Nor did he know, on the day he was thrown from his horse and killed, that she was carrying his child. For that reason, Reverend Hailey had refused to believe Catherine when she told him of their involvement. As far as Hailey was concerned, Catherine was just the schoolmaster’s daughter. He had been horrified to learn she was carrying his dead son’s child and had refused to have anything to do with her.

Nor had her own father been much better, Catherine reflected. Having recently lost his wife and struggling to come to terms with his own grief, Peter Jones had been unable to help her, his sadness prompting him to say things Catherine would never forget. So she had written to Miss Gwendolyn Marsh, a spinster and close friend of her late mother. Miss Marsh lived in Cheltenham, and it was to her Catherine had poured out her heart, going so far as to ask Miss Marsh if she might come and live with her until her baby was born.

Thankfully, Miss Marsh had said yes, and it was there in the comfort of her home that Catherine had spent the long, unhappy months of her pregnancy, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing on the horizon. A storm the effects of which she was still feeling today.

She picked up Gwen’s letter and continued reading.

You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you like, both before and after you collect Thomas. Cheltenham is empty of company at the moment and I should so enjoy having you around again. And of course I am anxious to see Thomas, since all I remember of him is a tiny baby.

Mrs Brown has been busy baking, and Flo and Daisy are quite silly in the way they go on. They will no doubt giggle and blush upon first seeing you. You are quite the star now, my dear, and I could not be happier for you...

Catherine finished the letter and then folded it up and put it on the table next to her chair. Unbidden, the memory of her first trip back to Grafton after Thomas’s birth came to mind; an occasion that stood out as one of the worst of her life. She had taken Thomas, then only a month old, to see Reverend Hailey and his new wife, Eliza, whom he had married shortly after Catherine left Grafton.

Pretty and spoiled, Eliza possessed neither the compassion nor the gentleness of Hailey’s first wife, and Catherine had disliked her on the spot. She’d had difficulty understanding why Hailey had married such a woman, though she suspected it had much to do with the fact Eliza was so pretty and that she played the part of the helpless female so well. Reverend Hailey wasn’t a bad man, just a weak one. And weak men, whether they be men of God or tillers of the soil, were easily manipulated. Catherine had recognised that the moment she had walked into the manse. She had been greeted at the door by the new housekeeper, a brusque north-country woman who had arrived with the new Mrs Hailey, and rather than being shown into the drawing room, where family and guests were usually entertained, Catherine had been ushered into the vicar’s private study, where Reverend Hailey and Eliza stood glaring at her from behind his desk. There, she had drawn back the blanket and shown them their grandson.

Hailey’s reaction was not at all what Catherine had been expecting. Asking if he might hold the child, Catherine had willingly passed Thomas over, hopeful his birth might help break down the barriers that existed between them. But only moments after taking Thomas, Reverend Hailey had handed him to his wife, as though reluctant to hold the child any longer than was absolutely necessary.

He’d said that, under the circumstances, he felt it best that the child remain with them. Given Catherine’s position as an unwed mother, with no employment and few prospects, she was the last person who should be taking care of a baby. He had gone on to say it was in Thomas’s best interests that he be raised in a Christian household, untainted by his mother’s immoral and sinful ways.

Stunned by the unexpected turn of events, Catherine had immediately asked Reverend Hailey to hand Thomas back to her, but the man had coldly and adamantly refused. He had quoted biblical text, saying his son’s death was a punishment from God, and that Catherine would burn in hell for her sins of lust and fornication. Eliza hadn’t said a word, but her expression had warned Catherine against trying to plead her case. At that point, she had returned to Miss Marsh’s house, where, devastated by the very real possibility of never seeing her son again, she had broken down and burst into tears.

A kind though practical woman, Miss Marsh had let Catherine cry, and when at last the tears came to an end, she had sat Catherine down and talked about what must be done. She told Catherine she truly was in no position to look after Thomas because until she was able to earn a living that provided a reasonable level of income, she would not be able to adequately provide for her son. Then she had said the words that had set Catherine on the road to her new life.

‘You have two gifts, my dear. A beautiful face and a remarkable voice. You must use both to make a career for yourself.’

‘A career?’ Catherine had said, confused. ‘Doing what?’

‘Why, performing, of course,’ Miss Marsh said. ‘Good actresses can command very high salaries.’

An actress? Miss Marsh wanted her to go on stage and perform? Catherine had been appalled. Everyone knew actresses were fallen women who allowed themselves to be kept by wealthy men who paid for their lodgings and gowns in exchange for the kinds of pleasures otherwise found in brothels. Surely Miss Marsh did not wish to see Catherine end up that way.

Thankfully, Miss Marsh—being a great deal more familiar with the ways of the world—had agreed that, yes, while many actresses were possessed of questionable morals, some had genuine talent and managed to make enviable careers for themselves.

‘It is the morality of the woman that dictates how she will be viewed by others,’ Miss Marsh said. ‘If you are skilled at your profession and keep yourself free of scandal, you will be acknowledged and celebrated for your talent. Furthermore, if you are able to capitalise on that talent and prove your financial competence to Reverend Hailey, he might reconsider and give Thomas back to you.’

It was all the encouragement Catherine needed—and while it had seemed the flimsiest of hopes, it was one to which she had clung with desperate ferocity.

Then Miss Marsh had performed her greatest act of charity. She had taken it upon herself to pay a visit to Reverend Hailey, during which she had set out the facts surrounding Catherine’s past and future plans. She had then asked Reverend Hailey if he would consider revisiting the issue of Thomas’s custody on the occasion of his fifth birthday.

Catherine hadn’t held out any hopes of Reverend Hailey agreeing to the suggestion. To her astonishment, however, Miss Marsh had returned with the news that if Catherine was able to prove herself a responsible woman of good moral character and was able to earn an income that would allow her to support herself and Thomas, Reverend Hailey would agree to review the situation when Thomas turned five.

At the time, five years had seemed an eternity, but that date was now upon them, and knowing she had met all of Reverend Hailey’s demands, Catherine had written to advise him that she would be coming to Grafton to talk about regaining custody of Thomas.

She had fulfilled her part of the bargain. Now it was time for the clergyman to live up to his.

* * *

The following Tuesday saw the final performance of Promises and, knowing it was their last show, the cast delivered what Mr Templeton said afterwards was their finest performance of the season. A standing ovation greeted Catherine as she took her bows, and she was showered with bouquets of flowers and expensive gifts when she returned to her dressing room later on.

As always, the diamond brooches and sapphire earrings with accompanying messages and thinly veiled invitations were politely sent back, while the posies of red roses, exotic lilies, pink carnations and sweet-smelling freesia were redistributed amongst the younger cast members; girls who seldom received such tributes.

Only one pink rose, adorned with a white satin bow, was kept.

‘Your unseen admirer will have a bit of a rest now,’ Lily said as she hung Catherine’s costume in the wardrobe. ‘Whatever will he do, I wonder?’

‘Perhaps he will find someone else to admire,’ Catherine said as she removed her necklace of paste emeralds. ‘An actress in one of the other theatres.’

‘He won’t find anyone as talented as you,’ Lily said. ‘I peeked into the audience when you were singing tonight and I swear there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.’ She closed the wardrobe door and glanced around the dressing room. ‘I’ll make sure everything is packed, and I’ve asked Mr Hawkins to give us a hand with the trunk. Are you and Mrs Rankin still leaving in two days’ time?’

‘Yes,’ Catherine said, turning around so that Lily could fasten the pins at the back of her gown. ‘Mrs Rankin is looking into arrangements for the coach.’

‘I’m glad I don’t have to go.’ Lily wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t like travelling on public coaches.’

‘Neither do I, but at least we will be riding inside.’ Catherine stood up and smoothed back an errant curl. ‘There, I think I’m ready. I shall meet you outside the theatre in half an hour.’

Catherine heard the sound of voices and laughter long before she walked into the crowded lobby, but as soon as she did, people turned and began to cheer her arrival. It still humbled her, these overwhelming tributes to her performances. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that one day, she would achieve this kind of fame. Indeed, when Miss Marsh had first put forward the idea of singing on the stage, Catherine had been convinced that no one would pay good money to hear her sing, let alone provide her with enough to establish herself as an independent woman. But they had paid to see her, filling the seats and the boxes of the Gryphon Theatre night after night and giving her back far more than she could possibly have given them.

‘Catherine!’

She looked up to see Theo Templeton shouldering his way through the crowd, dapper as always in formal evening attire, his trademark black cape swirling around him. Theo didn’t study the dictates of fashion. He set them; dressing as he pleased because he was rich enough to do so. Even his hair, once as black as midnight but now liberally sprinkled with grey, was worn longer than fashion decreed, but it looked dashing on him and he had the confidence to carry it off.

He reached her side and embraced her in a fatherly hug. ‘A marvellous night, my dear, and you were wonderful. Come and meet your adoring public and celebrate your success!’

He stayed by her side for the next twenty minutes, acting as both buffer and host as Catherine moved through the crowd, acknowledging the accolades and compliments. The gentlemen were all there, of course: the green lads begging for kisses or calling out invitations for supper, the older men like Lords Styles and Tantemon lounging by the stage door, watching her with barely veiled desire. Others, like Lord Hugh Nelson and Mr Stanton, merely smiled and winked.

Caught up in the giddy whirl of the evening, Catherine smiled back, knowing Theo would intervene if any of them came too close. But when she heard his voice rising above the others, she stopped and immediately turned around. ‘Lord Valbourg,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘You came.’

‘Did you think I would miss your final performance?’ He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss against her fingers. ‘Which, I must say, was one of your finest.’

Catherine blushed like a schoolgirl, as though she had never been offered a compliment before. ‘Thank you. Last performances are always special,’ she said, wondering if she would ever develop an immunity to this man’s charm. ‘We strive to send the audience home with good memories.’

‘Judging from what I saw tonight, you succeeded admirably. So, what now?’ he asked, drawing her to one side as Theo moved away to speak to Lady Pearcy. ‘A well-deserved holiday, perhaps?’

‘You could say that. I leave for Cheltenham the day after tomorrow.’

‘Cheltenham! What a coincidence. So do I.’

Catherine’s stomach tightened. ‘Really?’

‘Lord and Lady Brocklehume are hosting a gathering at their country estate,’ Valbourg said, nodding at an acquaintance before turning a thoughtful gaze back on her. ‘Would you care to travel with me?’

Catherine hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘Thank you, but I have already made my arrangements.’

‘And they are?’

‘To take the coach into Gloucester and rendezvous with the lady with whom I shall be staying. She has written to say she will meet me in the square.’

‘She still can, but since we are both bound for the same destination, why not journey together?’ Valbourg said. ‘Time always goes faster when one has company.’

‘But I will have company. My companion, Mrs Rankin, will be travelling with me,’ Catherine said, aware even as she said it that it was a flimsy excuse. A lady of quality never travelled without a maid or a companion, but the thought of spending two days in a carriage with Valbourg and having to make conversation with him was disquieting to say the least. ‘There won’t be room for all of us in your carriage.’

‘There will be if I take the barouche.’

‘But surely your father will need it while you are gone?’

‘Not for the brief time it takes to drive there and back, no.’

Catherine bit her lip. For every objection she put forward, he countered with a solution. If only there weren’t the risks... ‘Lord Valbourg, I am most grateful for your offer, but I’m really not sure it would be wise.’

‘And you, Miss Jones, must stop throwing up roadblocks in my path. If it is your reputation you are worried about, don’t be,’ Valbourg said. ‘You will be travelling with a respectable companion and I can hardly ravish you with her looking on, now can I?’

Shocked, Catherine burst out laughing, only to regret it a moment later when she realised that amusement would not have been the reaction of a well-brought-up young lady. ‘No, I am quite sure you can’t. And were I a respectable young lady, the presence of a companion would likely be enough to quiet wagging tongues. But I am an actress and therefore anyone travelling with me might be equally suspect.’

‘Even though Mrs Rankin is a widow?’

‘Perhaps more so because of it.’

‘Very well. Then I shall make one further suggestion. You and your companion can travel in the carriage and set off first thing in the morning while I shall set out on horseback a few hours later,’ Valbourg said. ‘I will no doubt catch up with you at some point along the road, but for all intents and purposes, we would be leaving London separately, thereby giving the gossips nothing to talk about. Does that meet with your approval?’

Catherine wanted to find fault with his suggestion, but found she was unable to do so without sounding ungracious. Yes, there was a possibility she would be seen riding in the Marquess of Alderbury’s carriage, but what harm could come of it if neither the marquess nor Valbourg were with her? Especially since Mrs Rankin would be at her side the entire time. ‘Very well, Lord Valbourg, I accept your offer and thank you for it.’

‘Splendid. Because I have a favour to ask in return. Would you consider singing for Lady Brocklehume and her guests one evening?’ he asked. ‘For a fee, of course.’

Catherine looked at him in surprise. ‘You have taken it upon yourself to arrange your hosts’ entertainments?’

‘Only when it comes to you. The countess enjoys your performances, and I am hopeful if she is very pleased with the arrangements, she will put in a good word for me with her husband. I have been trying to persuade him to sell me one of his prize stallions for some months now.’

It was such a male justification that Catherine couldn’t help but smile. ‘Fine. If that is all that is required by way of repayment, I am happy to comply.’

‘Ah, but I did not say that was all that was required,’ he said, his voice dropping. ‘Have you given any more thought to what we talked about the other night?’

In a heartbeat, Catherine’s mood of joyous optimism faded. She knew what he was referring to and wished with all her heart he would let the matter drop. ‘I have given it no further thought whatsoever. I told you how I felt about the subject at the time.’

‘Yes, but I am not willing to let the matter rest. However, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss it,’ Valbourg said as a cluster of giggling girls made their way across the lobby towards them. ‘Hopefully, we will have an opportunity to converse during the journey to Cheltenham. Or while you are at Swansdowne. I will, of course, arrange for a carriage to collect you from wherever you are staying and return you there after your performance. Unless you wish to spend the night at the manor?’

Catherine’s head whipped round, her gaze locking with his. What was he suggesting? That she might like to stay at Swansdowne for the night...or that he wanted her to? Was he rethinking his decision about the role he wished her to play in his life? She supposed it was possible, but if he thought to initiate an affair at Swansdowne, the chances of it being discovered were exceedingly high. Bedroom hopping was a commonplace event at country-house gatherings, and though a blind eye was often turned to those who were discreet, Catherine suspected an affair between Valbourg and an actress would not be so casually overlooked.

Besides, she would have Thomas with her by then. She had no desire to leave him alone at Gwendolyn’s house after having so recently been reunited with him. ‘Thank you, my lord, but I think it best I return home at the conclusion of the performance. I would not wish to offend my friend by spending a night away so soon after my arrival.’

‘If your friend is aware of how popular a performer you are, I dare say she would understand. However, the decision is yours.’

Catherine nodded, the complexity of her thoughts threatening to bring on a headache. ‘I must be leaving. My maid is waiting for me in the carriage.’

Valbourg bowed. ‘Then I shall escort you to it.’

Catherine was tempted to argue, but the lobby was still crowded with admirers, and none of the gentlemen she wished to avoid had left. No doubt some were waiting to see what she did, perhaps hoping to catch her alone. As such, walking to her carriage on her own might not be the wisest course of action. Theo had moved away and she was reluctant to call him back, though she had a feeling Valbourg would prove a far more effective barrier.

‘What is your address in Cheltenham?’ Valbourg enquired as they walked out to the carriage together.

‘High Street, near the park, but I think it best I make my own way to Swansdowne and back,’ Catherine told him. She saw Lily, who had been waiting by the carriage, bob a curtsy and quickly climb inside. ‘It would be more prudent.’

‘But not nearly as entertaining. However, I bow to your wishes. I shall arrange for the carriage to pick you up from Green Street at eight o’clock Thursday morning.’

Halfway into the carriage, Catherine stopped and turned around. ‘What makes you think I live on Green Street?’

‘Because while you may be a very talented actress, you are an extremely poor liar.’ He helped her the rest of the way into the carriage and then closed the door. ‘Good evening, Miss Jones.’

He nodded at the coachman, and the carriage sprang forward, leaving Catherine with no opportunity to reply. She stared at Lily in bewilderment. ‘How did he know where I lived?’

‘Don’t look at me, miss. I certainly didn’t tell him,’ Lily said. ‘But I doubt it would be all that difficult for a man like that to find out. Is there a reason you don’t want him knowing where you live?’

‘Not really. It’s just that...’ Catherine stopped, thinking about the night she had instructed his coachman to drop her off a few streets over from where she lived. Had Valbourg known even then that she was lying? ‘Never mind. I don’t suppose it matters.’

‘Did I hear him say he would be seeing you in Cheltenham, miss?’

‘Hmm? Oh, yes. Apparently Lord and Lady Brocklehume are holding a gathering in the area, and when I told Lord Valbourg I was also travelling to Cheltenham, he asked if I would be willing to sing for them. I said I would, at which point he kindly offered me the use of his father’s carriage.’

‘And very nice, too!’ Lily said, her expression of curiosity changing to one of satisfaction. ‘I suspect that’s because he’s sweet on you.’

‘He is not sweet on me!’ Catherine said, cheeks burning. ‘A man like that would never be interested in someone like me.’

‘But a man like that doesn’t do things for people like you unless he wants to...and he clearly likes doing things for you,’ Lily pointed out. ‘So you can interpret it how you like. I still say he’s sweet on you.’

Catherine didn’t bother to reply. What was the point? Lily was a hopeless romantic who was forever devouring penny novels with the belief that dark, handsome heroes existed to sweep beautiful young women off their feet. It didn’t matter how often she was told that fiction seldom resembled real life or that the heroines of most stories didn’t live happily ever after. Lily preferred her own way of looking at the world.

Still, Catherine couldn’t deny that whether by chance or design, she was seeing rather a lot of Valbourg, nor could she deny that she was flattered by his regard. He was handsome, charming and considerate; more so than any man she had ever met. Unfortunately, he was also a marquess’s son and the type of man for whom a woman happily and willingly did foolish things.

Catherine could not afford to be foolish. Valbourg was just passing through her life. The best she could hope for with him was the kind of tawdry relationship she had been offered and turned down so many times before.

Besides, how would he feel about her when he learned about Thomas? Would he turn away in disgust? Ask why she was keeping herself chaste when her son’s existence proved she was anything but?

Best not go down that road, Catherine warned herself. She had endured enough heartache over the past five years. She had no desire to live through any more in the future.

* * *

The night after the Gryphon closed, Theo and Tandy Templeton threw one of their lavish dinner parties. The entire company was invited, and Catherine was persuaded, as were several other members of the cast, to stage an informal entertainment after dinner. Victor Trumphani would recite a passage from a Shakespearean play, Tommy Silver, one of the newcomers to the troupe, would perform wondrous tricks of magic and illusion, and Catherine would sing a selection of songs.

Anthea Templeton, or Tandy as she liked to be called, always invited an eclectic mixture of guests to her dinner parties; everyone from a viscount and his lady to a doctor and his unmarried sister. Catherine was introduced to a barrister and his beautiful French fiancée, several extremely wealthy gentlemen whose conversations led her to believe they spent more time out of the country than in it and a delightful Italian count whose broken English was colourful if not always correct.

‘He can be quite outrageous,’ Tandy confided. ‘But he is such an interesting man, no one really minds. Just don’t take anything he says to heart. Italians can be such notorious flirts. I should know. I almost married one!’

As always, the guests mingled together well, no doubt due to the relaxed atmosphere Theo and Tandy took such care to foster. Catherine spotted the viscountess laughing with the barrister’s wife, saw the doctor chatting with Victor Trumphani and heard Theo speaking quite respectable French to the barrister’s fiancée. The Italian count flirted with every lady he could, but Catherine soon discovered that Tandy was right. He was harmless as long as you didn’t let his blandishments go to your head.

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