“He’s completely unsuitable...

he’s a rake.”

Part of The Beauchamp Heirs: after being plucked from peril by resolute bachelor Lord Hugo Alastair, Lady Olivia Beauchamp is secretly outraged that he doesn’t even try to steal a kiss! He’s a notorious rake among the ton, and as a result, utterly forbidden to an innocent debutante like her. But their attraction is magnetic. Will she risk her reputation for a passionate encounter?

The Beauchamp Heirs

Book 1—Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

Look out for the next book, coming soon!

“A captivating, sweet tale of heartbreak and hope.”

—RT Book Reviews on “Awakening His Sleeping Beauty” in Regency Christmas Wishes

“The second of the Beauchamp Betrothals is a warm and lively romance...it truly is an enjoyable read.”

—RT Book Reviews on Scandal and Miss Markham

JANICE PRESTON grew up in Wembley, North London, with a love of reading, writing stories and animals. In the past she has worked as a farmer, a police call-handler and a university administrator. She now lives in the West Midlands, with her husband and two cats, and has a part-time job as a weight management counsellor—vainly trying to control her own weight despite her love of chocolate!

Also by Janice Preston

Mary and the Marquis

From Wallflower to Countess

The Governess’s Secret Baby

Regency Christmas Wishes

Men About Town miniseries

Return of Scandal’s Son

Saved by Scandal’s Heir

The Beauchamp Betrothals miniseries

Cinderella and the Duke

Scandal and Miss Markham

Lady Cecily and the Mysterious Mr Gray

The Beauchamp Heirs miniseries

Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake

Janice Preston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07402-5

LADY OLIVIA AND THE INFAMOUS RAKE

© 2018 Janice Preston

Published in Great Britain 2018

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

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

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

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Ian.

Thank you for understanding

when I disappear into my own little world.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

‘Where have you been? Do you know how long we’ve been waiting? We were about to give up.’

‘It’s not my fault,’ Lady Olivia Beauchamp retorted to her brother, Alexander. ‘Do you even know how hard it is to sneak out without bumping into a servant? They’re everywhere. And what do you mean...we?’

‘Never mind that now.’ Alex grabbed her arm and bundled her unceremoniously towards the waiting hackney. ‘Hurry up. If anyone should catch us, there’ll be hell to pay.’

Huffing at his cavalier treatment of her, Olivia clambered inside, then stopped short at the sight of a figure already seated within. Alex put his hand between her shoulder blades and shoved. ‘Move. It’s only Nev. He’s come to help me keep you out of trouble.’

Olivia sprawled inelegantly on the seat opposite Neville Wolfe as her brother leapt in behind her and slammed the door. Immediately, the hackney rocked into motion, causing Olivia, by now half-upright, to tip over once more.

‘Alex,’ she wailed.

Neville’s hand covered his mouth, but he failed to muffle his snort of laughter. Olivia glared across the carriage at him.

‘Oh, God,’ Alex muttered, as he reached across and hauled her upright. ‘Tonight is bound to be a disaster.’

Neville passed a flask to Alex, who drank before handing it back.

‘Can I have a drink?’ Olivia asked.

‘No, you cannot,’ Alex retorted. ‘That’s all I need...you half-cut!’ He eyed Olivia sternly. ‘Two hours and not a minute longer, d’you hear? We’ve got better things to do tonight than dance attendance on a troublesome chit like you.’

The carriage passed under one of the new gas street lamps at that moment and Alex’s eyes widened as the light caught the ruby and diamond bracelet on Olivia’s gloved wrist. He reached across and grabbed her hand, holding it up to examine it.

‘That’s from Mama’s parure. What the devil are you about? What else have you got on?’

He yanked down the hood of her cloak, revealing the pair of exquisite eardrops and the matching necklace she wore. The set had been a wedding gift from their father, the Duke of Cheriton, to their late mother. Olivia fingered the necklace—remembering how beautiful Mama had looked, all dressed up and wearing the parure—before battening down the guilt that stirred her conscience. She stuck her nose in the air.

‘They belong to me, not Rosalind.’ Rosalind was their new stepmother and Olivia was finding it hard to adjust to calling her Stepmama, although she took care not to call her Rosalind to her face. Or in front of her father. ‘Papa said that Mama would have wanted me to have them.’

‘He also said you’re not allowed to wear them. They’re totally unsuitable for a chit in her first Season.’

‘Exactly! So when people see a masked lady tonight, wearing such fine jewellery, it will help my disguise. No one will guess I am your younger sister. They will think I am your light o’ love.’

‘That’s enough. Where did you hear such language?’

‘From you,’ she retorted.

Really! Alex is such a hypocrite!

‘God’s teeth, Olivia, you’d try the patience of a saint. How did you get the jewels, anyway? I thought Father kept them locked up in his safe.’

‘He does.’ But she also knew where Papa kept the key.

‘What do you imagine he’ll do when he discovers they’re missing, you little idiot? He’ll have the Runners out.’

‘Idiot yourself! I’ll have them back long before he returns from Birmingham. He’ll never know.’

‘Well, you be sure to keep them covered up at Vauxhall. You’ll be a magnet for every fingersmith and gallows bird there tonight. I must have rocks in my head to ever agree to such a madcap stunt as this.’

‘Well, you did not agree. I won our wager fair and square and—as you always tell me, Brother dear—gambling debts are debts of honour, so you had no choice. We had a bet and you lost!’

Alex muttered something that sounded suspiciously like spoilt brat before lapsing into a sullen silence.

A minute later, out of the dark, came a mocking, ‘Good evening, Lady Olivia.’

Olivia—miffed at having been betrayed into such unladylike behaviour in front of Alex’s friend, even though she had known him for years—responded with a hissed, ‘And if you tell a single soul about tonight, Neville Wolfe, your life will not be worth living.’

* * *

They crossed the Thames by boat and her first sight of Vauxhall Gardens utterly enchanted Olivia as they entered via the water entrance. Papa was exceedingly unfair to refuse to allow her to come to here—apart from one very fleeting visit, with him and Rosalind—early one evening, before it was even dark enough to fully admire all the lanterns. He had kept her close to his side the entire time and then whisked her and Nell—her very best friend and now her step-aunt because she was Rosalind’s stepsister—home immediately after they had watched the marvel of the mechanical cascade and just as it was beginning to get crowded and the excitement started to build. It was so unfair. Alex and Dominic—their eldest brother, Lord Avon—came here all the time and Olivia knew for a fact that Papa and Rosalind had visited the Gardens again since then, leaving Olivia and Nell to endure yet another insipid evening at Almack’s in the charge of Aunt Cecily—an activity Papa considered more suited to young ladies.

Not for the first time, Olivia wished she had been born a boy.

They have all the fun and all the freedom. It’s not fair.

They climbed the Vauxhall Stairs and entered the Gardens, which were lit by thousands of coloured lanterns, hanging in festoons between the trees. Her squabble with Alex was quickly forgotten, as always, and Olivia linked arms with her brother. With Neville bringing up the rear, she had no qualms about her safety and neither did she worry that she would be recognised. Her midnight-blue velvet domino, with its hood and matching mask—which left only the tip of her nose and her mouth and chin visible—would surely pass the closest scrutiny.

They strolled the well-lit paths, avoiding the more secluded walks—walks that rejoiced in names like the Dark Walk and Lovers’ Walk. Olivia peered down these dark and mysterious ways, catching glimpses of couples standing close together in the shadows and groups of young bucks—noisy in their cups—patrolling the walks. Alex had warned her she was on no account to enter any of these walks, hinting at dire consequences if she did not obey him.

She huffed quietly to herself. He should know she had more sense than that and as for her father’s tendency for overprotectiveness...well! It was totally uncalled-for, as far as Olivia was concerned. She was more than capable of looking after herself. She brushed aside the whisper of conscience that reminded her why Papa was so protective. She did not want to remember what had happened to Mama. Not tonight. She was determined to enjoy this evening, not dwell on past pain.

Papa is so old-fashioned. As if anything could happen to me in among all these people.

They stopped to admire the picturesque caves, grottos and waterfalls, Olivia staring in wonder at the sights, then continued until they reached the central square, where jugglers and tightrope walkers entertained the crowds and an orchestra played, the music struggling to be heard above the chatter and laughter of the crowds dancing, strolling and finishing their supper in the many supper boxes.

As they continued to stroll, arm in arm—Neville still ambling along in their wake—a female voice called Alex’s name. They turned as one and Olivia sensed her brother’s sudden tension. She had no difficulty in recognising the lady who had hailed him—Lady Shelton, the beautiful widow of Baron Shelton of Rutland. She indicated a supper box—in which several ladies and gentlemen were already seated—and beckoned Alex with a smile of enticement that set Olivia’s teeth on edge. She’d never been introduced to Lady Shelton nor, she realised as she scanned the occupants of that box, to any of the others, apart from Lords Clevedon and Sudbury. They were of an older set than the young gentleman and ladies she normally socialised with. A shiver chased down her spine. She chose to interpret it as a shiver of excitement rather than apprehension. At last she would experience a little of real life...the life outside the confined world of debutantes and chaperons and balls and Almack’s.

‘You don’t mind if we join them, do you, Livvy?’ Alex said, his eyes glued to Lady Shelton.

‘Beatrice! I’m Beatrice, remember?’

‘What? Oh, yes, of course. But you don’t mind, do you?’

Neville stepped forward and cleared his throat. ‘Alex. Have you forgotten what you said?’

‘What?’ Alex tore his gaze from the buxom blonde and stared at Neville.

Neville’s jaw firmed. ‘It’s no good givin’ me the evil eye. You said on no account was I to be tempted to join up with any of our pals while your sister is under our protection. We was to walk around a while, have a bite of supper if it’s not too late—’

‘Well, it is too late, ’cause she kept us waiting for ever.’

‘And then take her straight home.’ Neville spoke over Alex’s grumble. ‘That’s what you said. And they—’ he indicated the occupants of the box with a flick of his head ‘—ain’t even our pals. And they ain’t fitting company for your sister, neither.’

‘Oh, never mind that now,’ said Alex. ‘We shan’t stay above five minutes—ten, at the most. Do try not to be so faint-hearted. You’ll be all right, won’t you, Liv—Beatrice? We’ll both be with you. There’s no need to be afraid.’

‘Afraid? Why should I be afraid? Don’t be so stuffy, Neville. Really, you are as bad as Papa, fussing over every little thing. How can there be any risk? They’ll never recognise me.’

They approached Lady Shelton.

‘Lord Alexander, Mr Wolfe,’ she purred. ‘How lovely to see you both. I hoped I might persuade you to join our little party tonight?’ She indicated the box behind her and the neighbouring box. ‘Just a few select friends gathered here to celebrate Lord Clevedon’s birthday.’ Her gaze skimmed Olivia, who detected curiosity, but also a touch of scorn, in her ladyship’s blue eyes. ‘Will you introduce your companion?’ She leaned closer and her strong perfume wafted up Olivia’s nose, making it twitch. She held her breath, desperate not to sneeze. Lady Shelton fingered the edge of the hood covering Olivia’s head. ‘There really is no need to be bashful with us, my dear,’ she added, with an amused smile. ‘You will be among friends. We do not judge.’

‘Oh, this is Beatrice...er...well, just Beatrice,’ Alex said, dismissively, as he handed her into the less crowded of the two supper boxes. ‘She’s...er...well, she’s here incognito as a wager. Yes, that’s it. A wager.’

Olivia sat down, fuming. Really, Alex couldn’t dissemble convincingly if he tried. No one, listening to him, would believe she was his lady-love now. And that might cause them to wonder who else she might be. She might be willing to rebel now and then, and to take a few risks, but she had no wish for her behaviour to become common knowledge. She knew very well what was expected of her and, in public, she was every inch the perfectly behaved young aristocratic lady. She inched along the bench and smiled invitingly at Neville as she patted the space next to hers. He would do as a decoy. He eyed her warily and then, with a shrug, he sat next to her while Alex squeezed in next to Lady Shelton with a triumphant grin.

‘You gentlemen will already be acquainted with my companions,’ Lady Shelton said, ‘but, for Beatrice’s sake, allow me to introduce Lady Sale, Lords Clevedon and Sudbury, Lord Hugo Alastair, Mr and Mrs Bartlett and Mr Douglas Randall.’

A whisper of caution warned Olivia that these people were very different from those she was used to. She scanned their faces again, suddenly anxious, but there was nothing she could do...having accepted her ladyship’s invitation she could not now ask Alex to leave without drawing attention and speculation. She drew in a steadying breath. Ten minutes, he had said. She could manage ten minutes.

A glass was placed before her and a male hand, a ruby ring on one finger, tipped liquid from a jug, filling the glass. She raised her gaze, which had been fixed to the white tablecloth—soiled with crumbs, bearing witness to the supper recently consumed—and met the dark gaze of Lord Hugo Alastair. She felt the blood rush to her face as she forced herself to hold eye contact...there was something about his challenging scrutiny that attracted her and yet made her nervous at the same time...tingles of awareness chasing along every nerve in her body, urging her to flee. Or to find out more. His perfectly shaped mouth curved in a smile.

‘What is this drink, sir?’ Olivia raised the glass, eyeing the amber liquid.

‘Arrack punch. Not too potent for you, is it?’ There was a barely perceptible pause and she caught the twitch of his lips before he added, ‘Beatrice.’

She swallowed a sudden swell of nerves. He couldn’t possibly know her identity. Could he? She raised the glass to her lips, conscious the whole time of Lord Hugo’s scrutiny. She’d never tried arrack punch before. She sipped, and barely prevented her nose from wrinkling. It was strong. But she would not allow this...this...mocking coxcomb the satisfaction of believing her weak. Or lacking in experience.

‘It is delicious, thank you.’

She tilted her chin. He was as bad as her brothers...all her life she’d had to prove herself to them—prove herself capable of matching whatever they could do. She drank again. It tasted better this time and she felt the warmth hit her stomach, reminding her that she’d been so excited about tonight she’d barely eaten a thing at dinner and now—she glanced around the table—they were clearly too late for any supper here. She was conscious of the weight of Lord Hugo’s gaze upon her. She knew him by sight, but they’d never been introduced—he was not the sort of man who attended come-out balls or who frequented Almack’s. In fact, he was exactly the sort of man her Aunt Cecily would warn her to avoid: a disreputable rake and definitely an unsuitable acquaintance for a young lady in her first Season. She glanced at his lordship and saw his attention had been diverted by Mrs Bartlett, his head cocked towards her as she spoke into his ear. He smiled at her words and from looking rather dangerous—with his dark, sardonic good looks—his features were transformed. He looked much younger as his eyes crinkled—lines fanning out from the corners—and his lips parted to reveal strong white teeth. His right hand rested on the white tablecloth, his fingers moving—drumming lightly, as though he was restless—and that ruby ring on his third finger caught the light.

Olivia found her gaze riveted to those reflected darts of colour as she drank again and she realised, with a sense of shock, that she had drained the whole glass. Lord Hugo’s hand moved, picked up the jug and refilled her glass. Startled, she met his gaze again and a curious shock rippled through her. Again, she recognised nervousness and excitement all tangled up together. And something more. Something...deeper and slightly thrilling.

Anticipation?

His smile turned arrogant. Knowing. She recognised the look from that of her brothers when they were being particularly annoying—convinced they knew her better than she knew herself. Her brows twitched into a frown and she wrenched her eyes from Lord Hugo. Across the table, Lady Shelton was draped all over Alex, so Olivia avoided looking at them, too, embarrassed by their lack of shame in behaving in such a way in public—kissing and...and...fondling like that. Even Neville was taking no notice of her; he was too busy flirting with a gaudily made-up woman—clearly no lady—who had paused outside their box. She was starting to wish she had never goaded Alex into that wager. This was not as much fun as she had thought it would be.

‘Oh!’

Lady Shelton’s gasp brought Olivia’s attention back to her.

‘Oh, heavens.’ Lady Shelton fanned herself vigorously. ‘It is so very hot. I wonder, Alexander, would you be an absolute angel and escort me outside for some air?’ Her free hand disappeared beneath the table. ‘Perhaps we could dance...or something?’

Alex leapt to his feet, his cheeks flushed. ‘It would be my pleasure, ma’am.’

He helped her from the box, then appeared to remember Olivia, for he leaned across Neville and whispered, ‘I shan’t be gone long. You’ll be safe enough here with Nev. Just don’t be tempted to wander off. With anyone.’

And he disappeared into the crowd, Lady Shelton on his arm. Soon afterwards, Lord Sudbury, Mr and Mrs Bartlett and Lady Sale followed them, leaving Olivia alone with Lord Clevedon, Mr Randall, Lord Hugo and Neville. She edged closer to Neville, even though he was still flirting with that same woman. The prickles of awareness chasing over her skin warned her that Lord Hugo’s attention was once more upon her, so she studiously avoided looking in his direction. In doing so, however, she inadvertently caught Mr Randall’s eye. He was a bulky man of around five-and-thirty and he immediately moved, coming to sit on her side of the table, sliding along the bench until he sat right next to her, his thigh pressing against hers as he twisted his upper body to face her and fingered the edge of her hood.

Then his hand swooped down to land on her thigh and she squeaked a protest, knocking his hand away.

‘Just a bit of fun, darling,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Why not?’

‘Randall.’ There was a note of warning in Lord Hugo’s voice.

‘Alastair?’

‘The lady does not appear to welcome your attentions.’

‘What business is it of yours?’

Mr Randall then fell silent as Lord Clevedon rose to his feet. Olivia did not know whether to be relieved or alarmed. She was acquainted with Lord Clevedon, having met him at several functions—so he was clearly a respectable gentleman—but she was anxious he did not recognise her and this was drawing far too much of his attention. Up until now he had been too busy talking with Lord Sudbury to take much notice of anyone else. His gaze wandered casually over Olivia.

‘My guest is clearly a lady, Randall. You will oblige me by treating her as such at my birthday party.’

‘My apologies,’ Randall muttered. He was so close Olivia could smell the spirits on his breath and his cheeks were flagged with hectic colour. He shifted away until he no longer crowded her and she smiled at his lordship.

‘Thank you, my lord.’

His eyes narrowed slightly. Then he bowed, a smile playing on his full lips.

‘The pleasure is all mine, my dear.’ He gestured at Lord Hugo. ‘I shall leave it to you to ensure our glasses are kept topped up, Alastair. I cannot have it said that I am an ungenerous host.’

Lord Hugo—with a sardonic grin—obliged and, because she was overly warm in her velvet domino, Olivia continued to sip the punch. She dare not remove her domino, for that would uncover her hair—distinctive with its blue-black sheen—and she was now desperate not to be identified. She reached for the bow at her throat and pulled it loose, parting the front of the cloak to allow some air to reach her skin, but still leaving her head covered. As she did so, she glanced across the table at Lord Hugo.

Dark eyes lazily surveyed her chest area, then rose to linger on her lips and she trembled. She’d thought this would be an adventure. Now, it just felt dangerous and she felt very foolish and very inexperienced. She broke out in a light sweat even as her mouth dried and she snatched up her glass again and drank thirstily. She might never have been introduced to Lord Hugo, but she knew his reputation as a devil-may-care rake. A shiver tiptoed down her spine as she recalled some of the tales she had heard...stories she could well believe of the man who lounged opposite, a mocking edge to his hard gaze as he drank liberally and refilled the glasses on the table—including hers—at frequent intervals.

Uneasy at being alone in the box with the four men—even though one of them was Neville—Olivia distracted herself by drinking as the men chatted idly and made pithy comments about the people passing by. Gradually, though, she relaxed and she regained her normal, bubbly spirits, giving her the confidence to join the conversation.

Chapter Two

Some time later, Lord Clevedon produced a pack of cards from his pocket and he smiled at Olivia. ‘May I challenge you to a few hands of piquet, my dear? I cannot offer an alternative game, for I only have the reduced pack here.’

Olivia had often played piquet with her family, and prided herself on her skill, but she hesitated, knowing that playing cards in a public place was not at all the same as playing cards at a private function. Neville dug his elbow into her ribs at that point and muttered, ‘Not at all the thing, La—Beatrice’ under his breath.

Olivia glared at him. Then stuck her nose in the air. If she wished to play a hand or two of cards with Lord Clevedon, why should she not? Nobody knew it was her, except Neville, and he did not count.

His lordship shuffled the cards before fanning them between long, elegant fingers. ‘Do not concern yourself, Wolfe. We shall play the classic game—the first to gain one hundred points wins. Your...er...friend has already proved herself admirably bold, venturing here with two escorts, neither of whom, I’ll wager, are members of her family.’

His words reassured Olivia that he had not guessed her identity and, ignoring Neville’s desperate grimaces, she said, ‘Very well, then. I accept your challenge, sir.’

At that point, Mr Randall exited the box after mumbling an excuse. Olivia was pleased to see the back of him—she just wished Lord Hugo would also leave, with his unsettling gaze that seemed to penetrate deep inside her to winkle out her secrets.

‘What stakes shall we say?’

Olivia bit her lip. ‘I have no money with me with which to wager.’

‘No matter, my dear. Let us hope Lady Luck will smile upon you and, if she should not, I will happily accept your vowel, you know. Of course, if you fear to take the risk, we can play for a penny a point. I am sure one of your two cavaliers will be happy to cover any losses.’

Olivia—discovering in herself a sudden desire not to risk her money on a skill she suddenly doubted—thought a penny a point might be just the answer. Before she could accept Clevedon’s offer, however, Lord Hugo, his deep voice an amused drawl, said, ‘A penny a point? My dear Clevedon, you insult the lady.’

Olivia glared at him. The sight of that mocking smile fired her anger, egging her on, and she elevated her chin.

‘My thoughts exactly, sir. Why, a penny a point is hardly worth bothering with. What do you say to...to...?’ Frantically, she tried to decide what would be deemed a reasonable wager without her having to risk too much.

‘A guinea a point,’ Lord Hugo said, with a lift of his brow.

She held his gaze defiantly. ‘Perfect.’

‘Deal the hand, Clevedon,’ Lord Hugo drawled. ‘I have an extraordinary desire to see the outcome of this game before I take my leave.’

Light-headed from the effects of the punch and with the enormity of what she had agreed to, Olivia frowned as she forced her somewhat fuzzy attention on her hand. She won the first deal, but she was soon out of her depth. Clevedon played ruthlessly and Olivia was left reeling at the speed at which his points stacked up. Neville, his face grimmer by the second, shot her an encouraging smile.

‘I’ll go and find Alex.’

He stood and, none too steady on his feet, left the box. Olivia watched him go until he was absorbed into the crowd, then turned her attention to the remaining two men in the supper box and to the new hand dealt to her.

‘I... I think I would rather not play any more,’ she said, her stomach churning.

‘Such a shame you have suffered an unfortunate run of cards,’ Clevedon said, smiling. ‘But we cannot stop now—we are so close to the finish. One more deal should do it.’

Pride alone stopped her from refusing to finish the game. She lost as, deep down, she had known she would.

‘Never mind. Perhaps, if we play on, your luck might change, Beatrice, my dear.’

The breath left Olivia’s lungs in a whoosh. Beatrice. She had forgotten. She felt the blood drain from her face as she realised the dilemma she faced: she could not give Clevedon her vowel. She was here incognito. She could not risk this escapade becoming common knowledge—it would destroy her reputation and her father...

Sick dread pooled in her stomach. She would be in trouble, yes, but that was not the worst of it.

Oh, dear God. What have I done? Papa will blame Alex and then—

She thrust aside that frantic voice inside her head as Clevedon raised the pack of cards, his brows raised, waiting for her reply.

‘I...no. I do not care to play again, thank you.’ She sucked in a shaky breath and continued, ‘I will pay you your money by the end of next week, my lord, if you would be so good as to give me until then to settle my debt?’

‘But of course, my dear. Just give me your vowel and then I shall call upon you—shall we say next Saturday evening—and you can repay me. I shall, of course, need your address.’

Panic threatened to overcome her, squeezing her lungs until she could barely breathe. ‘I... I... I cannot give you my vowel, sir. But I give you my word that you will be paid on time.’

Clevedon’s smile was sympathetic, but there was a hard edge to it now. And how could she blame him? He had no idea of her identity. Why should he trust her? She scanned the people thronging the square.

Oh, where is Alex? Or Neville? Why have they not returned?

‘I am sorry, my dear, but...a debt of honour, you know. And an unknown adversary. I am afraid that I must insist on a signed vowel or—perhaps—payment of a different kind?’

Her throat constricted. Her gaze flew without volition to Lord Hugo, but he was staring out across the square, seemingly taking no notice of their conversation.

‘D-different kind? I do not understand.’

Clevedon proffered his hand and, as if in a dream, she took it and rose to her feet.

‘Come walk with me, Beatrice. A kiss. Or two. That is all I ask. There are private nooks aplenty in the Dark Walks.’

His eyes lowered to her décolletage. She snatched her hand from his and pulled her domino tightly across her chest, her hand at her throat.

‘I...no. I should rather not. Thank you, sir.’

‘Your address, then? Or how shall I know where to apply for my winnings?’

Beneath her fingers was the hard outline of Mama’s necklace. In a panic, she slid her hands inside her hood and reached behind to unclasp the necklace. She tugged it free and almost flung it on the table.

‘There. You may take that as my promise to pay my debt. And, when I do, you must return my necklace.’

A low whistle reached her ears. Lord Hugo’s eyes had widened at the sight of the necklace. Belatedly, Olivia recalled she could have offered the bracelet or even the eardrops—either would have covered the amount she owed and both were worth far less than the necklace.

And Papa is far more likely to notice the necklace is missing than he would the others.

But it was too late to change her offer now for Clevedon had already pocketed the necklace, saying, ‘A pledge? Hmmm... I should have preferred a kiss, but very well. I accept your pledge. I shall still require your address, however.’

‘No! Why?’

His brows rose. ‘No? But how, my dear, are you to pay my winnings and how am I to return your necklace? Unless...but of course. You may call upon me at my house in Dover Street. If you wear your domino, then it is unlikely you will be recognised. Shall we say, Saturday evening at seven o’clock? Bring the money—and your delightful self for dinner—and I shall return the necklace.’

‘Dinner? No. I could not possibly—our agreement was for me to pay my debt, nothing more.’

‘There is the little matter of interest payable, my dear. I shall hold the necklace for you until Saturday, but should you fail me I shall have no choice but to sell it to defray expenses. You do understand, I trust? Don’t be late.’

She could stay there no longer. Sick at heart, she fled the box, stumbling a little in her haste, and plunged into the dense mass of people thronging the square, desperately searching for Alex or Neville.

* * *

Lord Hugo Alastair watched the mysterious Beatrice vanish among the crush of people, who were growing rowdier by the minute, and he hoped she would quickly find safety with Beauchamp or Wolfe—he’d wager she was younger than she’d tried to appear, but she was without doubt a lady. He bit back a cynical smile—yet another young wife, unrecognisable in her hooded domino and lace-edged mask, out with her lover, proving yet again that matrimony was for fools. Hugo had had his fair share of disenchanted wives on his arm in the past. Although—now he considered it—neither Beauchamp nor Wolfe had paid her much attention. If either of those young greenheads was her lover, they weren’t making a very good fist of it.

He scanned the densely packed square and disquiet threaded through him. A female on her own would prove an easy target for the many predators prowling the Gardens—thieves, pickpockets...and worse.

He frowned, recalling the way Beatrice had taken fright at Clevedon’s suggestion of a kiss or two. That was not the reaction of a married lady out with her lover. And, now he came to think about it, neither was Clevedon’s suggestion one that Hugo would ever have expected of the man who was now examining that ruby and diamond necklace with a look of pure satisfaction on his face.

‘Care to enlighten me as to who the mysterious Beatrice is, Clevedon?’

Clevedon smiled smugly. ‘My salvation, dear boy. My future wife.’

‘Your wife?’ Hugo’s astonishment was perhaps too overt and Clevedon looked up with suddenly narrowed eyes.

‘Why ever not?’ he said, evenly. ‘A man in my position must marry eventually. The Beauchamp chit is as good as any.’

Hugo racked his brain to come up with a mental picture of Cheriton’s daughter. Their paths rarely crossed; young ladies in their first Season held no appeal for him and he, as a younger son with no prospects, held even less appeal for them. Or for their parents. Lady Olivia Beauchamp. He remembered her now: a true beauty, with a willowy figure and the same black hair and silver-grey eyes as her sire. And utterly innocent. Anger stirred, deep in his gut.

What the hell is Beauchamp about, bringing his sister here and then abandoning her?

‘I never had you down as the marrying kind, Clevedon.’

Hugo had always suspected the other man’s proclivities, but that was a delicate—not to say, illegal—matter and not one he could even mention, although he was aware Clevedon was not the first man to prefer the company of other men and neither would he be the last. He could see now that Clevedon’s suggestion of a kiss in payment for the debt had been an elaborate ruse... Clevedon had known damned well that the Lady Olivia Beauchamp would never consent to walking down those shady pathways with him. He had well and truly hooked her in.

Clevedon shrugged. ‘It is not by choice, dear boy, but I find myself in need of a wife with a wealthy father. And they don’t come much wealthier than Cheriton. Besides, our marriage would be one of pure convenience. My life need not change.’

Distaste mushroomed in Hugo’s gut. Lady Olivia might be a spoilt little rich girl who wanted for nothing—and a foolish chit for taking the risks she had tonight—and yet he could still find sympathy for a young girl who would marry with high hopes only to find her dreams dashed by the indifference and neglect of her husband.

His face must have revealed his feelings because Clevedon laughed out loud.

‘Scruples, my dear Hugo? Surely not.’

Hugo stood up. ‘I don’t approve of playing games with innocents.’

‘Needs must, dear boy. Needs must. It would not be my choice were things different, but her dowry will compensate for the inconvenience. And, of course, there will be the added bonus of marrying into such a powerful family.’

‘You think you can force Cheriton into agreeing to a marriage?’

Clevedon shrugged again. ‘Why not? When a juicy plum like the Catch of the Season drops into one’s lap, it would be remiss not to take advantage. And now, with this,’ he held the sparkling necklace aloft, ‘I have the means to exert a little additional persuasion, shall we say.’

Hugo tried to mask his revulsion at what Clevedon had in store for the girl. Marrying money was one thing. Ruining a girl’s reputation and innocence in order to force a wedding was beyond the pale, particularly when the man had no taste for female flesh.

‘Look here, Alastair. It was her decision to come here, presumably against Cheriton’s orders.’ Clevedon shrugged. ‘If she wants to play with the grown-ups, she must accept the consequences, as must her fool of a brother. He, too, will get his comeuppance very soon, if I’m not mistaken.’

His words resurrected a memory from earlier that evening—Sir Peter Tadlow cajoling Marie Shelton, ‘Please, Marie’, until Marie, with an irritated huff, had flounced out of the supper box and intercepted Beauchamp, Wolfe and their female companion. Tadlow had followed Marie from the box and not returned. Not that that was any loss—Hugo never had taken to the man. But he had wondered at the time why Marie—mercenary to her core—was bothering with Lord Alexander Beauchamp, whose pockets always seemed to be to let, even with a father like the Duke of Cheriton, who was rich as Croesus. Why had she draped herself all over Beauchamp and plied him with punch before enticing him away from the supper box? And where did Tadlow fit in?

‘What was Marie up to, with young Beauchamp?’

Clevedon’s eyes gleamed. ‘What do you think? Use your imagination, Alastair, do. I declare, you are growing dull of late.’

‘Yes. But why?’ Watching young Beauchamp had put Hugo in mind of his younger self—a young man on the path to self-destruction. ‘And where did Tadlow disappear to?’

Clevedon sighed. ‘You are like a dog with a bone, Alastair.’ He slipped the necklace into his pocket. ‘Tadlow,’ he said, with exaggerated patience, ‘was keen to avoid being seen by Beauchamp. He’s got some scheme or other planned.’

‘Scheme?’

Clevedon shrugged. ‘Something about revenge on Cheriton—seems he interfered in some plan Tadlow had to wed Bulbridge to Lady Helena Caldicot. Tadlow’s her uncle on her mother’s side.’

Sir Peter Tadlow and Viscount Bulbridge—and Bulbridge’s cousin, Douglas Randall—were recent additions to Hugo’s circle and he could not like any of them. All three were the sort of dissolute fellows that should serve as a stellar warning to unwary young bucks: Look closely, lads, for here lies your future. An unwary young buck such as he had been at the age of seventeen when he had set out to squeeze every last drop of pleasure from life without regard to the consequences.

Dear God. That was nine years ago!

‘Anyway,’ Clevedon continued, ‘Cheriton stuck his nose in, as is his wont, and put a stop to it so they’re out to bleed him through his son. Tadlow reckons Cheriton owes him. And young Beauchamp can look after himself—it’s no different for him than it is for his silly sister. If they come out to play with the adults, they must be prepared.’ He smiled wolfishly. ‘Now, much as I enjoy your oh-so-charming company, Alastair, old man, I think I shall join the others next door. Coming?’

Hugo could stomach no more tonight.

‘No. I’m off to my club. I’ll say goodnight.’

He left the box and plunged into the crowds, sick with disgust as he wondered why the hell he was still hanging around with Clevedon and his ilk, with their louche, care-for-nothing ways. Hugo might have always been wild and reckless, but he would never deliberately ruin an innocent girl for the sake of money and he would never stoop to using a young man to wreak revenge on his father. It was almost as though a veil had lifted from his eyes and he saw for the first time some of their true characters.

He had only attended tonight because it was Clevedon’s birthday, but he’d already decided it was time to stop socialising with this crowd altogether. In the past year or so he had gradually clawed his way out of the swamp of vices that had held him captive for so long, but he was aware it would be all too easy to slide back into the mire. A few too many drinks, and judgement and common sense were pissed down the gutter along with the alcohol.

Anger at the way the two youngsters had been targeted by Tadlow and Clevedon continued to gnaw at Hugo as he strolled through the hordes gathering to enjoy the fireworks display. Of the two, Clevedon was the most dangerous because he was welcomed almost everywhere in the ton and far more readily than Hugo himself was accepted. Parents fawned over him, eager for a title for their daughters and, if his plan to compromise her succeeded, he was the sort of man Cheriton might very well accept as a husband for his daughter.

Even though he told himself he would not put himself out—it was none of his business, after all—still Hugo found himself watching out for a figure in a midnight-blue velvet domino.

She’d said she had no money. Had she found her brother? Or Wolfe? They’d both been well on the way to being foxed anyway, as had Lady Olivia. And guilt mixed in with the disquiet as it continued to spiral through him—guilt over his own part in topping up her glass, time after time. It made no difference to tell himself he wouldn’t have done it if he’d realised who she was...how young she was...how innocent. He still felt responsible.

And it is my doing that she lost so heavily. I provoked her into agreeing those high stakes.

He stopped dead. People jostled around him, loudly complaining, but he ignored them. Then he cursed, fluently, beneath his breath. It went against the grain, but he felt compelled to look. To at least try to make sure she was all right...that she had found her brother. He gazed around. But how on earth could he locate her in this heaving mass of humanity? Where would she go? He bit back another curse as realisation dawned. She would stay near the supper box, in the hope that either her brother or Wolfe would return for her. He turned and shoved his way back through the crowd, until Clevedon’s box was in sight, and...there.

‘Bloody hellfire!’

She was close to the box, but not close enough to be visible to the occupants, and she was surrounded by several young men. One of them had his arm around her shoulders and was trying to pull down her hood, but she was fighting him off—verbally as well as physically, from what Hugo could make out. The lads surrounding Olivia were not gentlemen—probably clerks or some such, out for a good time—which was just as well because by the time Hugo reached them, Olivia’s hood was down, her hair was awry and her face unmasked. Her eyes were huge in her pale face, but they nevertheless fired ice shards at her tormentors as she berated them. As he came within hearing distance, Hugo bit back a grin to hear her spitting a variety of insults.

‘You vile worms! Churls! Scabs! Sodden-witted knaves! Leave me alone, or I’ll kick you so hard you won’t remember your own name for a month!’

The surrounding youths were laughing at her...mocking...and Hugo could see the effort it cost her to hold tears at bay.

He stepped into the fray.

Chapter Three

‘Enough!’ He faced the lad who was taunting Olivia by waving her mask above his head, its ribbons dangling and dancing. He held out one hand. ‘I’ll take that.’

The lad exchanged looks with his friends. ‘And who might you be? The little tart gave it me as a tro—Argh...’

Hugo’s fingers tightened around the youth’s throat, causing his eyes to bulge.

‘I said... I. Will. Take. That.’

A ragged but muted cheer sounded from some of the onlookers as Hugo continued to hold the youth high, by the neck, allowing just the tips of his toes to scrape the ground. It took no time for the lad to capitulate. He thrust the mask into Hugo’s face. Hugo took it, releasing him, and, as her tormentor slumped to the ground, Hugo faced Olivia. She was shaking, her eyes suspiciously luminous, but she held herself straight, her nose in the air, as she accepted the mask, tied it back in place and pulled her hood over her head.

‘Thank you.’ She began to walk away.

For God’s sake! Where does she think she is going?

With two strides he caught up with her and grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around to face him. She wrenched her arm free.

‘Leave me alone.’

‘How do you mean to get home?’

‘I shall find my brother.’

‘And if you don’t? And if you get accosted again? The next men might not be inclined to leave it at teasing.’

She elevated her nose. Again. Really, she was beyond hoity. He was almost inclined to leave her to it, if she was this stubborn.

Almost.

‘I shall escort you home.’

She was slowly but surely backing away from him. With a growl that originated deep, deep inside him, Hugo followed her and grabbed her arm again.

‘Let go of me.’

Those amazing eyes of hers shot icy slivers at him. What would they look like, fired with passion rather than fury? Would they—? He batted those errant thoughts aside. She was eighteen years old...had only just made her debut in society.

‘With what will you pay a jarvey to drive you home, Lady Olivia?’

He used her name deliberately, so she would know he recognised her. Her eyes flared.

‘You have no money, or you would have paid Clevedon,’ he reminded her.

She gasped at that, her worry palpable. ‘D-does Lord Clevedon know it was me? What if he tells my father?’

‘No. He does not know.’ The urge to soothe her took him unawares. Besides, there was no point in her fretting when he knew damned well Clevedon would never tell her father about tonight.

‘So, how will you get home if you don’t find your brother?’ he went on, ruthlessly. ‘Will you pay your fare with your bracelet?’

He raised her arm and the jewels caught the light, winking ice and fire.

‘Or maybe an eardrop?’

He slid his hand under her hood, skimming the satin-soft skin of her neck, and found her earlobe, tugging at it gently. Her breath quickened, her bosom heaving, and he snatched his hand away before he gave in to his instincts...the ones clamouring at him to haul her into his arms and to kiss some sense into her. He grasped her wrist. Firmly.

‘You’re coming with me,’ he rasped out and began to stride in the direction of the water gate, towing her along behind him.

‘Wh-where are you taking me?’

The fear in her voice had him slamming to a halt. He clenched his jaw.

‘Home,’ he gritted out. ‘And, before you ask, yes...your home.’

‘I... I won’t go without my brother.’

‘Your brother? Well, and where is he?’ Hugo flung his arm wide, almost knocking a passing gentleman’s hat from his head. ‘If he is supposed to be looking out for you tonight, he’s making a poor fist of it, that’s all I can say. I am not spending all night searching for your ramshackle brother when he clearly doesn’t give a da—hoot that he’s left you on your own in among this sort of crowd. I’m taking you home. Then I can return to my own plans for the evening.’

With that, he whirled around and set off again, his hand still clamped around her wrist.

He did not dare to slow his stride—she would only argue again. The sooner he delivered the troublesome minx home, the sooner he could forget all about her and her risk-taking, and her luminous, hypnotic eyes that reminded him of the moon and were fringed by the thickest, darkest, longest lashes he had ever seen.

Temptress eyes.

They soon reached Vauxhall Stairs and the water gate. A boat was already waiting and they embarked, along with several other passengers, some of whom Hugo knew. He nodded a greeting, but then pointedly directed his gaze across the river to discourage conversation. If any of them should recognise Olivia...his stomach clenched. She would be well and truly compromised and there was no way he ever intended to wed, not after the wretched example of his parents’ union.

‘But what—?’

‘Be quiet,’ he growled, glaring down into those wide eyes that glittered at him from behind her mask. ‘We’ll talk later.’

He ignored her loud puff of exasperation, concentrating instead on the dark ripples of the Thames slipping past the boat as the oarsmen strained to reach the opposite bank.

They disembarked, still in silence. Olivia stumbled and Hugo steadied her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

‘Oops,’ she said, stifling a giggle.

She straightened and pulled away from him, but her progress was erratic as she made for a waiting hackney. Hardly surprising, given the number of times he had refilled her glass—and her readiness to drain it every time. Hugo instructed the jarvey to take them to Grosvenor Square, where Beauchamp House—the Duke of Cheriton’s London residence—was located, then he handed Olivia up the step and climbed in behind her.

‘Why did you stop me from speaking in the boat?’ Her voice quivered with indignation. ‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’

Hugo shifted on the seat so he was half-facing her, and folded his arms across his chest.

‘I am the man who is saving you from the results of your own folly.’

She pushed back her hood and tore off her mask. ‘Hmmph. Some saviour you are. I should not be alone with you like this. It is scandalous.’

Her pert little nose was in the air again—she really was the most infuriating wench he had ever met.

‘More scandalous than you getting drunk and wandering around Vauxhall unescorted?’

‘I am not drunk. And I am masked. No one could recognise me. I know your reputation, Lord Hugo Alastair. You are the sort of man my aunt always warns me about. Well, you need not think you may take advantage of me, for I shall fight you and scream very loudly if you try to touch me.’

Her words might be full of bravado, but Hugo did not miss the way she shrank back into the corner of the hackney as she spoke them and the intermittent illumination from the street lamps as they passed revealed her hands gripping one another so tightly they shook.

He sighed. ‘I have no intention of touching you, Lady Olivia. I prefer my ladies willing. And experienced.’

Her eyes flashed at that but, thankfully, she remained silent.

‘I was impressed by your vocabulary back there,’ he said. Talking would, surely, help take her mind from their situation. And his. ‘Where did you learn such insults?’

‘Shakespeare,’ she replied, haughtily. ‘I am surprised you did not recognise them. I presume you did study his works at school?’

Impertinent little... He swallowed his irritation. ‘I did. Although I believe it is sodden-witted lords, not knaves.’

She glared at him. ‘Why would I call them lords? I was insulting them.’

‘They are not the typical words one might expect from a young lady.’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve heard Alex use them.’

Her brother again: Lord Alexander Beauchamp...younger son of the Duke of Cheriton and as wild as they come. Although what his excuse might be, with such a decent and supportive father, unlike Hugo’s—

He clamped down on that memory there and then. He would not allow himself to remember his childhood or his brutal father. It was shut up tight in a dark corner of his memory—a corner he refused to revisit.

‘Your brother should have more sense than to utter such words in your hearing.’

‘You sound just like Dominic. That’s what he always says. But Alex...you do not understand. Alex is...’

Her smooth forehead furrowed as she chewed her full bottom lip. Hugo waited, loath to say anything that might distract her from the confidence he sensed she was about to share. Her earlier tension had gone, to be replaced by agitation. Her hands now writhed in her lap. Hugo was certain he was not the cause this time. This was connected to her brother.

‘Alex has always been troubled,’ she said, eventually, her voice subdued. ‘He... I do not understand why, but he has always had a difficult relationship with Papa. Ever since...’ Her voice dropped to a near whisper and Hugo got the impression she had almost forgotten his presence. Then she drew in a hasty breath, and straightened. ‘Well, never mind that. The family look out for him. That is all.’

The family. Did she realise how fortunate she was to have such a tightly knit family to support her? And yet the silly chit risked disgrace and worse by this foolhardy escapade.

‘Your father will not be happy when he learns of your antics tonight.’

Her gaze flew to his. ‘No. You cannot tell Papa.’ She grabbed his hands. ‘Please. You cannot.’

‘He needs to know the danger your brother put you in.’

Hugo marvelled at the words coming from his mouth. Him...the wildest and most reckless of them all...ready to test any boundary for the sake of having fun. And now here he was, attempting to imbue some common sense into a troublesome young lady like Lady Olivia Beauchamp.

‘Please. Do not tell Papa. Not for my sake, but for Alex’s.’ Her eyes searched his. ‘Please?’ Her hands tightened their grip.

He locked in the words ‘persuade me’. Reined back his sudden urge to seize her mouth, taste her lips. He extricated his hands from hers, suddenly uncomfortable...too viscerally aware of her nearness, the way she gazed up at him with parted lips. And those eyes...

He twisted to look out of the window. Piccadilly. They would soon reach Grosvenor Square.

‘Why should I care about protecting your brother?’

‘Alex...he is difficult, I know. He drinks. He gambles. He fights. But he is unhappy. At least, everyone else thinks he is upset by what happened. I believe he’s angry. But I do not understand why.’

It was the second time she had said that. Curiosity stirred within Hugo...what had happened in the Beauchamps’ past? He made a mental note to quiz his mother.

‘The only thing that takes him away from all those...those vices is horses. He adores horses and they adore him. He has an almost magical connection with them. Give him an untameable horse and he will gentle it until it follows him around like a puppy.’

‘That does not explain why I should not tell your father.’

‘But you cannot. Not when Alex finally has a chance to settle down...when he has the chance to have something of his own that will make him content.’ She chewed at her lip again. ‘It is not yet common knowledge, but Papa has purchased Sir William Rockbeare’s estate in Buckinghamshire. Do you know Sir William?’

‘I know of him.’ Everyone knew Rockbeare’s cattle were the best riding and carriage horses in the country. ‘I heard he’d sold up.’

‘Well, Alex got into trouble while Papa was away in Buckinghamshire. And Papa told him if he could stay out of trouble for the rest of the Season, then he could move to Foxbourne and run the stud and training stables. If he proves himself, in a few years Papa will sign the estate and all the horses over to him. Do you not see?’

She sat forward, her silver gaze intent upon his, sending strange impulses quivering through him. Not the impulse to seize and to take this time, but...the desire to protect. He frowned, dragging his attention away from his feelings and back to her words. Too much thought about his feelings always made him fidgety and out of sorts. That’s why he was usually careful to avoid such namby-pamby nonsense.

‘It is a wonderful chance for Alex and he wants it sooo much, and he has been trying so hard to keep out of trouble and if Papa finds out about tonight...’ She hung her head. ‘It was all my fault.’ He caught the sound of a tiny sniff. ‘I won a bet and Alex lost which meant he had no choice but to take me to Vauxhall. But it was not a fair bet. I knew I could not lose, because Uncle Vernon had already agreed to allow me to drive his blacks in the Park, but Alex didn’t know that, and he thought it a safe bet because Vernon never allows anyone to drive his blacks.’

Hugo frowned, trying to make sense of her jumbled tale. ‘Then why did your uncle allow you to drive his blacks?’

He knew the pair she meant and he knew how proud and protective her uncle, Lord Vernon Beauchamp, was of them.

‘Because I tricked him. He upset Aunt Cecily—he was teasing her and she was in a snit with him, but he needed her to do him a favour because Lady Slough was pursuing him relentlessly, he said—’

‘Lady Slough?’ An image of the lady in question—short, stout, fifty if she was a day—formed in Hugo’s head. ‘Lady Slough was pursuing your uncle?’

Lord Vernon Beauchamp was one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton—much sought after and very popular with the ladies.

‘Well, not for herself, of course.’ She tutted. Hugo could barely contain a chuckle. She really was an entertaining miss—an unexpected mixture of naivety and shrewdness. ‘For her daughter. Anyway, Uncle Vernon needed my Aunt Cecily to seat him as far away from Lady Slough and Amelia as possible when they came to dinner—’

‘But...why would they be invited to dinner?’

‘Because Lady Slough is my stepmama’s aunt—even though she used to disown Stepmama but now she is toadying up to Stepmama for all she is worth—and she really believes Uncle Vernon will marry her spotty daughter. Which he won’t, I can tell you, because Uncle Vernon will never get married, he says.’

Hugo had every sympathy with that point of view.

‘Anyway, I was telling you all about my bet with Alex...so, Uncle Vernon begged me to persuade Aunt Cecily not to sit Lady Slough or Amelia next to him—because she threatened to do exactly that—and I said I would persuade her, but that he would owe me a favour. And he said, Anything. And then, the next day, when I reminded him he tried to wriggle out of it, but Papa was a witness and told Uncle Vernon he should be more careful about making such vague promises. So Vernon had already agreed, but Alex didn’t know...and Dominic is right! I am a horrid, manipulative creature.’

‘Dominic?’ It was the second time she had mentioned this Dominic.

‘Avon.’

‘Of course.’ Dominic, Lord Avon, was Olivia’s eldest brother and heir to the Dukedom. ‘So you don’t get on with Avon?’

She pouted. ‘Well, I do. He is nice enough when he’s not teasing me. But he does take himself and his position as Papa’s heir exceedingly serious. He is opposite to Alex. Poor Alex.’ She slumped back into the corner. ‘I shall never forgive myself if he loses the chance to have Foxbourne because of me.’

‘Why do you care so much?’

She stared. ‘He’s my brother. Of course I care. I love him.’

Envy stirred. Everyone knew the Beauchamps were a close family. What must it be like, to have complete and utter faith and trust in your own father? Hugo had never known such security, even though his mother had tried her best to protect him and Lucas, his older brother, from their violent father. Neither of them had returned to Rothley Hall, the family estate up in Northumberland, after they left university. Lucas had made his home in London and Hugo had spent more time with Lucas than at Oxford, finding his elder brother’s life of excess and debauchery much more exciting than a life of study. They had been wild years—until Lucas had been betrayed by the woman he loved and a man he thought his friend and had left London abruptly, a bitter man. Later, following their father’s death, Lucas had become the Marquis of Rothley and led the life of a joyless recluse.

Since then, Hugo had been on his own, continuing with all those same rakish excesses and vices until this past year or so, when that way of life had begun to pall, almost without him realising it. He had even—God help him—invested some of his recent winnings in government bonds. That was the influence of Sir Horace Todmorden, his new stepfather, whose seemingly unshakeable faith in Hugo was beginning to change him.

‘What are you thinking about? You look...sad.’

The soft query jerked him from his thoughts. ‘Nothing.’ Then, at her crestfallen expression, he gentled his voice. ‘I was thinking about my father and how fortunate you are in yours.’

Her hand covered his. ‘You must miss him dreadfully.’

‘Hardly.’ He huffed a laugh. ‘He was a brute.’

‘Oh.’ Her fine, dark brows drew together as she withdrew her hand. ‘But...you still have other family, do you not?’

‘My mother and my brother, Rothley.’

He’d said enough. She could have no real interest in his family. Once he had delivered her home, their paths were unlikely to cross very often. But their conversation had stirred hope within him, for not only had Mama married Sir Horace last year, but Lucas, too, had now wed. He and Mary, his new wife, and Mary’s two young children, would arrive in London very soon for a prolonged visit. And then...pleasure glowed deep inside at the thought that, maybe, he would finally be part of a close-knit family himself.

He shook all thoughts of his family from his head as the hackney rocked to a halt.

‘We’re here.’ Hugo glanced up at Beauchamp House. Belatedly, he realised he should have instructed the jarvey to stop around the corner. ‘Put that mask back on and pull up your hood.’

Olivia stared at him, an unfathomable expression on her face before, with yet another pout, tying her mask in place. Hugo jumped from the hackney. The front door of the house now stood open, a footman silhouetted within the frame. Hugo waved him away.

‘Wrong address,’ he called.

The man raised his hand in acknowledgement and retreated into the house, closing the door behind him. Hugo leaned back inside the carriage.

‘How did you intend to get back inside?’

‘Around the back. There’s a window... Alex makes sure it’s unlocked whenever he goes out at night and doesn’t want anyone to know.’

‘And he told his younger sister about it?’

‘No. Nobody ever tells me anything. But I usually find out anyway.’

The hint of pride in her tone made him smile. Again, he thought of her as an odd mixture of naivety and intuition, but that didn’t mean she was up to snuff when dealing with the darker aspects of life...or of society, for that matter. He held out his hand and she took it to climb down to the pavement. Without volition, his fingers closed around hers and he had to force himself to release her.

‘Wait for me,’ he said to the jarvey. ‘I won’t be long.’ Then to Olivia, he said, ‘Come. Show me. But if your father appears, I’m off.’

‘Papa’s away,’ she replied. ‘He and my stepmother left yesterday, with her grandfather. They’re going to Birmingham to collect his belongings, although...’ She frowned. ‘I think they’re meeting Uncle Vernon somewhere first. He wrote to Papa, only Papa would only tell me it was nothing to worry about.’

Yet again, Hugo found himself biting back a smile—this time at her disgruntled tone. She clearly prided herself on knowing everything that was going on within her family. They had reached the corner and turned into a side street. There was a low bark, the click of claws on the pavement, and an enormous dog launched itself at Olivia. Hugo’s heart thundered as he threw his arms around its neck, dragging it away.

‘Hector!’ A tall, slender man, supporting himself on a crutch, lurched towards them.

‘Hector!’ Far from being petrified, Olivia’s squeal was one of delight.

The dog squirmed, its tail waving, as Hugo held it fast.

‘You know this monster?’ he panted.

‘Of course I do. It’s Hector. My stepmother’s dog and...oh! F-F-Freddie.’

The man had reached them and, with a ferocious scowl at Hugo, he reached out and tugged the hood from Olivia’s head.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ He kept his voice low as he scanned the surrounding street. ‘And who the de—who on earth are you?’

Chapter Four

Olivia clutched at the man’s sleeve. ‘Oh, Freddie! Please. You must not tell anyone you have seen me.’

‘Livvy, how can I keep this a secret? I enjoy my work for your father—he trusts me to be honest with him.’ He pushed her behind him and glared at Hugo. ‘I asked who you are, sir. And you can release the dog. He will not run off. Nor attack you—unless I tell him to.’

Hugo released the huge hound. ‘I’m Alastair. And you, sir?’

‘Frederick Allen. The Duke’s secretary.’

‘Allen? You are connected to the new Duchess?’

‘Her brother.’

‘Well, before you imagine the worst, Allen, let me assure you that I am merely escorting Lady Olivia home from Vauxhall Gardens where, unfortunately, she became separated from her brother, who originally took her there.’

‘It’s true, Freddie. Alex disappeared and I had no money to get home and Lord Hugo very gallantly offered to escort me so I would not come to any harm.’

‘No harm? There will be no end of harm if anyone should spot you.’ Freddie glanced around again. ‘We must get off the street.’ He tugged Olivia towards a flight of steps leading down to the basement area, where a door stood ajar casting a patch of light on to the flagstones. Freddie jerked his head, indicating that Hugo should follow.

Once they were hidden from view, he growled, ‘How can you have come to no harm when you’re out at this time of night, unchaperoned, with a strange man? Does Nell know?’

‘No. I did not wish her to be obliged to lie on my behalf, so I did not tell her. But you must not tell Papa, or Rosalind, or...or...anyone. You know Alex will get the blame and then he will lose Foxbourne, and he will be devastated and then he will disappear again like he did before, and no one will know where he’s gone, and—’

‘Olivia!’

She clamped her mouth shut.

‘You cannot possibly know what might happen in the future, so please stop imagining the worst all the time.’

Olivia stuck her pert little nose in the air again. Freddie caught Hugo’s eye and rolled his eyes and Hugo warmed to the man, who looked to be a similar age to himself.

‘Olivia, if you do not wish me to tell your father about this, I suggest you go inside and get to bed, now. And take Hector with you. If anyone sees you, tell them you came outside with me and Hector but, for goodness’ sake, keep your gown covered and hide that mask. You and I will have further words in the morning, after church.’

Olivia clutched Freddie’s arm. ‘But what about Alex? What if he’s in trouble?’

‘Leave Alex to me. Goodnight, Livvy.’

Her lips firmed. ‘Very well,’ she said, with a pout and a sigh. ‘Goodnight, Freddie. Goodnight, Lord Hugo. And thank you for bringing me home.’

Hugo bowed. ‘It was my pleasure, my lady. Goodnight.’

She stared at him—slightly resentfully, he thought, but he could not fathom why that might be—then she swung around and, with Hector at her heels, she vanished inside the house. Hugo found himself the object of Freddie’s scrutiny.

‘What happened?’

Hugo told the other man how Lady Shelton had persuaded Alex, Olivia and Neville to join them.

‘You have no idea where he went?’

‘No. Only that he wandered off with Lady Shelton on his arm. But that’s not all.’

He revealed Tadlow’s plan to wreak revenge on the Duke through Alex.

Freddie’s brow furrowed. ‘That wretch,’ he said, in disgust. ‘He is my stepsister’s uncle. A nasty piece of work. I must warn Alex to beware of him and just hope he’ll listen to me. Silly young chump,’ he added. ‘Let us hope he’s not courting more trouble than he can handle.’ He sighed. ‘I must away to Vauxhall, then. See if I can find him and warn him. Although if he’s been drinking he may well be in no mood to listen.’

‘Does he not have an incentive to mend his ways now?’

Freddie raised his brows.

‘Lady Olivia told me about Foxbourne and how much it means to Alex.’

Freddie nodded. ‘It means the world to him, but Alex is young and impetuous. A bit like his sister,’ he added with a grin. ‘And with both his father and uncle out of town, it’s too easy for him to fall back into his old habits. If the Duke finds out Alex took Olivia to Vauxhall against his expressed wishes—let alone that he left her alone with such an unsuitable group of people, if you’ll pardon my bluntness—then he will have little choice but to follow up his threat to put a manager into Foxbourne.’

He began to climb the area steps. Laboriously. Sympathy stirred in Hugo’s heart, and also something of a feeling of shame—whatever reasons he’d ever had for self-pity, at least he was fit and able. He followed Freddie up to the street.

‘I shall come with you,’ he said. ‘I have a hackney waiting in the Square.’

‘There is no need. You’ve done enough.’

‘I intended to return anyway. I’ll help you find Beauchamp first, then I have business of my own to attend to.’

Lady Olivia might have forgotten her reckless wager, and the price Clevedon intended to extract, but Hugo had not. Not only was there a wayward brother to track down, but he also had a necklace to retrieve.

* * *

Olivia clung on to Hector’s collar as they climbed the stairs. After the terror and excitement of the evening, tiredness all at once swamped her. Her legs felt cumbersome, as though they belonged to someone else, as she attempted to move quietly. The familiar surroundings appeared to be somehow distant from her—as though she was viewing them through thick, somewhat distorted glass. She realised she was a touch drunk.

All I need to do is get to my bedchamber without anyone seeing me.

A single candle burned in a wall sconce opposite the head of the stairs, as it did every night, and she resumed her climb up to the second floor and her bedchamber. She stumbled over the final stair as she gained the second landing and she swallowed down a giggle.

‘Shhh,’ she said to Hector. He looked up at her, somewhat reproachfully, she thought. She weaved a little as she headed along the corridor towards her bedchamber. ‘We must not wake Aunt Cecily. Or Lady Glen... Lady Glenlo... Lady G.’

She grimaced at the thought of meeting Nell’s formidable aunt, who had been living at Beauchamp House for the past few months, ever since Papa and Rosalind’s betrothal and their subsequent marriage.

Without warning, her throat thickened and her eyes blurred. She stopped walking and frowned.

‘But I like Rosalind... I mean, Stepmama,’ she said out loud. ‘Why do I feel like crying?’

The click of a door latch roused her and she turned, her heart thumping, afraid it would be Aunt Cecily. Her aunt would never swallow some cock-and-bull story about going outside with Hector. She would see right through Olivia. She released her pent-up breath as Nell peered from her bedchamber.

‘I thought you were my aunt,’ Olivia said.

‘But Cecily’s bedchamber is nowhere near here, Livvy,’ Nell said. She stepped out into the passageway, a frown creasing her forehead. ‘Why are you dressed? You retired hours ago, with the headache.’ She scanned Olivia from head to toe. ‘Have you been out? Where did you get that bracelet? What have you been up to?’

Olivia’s stomach somersaulted.

The bracelet. Mama’s necklace. Lord Clevedon.

How could I have forgotten?

‘Livvy?’ Nell’s voice was laced with concern as she grabbed Olivia’s arm. ‘Are you ill? Shall I fetch someone?’

Olivia wrenched her horrified thoughts from that dreadful game of piquet. ‘No. But I’m in such trouble. Oh, what am I to do, Nell?’

‘Shhh.’

Nell dragged Olivia into her bedchamber and thrust her towards the bed, where the rumpled sheets were—Olivia discovered as she slumped to the mattress—still warm. Nell lit a candle on her bedside table and then sat next to Olivia, her arm around her, as Hector padded across to flop down on the fireside rug.

‘What is it, Livvy? What happened?’

Olivia tugged at the ties of her domino and let it slide from her shoulders as her hands went to her neck, exploring the bare skin in the vain hope that the entire episode had been a dream—or a nightmare—and, somehow, miraculously, her mother’s necklace would reappear. Tears stung her eyes again.

‘Oh, I am a wicked, wicked girl.’

‘Livvy! You are frightening me. What has happened?’

Nell shifted away from Olivia and, grabbing her by the shoulders, she shook her.

‘Please. Tell me, Livvy. It cannot be so very bad, but I cannot help if you do not tell me.’

Olivia sunk her head into her hands, her thoughts muddled and sluggish as she tried to remember it all. Slowly, disjointedly, she told Nell about her wager with Alex, their trip to Vauxhall and that disastrous card game with Lord Clevedon.

‘Lord Clevedon? I am shocked. I thought he was a gentleman.’

‘He is. But he did not know it was me. He thought I was a floozy. He probably thought I only got what I deserved...but...oh, Nell! I could have asked Lord Hugo for help... I am certain he would have helped me. But I forgot all about it because I was so certain he would try to kiss me in the hackney and when he did not—’ Olivia sniffed and rubbed her eyes. ‘He is as bad as Dominic and Alex. He thinks I am a s-s-silly child and not even p-p-pretty enough to steal a kiss. I was at his mercy, and he...he...’

He was kind.

He listened.

And I...oh, no...

‘I told him all about Alex and Foxbourne and everything. Why did I tell him? I did not mean to, it just all poured out.’

‘But... Livvy...who is Lord Hugo? How is he involved?’

‘Lord Hugo Alastair.’

Nell gasped. ‘Livvy! Do not tell me you were alone with him in a hackney.’

‘Yes,’ said Olivia, miserably. ‘And he did not even try to kiss me.’

‘But where did you meet him? Where was Alex? Surely Alex did not allow you to go off alone with a rake like Lord Hugo?’

‘Alex was not there. He went off with that strumpet Lady Shelton,’ Olivia said, tartly. ‘He left me with Lord Clevedon and Lord Hugo. But then, after I lost Mama’s necklace, I went to look for Alex and Lord Hugo rescued me and he brought me home.’

‘Well, it is Alex’s fault. Let him retrieve the necklace.’

‘I cannot. He already scolded me for wearing it. And he’s like to go off and challenge Lord Clevedon to a duel or something. You know how hot-headed he is.’

‘We shall confide in Freddie, then. He will know what to do,’ Nell said.

‘Freddie already knows, but he does not know about the necklace and I cannot tell him, because then he will feel he has to tell Papa and then he will cast Alex out and it will all be my fault. Oh, Nell. What am I to do? Papa will be home in a few days and he is bound to see it is missing.’

‘Well...’ Nell frowned, clearly thinking. ‘Well. I suggest we sleep on it. I am sure we’ll think of something in the morning.’

* * *

Progress was slow when Hugo and Freddie arrived back at Vauxhall Gardens. Hugo matched his pace to that of his companion as they turned down yet another path, searching the faces of the numerous young men in the dimly lit thoroughfare, seeking Alex. Hugo curbed his impatience—Freddie could not help being slow, and Hugo was keen to help him find Alex. Everything he had learned tonight about the Duke’s son had reminded him of his younger, wilder self.

And then there was this weird, completely out-of-character compulsion to help Olivia—he made it a rule in life not to burden himself with unnecessary responsibilities—but there was something about her spirit that drew him to her. And the odd glimpse of bewildered child beneath the bold front she exhibited to the world roused his normally well-concealed protective instincts. The decision was made. If he could help the two of them, he would do so.

Hugo scanned the couples they passed, but there was still no sign of young Beauchamp. Freddie was noticeably struggling to cope with the crowds and the distance they needed to walk.

‘I have an idea.’ Hugo halted as they entered the main area near to the rotunda. ‘We could walk around for hours and keep missing Alex. Why do you not wait here...’ he indicated a nearby bench ‘...and I will search the pathways. That way, you will see him if he should happen to pass.’

‘And it will take much less time,’ Freddie said, with a rueful smile.

Sweat beaded his upper lip and he took out a handkerchief to dry it. Out of nowhere, three youths sped past, knocking him back. They snatched the handkerchief from his hand. Hugo grabbed Freddie to prevent him falling and, as soon as he was steady on his feet, he spun around, ready to chase the thieves.

Freddie held him back. ‘Leave it. They have gone.’

Sure enough, they had melted into the crowd.

‘Are you hurt?’

Freddie shrugged. ‘Only my pride, but I am accustomed—Hoi! Alex!’ He had straightened, craning his neck to see over the crowd. ‘I saw him, Alastair. Over there.’

Hugo dashed in the direction he pointed and, sure enough, there ahead of him was Lord Alexander Beauchamp and Neville Wolfe.

‘Beauchamp,’ he roared.

Alex swung around, searching the faces near to him. As he neared, Hugo could read the desperation in his eyes, the tightness in the set of his lips.

Alex grabbed Hugo’s arm. ‘Do you know where she is? You were with her. Neville here saw you both, but he lost you in the crowd. Where did she go, Alastair? What have you done to—?’

‘Hold hard there, Beauchamp.’ Hugo wrenched his arm from Alex’s grip. ‘Do not throw any accusations at me that you are not prepared to back up.’

He held the younger man’s gaze. Saw the leap of muscle as Alex clenched his jaw. Then Alex’s amber eyes widened and his jaw went slack. ‘Freddie? You here? Where’s Livvy?’

Neville Wolfe nudged Alex. ‘Not Livvy! Beatrice!’

Oh, God, they can’t even get their stories straight. Was I ever as wild and stupid as this pair of buffoons?

‘Lady Olivia is safe at home, no thanks to you pair of numbskulls. What the devil were you thinking, bringing your sister here and then abandoning her like that?’

Hot colour swept Alex’s face, but he scowled nevertheless.

‘There’s no harm done,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t want to bring her...you don’t know what she’s like...kept going on about debts of honour and the word of a gentleman. I didn’t think there’d be any harm in it. She was supposed to stay put. She’s safe at home now, you say?’

‘Yes, thanks to Lord Hugo here,’ Freddie said.

Suspicion clouded Alex’s face. ‘You were alone with her? In a carriage?’

‘You would rather I had left her here? Alone and vulnerable?’

‘Clevedon said she went off to look for us. He didn’t say anything about her leaving with you.’

Hugo tamped down his irritation at young Beauchamp’s accusatory tone. He was well into his cups, by the smell of his breath. And it wouldn’t help to keep this escapade quiet if they had a stand-up argument here, with so many eyes and ears around.

‘I left later. I happened to come across her being accosted by some youths.’

Alex hung his head at that. ‘I know I shouldn’t have left,’ he mumbled, ‘but, well... Marie Shelton! You know how it is...’

Hugo did. That was the problem. He knew exactly how it was for Alex because, not so many years ago, that had been him. Only he didn’t have an impetuous and, seemingly, fearless younger sister to watch out for.

‘You should take care around Marie,’ he said. ‘She was put up to it by Sir Peter Tadlow, some scheme to get at your father through you. Did you meet up with him again, by chance?’

Alex’s flush deepened. ‘What if we did?’

‘What happened, Alex?’ Freddie asked. ‘What did Tadlow want?’

‘We had a friendly game of hazard, after...after...when we were on our way back to Clevedon’s box. And we were all to go on to a gaming club together, only then I remembered Olivia and I came back for her. It’s not my fault she took it into her head to wander off alone, is it?’

‘You stupid young pup,’ Hugo growled. ‘Stay away from that pair and from Marie Shelton. They’ll fleece you for all—’

‘What is it to you?’ Alex’s eyes blazed as he thrust his face close to Hugo’s. ‘It’s none of your concern what I do and who I do it with. I can take care of myself. C’mon, Nev.’

He pivoted on his heel and stalked away through the crowd. Neville, with an apologetic shrug, followed. Hugo heaved a sigh.

‘That,’ he said, ‘is an unhappy young man.’

Freddie’s brows rose and he gave a rueful smile. ‘He is. He is...difficult, far too ready to fly up in the boughs. Even his father struggles to get through to him at times. He heeds his aunt, Lady Cecily, and sometimes his uncle, but seems to harbour some deep-rooted hostility towards the Duke. The trouble is... I was asked to keep an eye on him while the Duke and my sister are away, but I simply cannot go to all the places he can.

‘That is why I feel I must tell the Duke about tonight, despite what Olivia wants. Someone must keep watch over Alex.’

‘What about Avon? Surely he is better placed than you.’

Freddie huffed a laugh. ‘They’re brothers. They get on well enough, but if Dominic tries to tell Alex what to do, Alex is just as likely to do the opposite. He can be like it with his father, too, only not so overtly—he has no choice but to accept his authority most of the time, especially now with the carrot of Foxbourne dangling in front of him.’

‘I’ll help you to keep an eye out for him,’ Hugo said, before he could censor his words.

‘You?’ Freddie eyed him with suspicion. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

Why indeed?

Hugo had made it his business in life never to put himself out for anyone and yet here he was...

‘He reminds me of myself at his age.’ That much was true, at least. ‘And it offends me that a man such as Tadlow would use a young man to punish his father. I should like to at least protect him from that. Only until his father returns, of course.’

‘In that case, I shall accept your offer with pleasure. The Duke should be back by midweek so it will be a weight off my mind if you can help me watch over him until then. Thank you. You will alert me if there is anything you feel I should know?’

‘Of course.’

Freddie bowed and then limped away, leaving Hugo to return to Clevedon’s birthday celebrations, which were still in full swing, but without the guest of honour. Nobody could tell Hugo where Clevedon had gone, or how long ago he had left, leaving Hugo with no choice but to resolve to speak to him the next day.

Tadlow and Marie were both there and Hugo joined their conversation. They already trusted him and he hoped to discover their plans for Alex, but Tadlow was too foxed to make much sense and, when his head sank to the table and his eyes closed, Hugo admitted defeat. He would have to try again when the man was sober. He tried to recapture the party spirit, but within half an hour he was stifling yawns and casting a jaded eye over the rest of the company as he wondered idly what the devil he was doing still there. His wandering gaze paused on Marie as her full lips stretched in a come-hither smile, one brow arching in invitation and her blue eyes aglow with promise. Hugo, however, felt not the smallest urge to respond. Instead, a pair of wide, black-fringed silver eyes materialised in his mind’s eye.

This time it was a curse he stifled. He drained his glass and stood up. Marie reached out, slipped her hand beneath his coat, and curved her hand around his buttock, squeezing, but Hugo sidestepped, out of her reach. Unsettled, and with a quiet anger humming through him, he could not wait to get away. He was in no mood for more of these people. They could go to hell as far as he was concerned.

‘Goodnight,’ he said abruptly and walked away.

Chapter Five

Olivia awoke the next morning with a woozy head and a vile taste in her mouth. She grimaced and cranked open her eyes. The maid had been in to open her curtains—she must have slept right through that—and the bright sunlight stabbed at her eyes. She screwed them tight and groaned. Then, as memories of the previous evening filtered into her consciousness, a feeling of sick dread settled in her stomach.

Mama’s necklace.

She rolled on to her side and curled into a ball, her head in her hands, fingers rubbing her temples as she tried to think of a solution.

All she could think was: Thank goodness Papa is away.

But would Freddie notice the necklace was missing?

She shot up into a sitting position, ignoring the nauseous roil of her stomach, and forced her eyes open. There, on her dressing table, were the bracelet and eardrops. She hadn’t even had the sense to put them in a drawer last night when she took them off. Had the maid noticed them? If she had, hopefully she would not realise their significance.

Olivia swung her legs out of the bed and levered herself to her feet, wincing as pain speared her temple.

How much punch did I drink last night?

And she had Lord Hugo Alastair to thank for that. Lord Hugo Alastair...legendary for his exploits, according to Alex and to the gossip of her friends. There had been much giggling and whispering behind their hands on the few occasions his path had crossed that of the young innocents out in society for the first time. And the most recent on dit—that his older brother, Lucas, was due back in town for the first time in six years—had stirred not only much excitement among some of their older sisters, but also the retelling of the most lurid tales of the infamous Alastair brothers—tales intended to act as a dire warning to beware of Lord Hugo and his ilk, but that instead merely intrigued.

No woman was safe, they had been told.

Hmmph. No woman is safe...except me.

She had been ready to fight him off in the hackney, but he had shown no inclination to even flirt with her, let alone kiss her.

I prefer my ladies willing. And experienced.

She supposed he had acted the gentleman, but it still rankled. She had become accustomed to young men courting her and paying her compliments, not ignoring the charms that others praised. He had scolded her and treated her like his sister. All her life she had striven to prove she was good enough for her brothers, only to be dismissed, time and time again, as a mere female and, even worse, a child. But Alex was only two years older than her, and Dominic three—that wasn’t so big a difference. Not like Papa and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Cecily, who was a full ten years younger than Papa.

Olivia went to the dressing table and scooped up the jewellery, a sharp memory of her mother rising from the past as she stared down at the rubies and diamonds.

Mama...seated at her dressing table as her maid clasped the necklace around her neck. The rubies had looked like drops of blood and the diamonds like chips of ice as they sparkled in the candlelight.

It was Olivia’s last clear memory of her mother—being pushed impatiently aside as she tried to touch the jewels...her mother snapping, ‘Oh, do get the child away from me. She will crease my dress...’ The maid scurrying to the door and calling for Nurse...being bundled from the room in tears at yet another rejection from her mama.

No matter how hard Olivia had tried to be the perfect daughter, Mama had been...uninterested. That was the word. She had been proud of her boys, as she had called them—although Olivia couldn’t recall her spending much time with her sons—but the only love and approval Olivia could remember from her childhood had come from her father, her uncle and her aunt.

Her throat thickened and she swallowed past the painful lump that had formed. Not long after that memory, she had been told her mother was dead. She had been just five years old...she barely understood at the time but, as she had grown, she had finally understood that she would never now have the chance to make her mother proud of her.

The sound of her door opening shook her from her memories and she quickly opened the drawer in front of her and flung the jewellery inside. She would put them back in the safe later.

‘How are you this morning?’ Nell’s violet eyes were wide with sympathy.

‘I am very well.’ Olivia ignored the pounding of her head. She did not deserve sympathy. She crossed to Nell and took her hands. ‘I am sorry for disturbing you last night, Nell.’

‘I do not mind, although I should have preferred it if you had told me your plans. Mayhap I could have persuaded you not to go...that it was a mistake.’

The mischief in Nell’s smile suggested she was well aware that Olivia would not have listened to her and, despite the guilt and worry causing Olivia’s stomach to alternately clench and roil, she laughed. They had been firm friends ever since their first meeting at the start of the Season, even before Nell’s stepsister and Olivia’s father had met and fallen in love.

‘Have you thought about how to get the necklace back?’

‘No.’ Olivia rang the bell for Hetty, her maid. ‘But I am sure I shall find a solution.’

‘And Freddie definitely does not know about the necklace?’

‘No. You have not told him, have you?’

‘No, not about the necklace, but I did tell him we spoke last night because he looked so worried I was almost afraid he would speak to Lady Cecily about it and she, of course, would be duty bound to tell your papa when he returns.’

‘Did Freddie find Alex?’

‘Yes, although he stormed off when Lord Hugo scolded him for putting you at risk. Freddie was quite impressed by his lordship... He has promised to help Freddie watch out for Alex until your papa comes home.’

Impressed?

Olivia pictured those lazy, mocking eyes and that hard edge to his smile as he goaded her into agreeing to a guinea a point. Now her head was no longer fuddled with the effects of punch, she realised Lord Hugo had seemed like two completely different men the night before. She had no trouble reconciling the Lord Hugo Alastair of notoriety with the bored, cynical man in the supper box, but the man who had come to her rescue, and who had escorted her home...safely...and who had, according to Nell, agreed to help Freddie watch over Alex...he was less easy to define. Which was the real man? She trusted Freddie’s judgement, but...what if it was an act and, somehow, Lord Hugo meant Alex harm? She’d told him things last night she would never normally reveal to anyone outside her family. Was he the sort of man who might use those revelations against Alex? One thing was for sure. Somehow, she must contrive to speak to Lord Hugo and try to make sure Alex was at no risk.

It is a pity I cannot so easily deal with Lord Clevedon—unless I reveal all and throw myself upon his mercy.

At the moment, that was her only hope. She had been scared last night by his insistence that she dine with him when she redeemed her necklace but now, having thought it through, she realised her disguise as a female of lax morals had prompted his treatment of her. Clevedon was a respectable and well-respected nobleman—if he knew Beatrice’s real identity, he surely would not still insist on her dining with him. Would he?

But...if I reveal to him that Beatrice was me, will he keep my secret? Or will he tell Papa?

Maybe, if she prayed most devoutly at church later, God might show her another way.

The door opened and Hetty came in with a jug of water. Nell squeezed Olivia’s hand.

‘I shall see you later.’

* * *

Reluctance slowed Hugo’s steps as he neared the Bruton Street town house where his mother resided with his new stepfather, Sir Horace Todmorden. His lack of enthusiasm did not stem from any disinclination to see his mother—he loved his mother and, despite his initial doubts about their whirlwind courtship and marriage last year, he had to admit Mama and Sir Horace were happy together. And having Mama living closer to hand—instead of at the far end of the country at Rothley—had proved more agreeable than he had anticipated.

No. His reluctance was entirely due to the fact that Mama was nobody’s fool. He inhaled deeply and then released that breath with some force. He must do this. He could not leave things as they stood. It was his fault Olivia had ended up playing to such high stakes and had been forced to pledge that necklace and it behoved him to set her mind at rest. He walked on with renewed purpose and rapped on the front door.

‘Good morning, Stape,’ he said as the door opened. ‘I’ve come to escort my mother to church.’

The butler’s eyes widened slightly, then he stepped back and bowed as Hugo strode past him into the house.

‘I shall inform her ladyship of your arrival, my lord, if you would care to wait in the salon?’

Not ten minutes later the door opened and Mama swept in, already dressed for church in a dark blue pelisse and matching hat.

‘Hugo?’ She crossed the room in her normal brisk fashion and placed both hands to his chest. ‘You are real.’ Her dark eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. ‘I felt certain Stape had made a mistake. I almost accused him of helping himself to the brandy while dear Horace is away.’

‘Mama. Looking as beautiful as ever, I see.’

Hugo kissed her cheek, then gave her a hug, feeling his heart lift.

‘But what is this nonsense? You? Escort me to church? Stape must be mistaken about that.’

‘There is no mistake, Mama. With Sir Horace away, I thought to offer my services, that is all.’

His stepfather had been called back to his estate near Brighton and was not expected to return until Tuesday. Mama tilted her head to one side, making her look more than ever like a bright-eyed, inquisitive bird.

‘Well, I am delighted to accept, my dear. In fact, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to walk into St George’s upon your arm, but...’ her eyes narrowed ‘...I know you. You are up to something. And I shall be watching you.’

She smiled, wagging her forefinger at him, and Hugo—who was already wondering how on earth he might contrive a private word with Lady Olivia Beauchamp without setting the gossips of the ton on fire—knew that his own mother, with the sharpest eyes of anyone in his acquaintance, would be the first to notice any particular attention. And, worse, she was the only person with enough nerve to interrogate him about it.

‘Watch all you like, Mama. If a son cannot do his mother a service without an ulterior motive, then what is the world coming to?’

Mama smiled serenely as she pulled on her gloves. ‘As you say, my dear. Come then. Shall we walk, as it is such a lovely day?’

Hugo bowed and proffered his arm.

As they crossed Hanover Square on their way to St George’s he saw her, alighting from Cheriton’s town coach. She was with her aunt, Lady Cecily, as well as her eldest brother, Avon, Freddie Allen—the Duchess’s brother—and the Allens’ stepsister, Lady Helena Caldicot. She and Olivia made a striking pair, both tall and willowy, but as different in colouring as it was possible to be, with Lady Helena’s silver-blonde locks contrasting with Olivia’s raven-black hair. No sooner had the pair set foot on the pavement than a pack of eager young pups clustered around them: bowing, proffering their arms, clearly striving to be the favoured one. Hugo bit back a derisive snort at the sight. At least he had never made a complete cake of himself over a woman like that.

No. You have made very certain never to risk your heart.

He dismissed that snide inner voice as he watched Olivia laughingly refuse all offers, instead linking arms with...Nell, she had called the other girl last night. They sashayed up the few steps to the church door—two young ladies with the world at their feet: beautiful, well connected and no doubt with generous dowries. It was what the ton...the Season...society...was all about. He stared at the pups dogging their footsteps. At least they were a better match for her than a cynical, world-weary man about town such as Clevedon. Or himself.

Which of them will she favour?

He wrenched his attention from the group, irritated by his random thoughts, the last of which he mentally amended to Which of them will they favour?

Last to emerge from the town coach was Lady Glenlochrie, handed down by Avon. She leaned heavily on her stick as the remainder of the party made their way slowly into church.

‘Hugo?’

Startled, he looked down at his mother. Saw the interest in her small, dark eyes. And cursed his inattentiveness that had slowed their pace to a near crawl as he had become absorbed in watching the Beauchamps’ arrival.

‘My apologies, Mama,’ he said smoothly. ‘I found myself wondering why Lady Glenlochrie was with the Beauchamps, but then I remembered her connection with the Caldicot chit.’

Mama’s lips thinned. ‘Chit? Really, Hugo, I do wish you would not use such words. It is most ungentlemanly.’

At his nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, he saw the interest in his mother’s expression fade into one of disappointment. She had made her ambition very clear. Since his brother, Lucas’s, nuptials at the end of last year, her one wish was that Hugo would meet a nice young lady and settle down. He huffed a silent laugh. Never. He wasn’t the marrying kind and, besides, no nice young lady would ever consider him as suitable husband material. But their exchange had reminded him...

‘I came across young Alex Beauchamp last night at Vauxhall. He struck me as being an unhappy man. Any idea why?’

His mother’s eyes twinkled. ‘It amuses me to hear you describe him as such, my son. He is not so very different from you at that age.’

‘I am aware of that. I, however, had good reason with the father I had.’

Guilt and pain fused in Mama’s expression. ‘You did and I am more sorry than you know for not protecting you and Lucas more.’

‘Mama.’ He put his arm around her shoulders for a quick hug. ‘You did everything you could to protect us and we’re both more than grateful for that.’ The memory of his mother taking the blows intended for her sons reared up and impotent rage raked his gut. His father had been dead three years and was way beyond any revenge or retribution. Hugo hauled his thoughts back to the Beauchamps. ‘Someone hinted at something in the past that affected young Beauchamp. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the story.’

‘It was his mother. She was murdered and Alex discovered her body. He was only seven years of age and it affected him really badly. And for some reason—no one quite knows why—he seems to blame his father.’ Mama shot a quick look around, then lowered her voice. ‘Far be it from me to speak ill of the dead, but it was a release for both the Duke and his children. Their mother had no time for them...they were far better off being raised by Lady Cecily. She is like a mother to the three of them and has devoted her entire life to them. They are very fortunate to have her.’

So that was what Olivia had alluded to in her jumbled tale of the night before. To know your mother had been murdered—even if she wasn’t the perfect mother—must have affected Olivia as much as Alex.

They continued on into the cool interior of St George’s.

* * *

Olivia squeezed her eyes tight shut as soon as they settled into the Beauchamp family pew at St George’s and prayed for a flash of inspiration. She waited, but none came and, finally, she opened her eyes to find her aunt frowning at her.

‘Are you unwell, Livvy?’ Aunt Cecily took her hand. ‘You are very pale. Are you in pain?’

As Olivia opened her mouth to protest her good health, she was distracted by the sight of a tall, dark-haired gentleman walking up the aisle with a tiny, older woman upon his arm. He turned his head, scanning the congregation already seated in the high-sided box pews and, even though she was seated furthest away from him, his gaze lingered on Olivia, a smile tugging at his mouth. She felt her eyes widen.

What is he doing here? What does that look mean? What is he doing with Lady Tod—?

Her thoughts stumbled and tripped over one another as Lord Hugo Alastair handed Lady Todmorden—his mother, who had been Lady Rothley before, Olivia now recalled—into a pew. Never had she seen Lord Hugo attend the church, although Lady Todmorden attended every week and, as she and Aunt Cecily were on friendly terms, they often exchanged a few pleasantries if they met at a function, or in passing on the street, or—and Olivia’s heart gave a racketing thump before it began to race—after church.

‘Livvy? What is it? You look as though you have seen a ghost.’ Aunt Cecily now chafed Olivia’s hand between hers.

‘I am perfectly all right.’ Olivia forced her gaze back to her aunt, praying she hadn’t noticed her interest in Hugo. She elevated her nose. ‘I was merely indulging in pious reflection. This is a church, is it not?’

The bells ceased ringing just as Aunt Cecily tutted and it sounded extraordinarily loud in the sudden, solemn hush inside the church. Olivia cast a sidelong look of reproach at her pink-cheeked aunt because that is precisely how Aunt Cecily would expect her to react, but inside she was a mass of seething conjecture. Alex rarely attended church—he claimed to prefer the services at St James’s Church, on Piccadilly, but Olivia was certain he had never set foot in the place. So Hugo was not here today to see Alex, which meant he had come to speak to her. Hope blossomed. Had he recovered her necklace already? She had prayed for a miracle; perhaps this was it.

And, in among that hope was...another emotion she did not recognise. She could put no name to it, but it prompted the frequent urge to slide her gaze sideways until she could just see, from the corner of her eye, his lordship. And, every time, a little jolt of...something...sped through her, making her feel, somehow, more alive. Excitement. But not just any ordinary, everyday excitement. This was...fizzing, bubbly, high—the feeling she always got at her first sip of freshly poured champagne. It made her heart feel somehow hollow and yet full at the same time. She could hardly bear to sit still as the vicar droned on or as she bent her head in prayer. She snatched another glance at Lord Hugo among the kerfuffle as they all stood to sing, drinking in his tall, broad-shouldered frame and the firm line of his jaw.

Olivia waited in a fever of impatience for the service to end, even though she could not see how she could snatch a private word with Lord Hugo. She might enjoy occasional acts of rebellion, but she was not reckless enough to talk openly to a man of his dubious reputation. She was well aware of the behaviour expected of a young lady and she took care to behave with perfect propriety in public.

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