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About the Author

LOUISE ALLEN has been immersing herself in history, real and fictional, for as long as she can remember and finds landscapes and places evoke powerful images of the past. Louise divides her time between Bedfordshire and the north Norfolk coast, where she spends as much time as possible with her husband at the cottage they are renovating. With any excuse she’ll take a research trip abroad—Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite atmospheric destinations. Please visit Louise’s website—www.louiseallenregency.co.uk—for the latest news!

REGENCY

Pleasures

Louise Allen

A Model Débutante

The Marriage Debt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Model Débutante

Louise Allen

To the Fufflers

For all the support and laughter

Chapter One

February 1816

Miss Talitha Grey shivered delicately and risked a glance downwards. A single length of sheer white linen draped across her shoulder and fell to the floor at front and back: beneath it her naked skin had a faintly blue tinge. Tallie strongly suspected that it was marred by goose bumps.

With a resigned sigh she flexed her fingers on the gilded bow in her left hand and fixed her gaze once again on the screen of moth-eaten blue brocade that was doing duty for the skies of Classical Greece. Perhaps if she thought hard enough about it she could imagine that she was bathed in the heat of that ancient sun, her skin caressed by the lightest of warm zephyrs and not by the whistling draughts that entered the attic studio by every door and ill-fitting window frame.

Tallie exerted her vivid imagination and summoned up the distant sound of shepherds’ pan pipes floating over olive groves to drown out the noise of arguing carters from Panton Square far below. She was con centrating on conjuring up the scent of wood smoke and pine woods to counteract the distressing smells of poor drainage and coal fires when a voice behind her said peevishly, ‘Miss Grey! You have moved!’

Taking care to hold her pose and not turn her head Tallie said, ‘I assure you I have not, Mr Harland.’

‘Something has changed,’ the speaker asserted. Tallie could hear the creak of the wooden platform on which Mr Frederick Harland had perched himself to reach the top of the vast canvas. On it he was depicting an epic scene of ancient Greece with the figure of the goddess Diana in the foreground, her back turned to the onlooker, her gaze sweeping the wooded hillsides and distant temples until it reached the wine-dark Aegean sea.

There was more creaking, the muttering that was the normal counterpart to Mr Harland’s mental processes and then the floorboards protested as he walked towards her. ‘Your skin colour has changed,’ he announced with a faint air of accusation.

‘I am cold,’ Tallie responded placatingly without turning her head. Frederick Harland, she had discovered, took no more and no less interest in her naked form than he did in the colour, form and texture of a bowl of fruit, an antique urn or a length of drapery. When in the grip of his muse he was vague, inconsiderate and sometimes testy, but he was also kindly, paid her very well and was reassuringly safe to be alone with—whatever her state of undress.

‘Cold? Has the fire gone out?’

‘I believe it has not been lit today, Mr Harland.’ Tallie wished she had thought to insist on a taper being set to the fire before they had started the session, but her mind had been on other things and it was not until the pose had been set and the artist had clambered up onto his scaffold that she realised that the lofty attic room was almost as chill as the February streets outside.

‘Oh. Hmm. Well, another ten minutes and then we will stop.’ The boards groaned again as he walked back to the canvas. ‘In any case, I need more of that red for the skin tones, and the azure for the sky. The cost of lapis is extortionate …’

Tallie stopped listening as he grumbled on, his words indistinguishable. A slightly worried frown creased her brow as she resumed her own thoughts. At least in this pose she did not have to guard her expression, for she was standing with only a hint of her right profile visible from behind, her long, slightly waving, blonde hair falling free to midway down her back.

Her feet were bare. A fine filet of gold cord circled her brow, its trailing ends forming a darker accent in her hair, and the linen drapery revealed her left side, the curve of her hip, the swell of her buttock and the length of her leg. All of which normally delightful features were now unmistakeably disfigured by a rash of goose bumps.

Still, at half a guinea a sitting she could hardly complain, for Tallie had no option but to make her own living and the guineas from Mr Harland paid the rent. The fact that she was engaged in an occupation that was entirely beyond the pale for any lady, and which would be regarded by almost every right-thinking person as scarce better than prostitution, did not concern her.

She entirely trusted Mr Harland’s intentions towards her, for it was not even that he was making himself behave in an entirely proper manner. No, she knew he was entirely uninterested in not only her but, apparently, all females. She had heard that some men preferred their own sex, but this did not appear to be the case either. It seemed that his mind was filled with a single-minded obsession for his art and it allowed no room for any other strong feeling.

The second ground for Tallie’s lack of concern about her employment was that she was well aware that no work of Mr Harland’s in which she featured was ever likely to grace the walls of an exhibition. It was not that his obsession for the classical ran counter to the modern taste, as the excitement at the news that the Elgin Marbles were to be exhibited showed. No, it was simply that his canvases were too vast and his perfectionism too obsessive to allow him ever to finish one, let alone submit it to critical judgement.

The Diana picture was the fourth in which Tallie had featured: each had reached a stage of near completion when the artist had flung his brushes from him with a cry of despair at ever realising his inner vision. They were stacked away now and from time to time he would attack one of them again for a day or two, then give up in frustration.

It was fortunate, both for the artist and for Tallie, that he was not only the possessor of a modest inheritance, but also had a flourishing and lucrative business in portraiture, an occupation he despised as mere craftsmanship. On three days a week he indulged his classical passion. For the rest of the time he painted Society portraits in the rather more salubrious studio on the first floor of the ramshackle house. It was a tribute to his work that the ton were prepared to make the journey to the shabby house in the decidedly unfashionable street just off Leicester Square to have their likenesses taken.

Tallie was mentally casting her accounts in an effort to decide whether she could see the winter out without replacing her hair-brown walking dress and pelisse or whether her other, publicly acknowledged, occupation required her to make an investment in a new outfit.

This financial review was more than enough to account for the crease between her brows, but the frown vanished to be replaced with an expression of real anxiety at the sound of the knocker thudding four floors below, soon followed by the sound of a number of male voices echoing up the uncarpeted stairwell.

With an exclamation of impatience at the interruption, Mr Harland cast down his palette with a clatter and, clambering down from his post, flung open the attic door.

Tallie ran to his side and out onto the tiny bare landing, clutching her flimsy draperies around her. Clearly up the stairway from below she could hear the voice of Peter, Mr Harland’s colourman. Peter inhabited the ground-floor rooms with his pots and jars, his bags of pigments and flasks of oils and there magically ground vivid colours out of strange materials.

‘Mr Harland doesn’t receive clients on Wednesdays, gentlemen. Tuesdays and Thursdays are his days. You can’t go up there now, sir!’

‘Dammit, I wrote to say I would call to arrange my aunt’s portrait and I have no intention of trailing back another day at Harland’s convenience.’ The drawling voice was arrogantly dismissive of the colourman’s protests. ‘Are you saying he is not here?’

‘Yes, sir, I mean, no, sir, he is here, but he—’

‘Perhaps he is with someone?’ It was a new voice, carrying easily up to Tallie far above. A coolly sardonic, rather bored voice that made the previous speaker sound affectedly high-handed.

‘The man has just said that Harland does not have clients on a Wednesday, Nick. Step out of my way, fellow, I have no intention of standing here bandying words with you all afternoon.’

‘But the master’s working with a model, sir! You can’t go up there!’ From the rising note of Peter’s voice, the speaker had pushed past him and was already on the stairs.

‘What? A female model? Now that is more the thing! Come on, you fellows, this should be good sport.’ The voice had lost its drawling arrogance and held a note of excitement that made Tallie’s chilled skin crawl. They were coming up, and it appeared that there were several men in the group.

Tallie had disrobed in a room on the floor below, having learned from experience of the effect that the dusty attic had on her small wardrobe, and her only covering was the fragile length of linen. She cast round wildly, her heart thudding. The attics, although essentially one large open space, rambled around corners made by the construction of racks of canvases and piles of dusty props, and in one corner, shielded by the largest rack, there was a large cupboard with a door to it.

‘I will hide in the closet,’ she said urgently to the artist, who was exclaiming in irritation at the interruption. ‘Whatever you do, Mr Harland, do not let them know I am here or I will be quite ruined.’

He nodded distractedly. ‘Yes, yes, into the closet with you. I wonder if any of the gentlemen would care to buy an historical canvas?’

Tallie did not stop to argue, but ran on bare feet across the splintery boards. She whisked round the corner of the racking as the voices outside neared the attic and jerked open the cupboard door. The key that had been on the outside clattered to the floor.

Tallie scrabbled for it, but it was nowhere to be seen. With a sob of frustration she abandoned the search and pulled the door to behind her. The closet was lit by a tiny window, begrimed with dirt and cobwebs, but sufficient for her to see that the space contained nothing in which she might cover herself and nothing to wedge the door with. Not, she realised despairingly, that wedging it would have done any good for it opened outwards.

The men had reached the attic now. Through the warped boards that framed the closet she could hear at least four voices. The arrogant man and the sardonic man she recognised from their voices far below; their companions had equally well-bred tones and in them she could recognise a kind of febrile excitement at the thought of what they were going to find in the studio.

Tallie felt quite ill with apprehension and scrabbled to pull her linen draperies around herself in some gesture towards a decent covering. Her fingers closed on air and chilled skin. The length of fabric had gone. Wildly she cast around the little closet as though three yards of white cloth could be hiding in an empty space, then she recalled the slight tug at her shoulder as she had hastened around the racking.

Harland’s voice was clearly audible as she stood there, shivering with cold and fear, her ear pressed against the door panels. He sounded flustered. ‘Gentlemen, as you can see, I am alone, but really not in a fit state to receive. However, now you are here, what can I do for you, Mr Hemsley? Something about a portrait of your aunt, I believe you wrote?’

‘Alone?’ The owner of the arrogant voice—Mr Hemsley, she deduced—appeared to take no notice of the artist’s question. ‘Your man said you had a model up here.’

‘He is mistaken. I was working from the nude earlier, but—’

‘Nude, I’ll say! See here, you fellows!’ This voice was younger, excited.

‘Take care, my lord! That platform is not very stable!’ So, one of them had climbed up to the canvas.

‘Bloody hell.’ It was Hemsley, his voice strangely flat with what even Tallie in her innocence could recognise as lust. Then the excitement came back to his tone. ‘I’ll bet she’s still here, Harland, you dog. Come on, men, yoicks and tally-ho!’

‘For heaven’s sake, Hemsley.’ The sardonic man sounded utterly uninterested. ‘How much longer do you intend hanging around in this squalid attic? Oh, very well, if nothing will satisfy you but to search, let us search. I will look over here, you and the others take the rest. Doubtless we will discover some large spiders, a dead starling or two and any number of mice.’

The voice was getting closer as he spoke. Tallie thought wildly of seizing the door handle and holding on if he tried to open it, but the possibility of being dragged out into the open in such an undignified way only added to the horror. The approaching footsteps halted. From the far side of the attic there was the sound of boisterous searching, excited cries and the occasional ‘Do be careful of those canvases, gentlemen!’ from the agitated artist.

The footsteps resumed, rounded the corner of the racking if her straining ears were correct, and stopped outside the closet. Tallie turned her back on the door, moved as far away from it as she could and, wrapping her arms around her shrinking body, awaited the worst.

Her hair fell on either side of her bowed head giving her the fragile illusion of shelter and anonymity. But even that vanished as the door creaked open, sending light from the studio flooding into the small space. It defeated the glimmer from the closet window and spilt the shadow of a man across the floor beside Tallie’s feet.

He did not move. Tallie could hear his breathing, steady and even, but she had also heard the sudden catch in it when he had first seen her. He was under control again now, standing there silently watching her. She could not drag her eyes away from the long shadow.

The unseen regard felt as though it was burning into her back. Tallie was well aware of just what he was seeing and a wave of scalding humiliation washed up her body. She was going to be sick, she knew it.

Oh, get it over with! she screamed silently. How can you torture me like this? At any moment he was going to call out and the whole pack of them would be there, leering, touching, jeering. Like an animal at bay she turned in upon herself, her mind too frozen with terror and shame to allow her coherent thought.

The shadow at her feet shifted. The man moved and something touched her shoulders lightly. It was a hand resting warm on the shrinking skin. The soft whisper of cloth brushed down her back and over her buttocks. Tallie choked on a scream and his voice—very soft, quite dispassionate—said, ‘Here, your wrap was caught on a nail. Be very quiet and everything will be all right, I promise you.’

I promise you. She believed him. The hand was lifted, but she realised he was standing very close just behind her, close enough to whisper in her ear without the sound penetrating outside, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. There was the sound of a long indrawn breath and Tallie had the strange sense that he was inhaling the scent of her. When he spoke again there was an edge to the controlled voice, the merest hint that he was finding her proximity unsettling.

‘I am putting the key in the lock on the inside; as soon as I am gone, turn it.’ No, she was imagining it: he sounded practical, aloof, unaffected by the sight of the naked girl shivering before him at his mercy.

The door shut, cutting off the bright light. He had gone, leaving the tiny space feeling vast and empty. Over the sound of her own pounding heart she had not heard him move. The voices of the other hunters sounded suddenly loud outside. ‘What are you about, Nick? Run her to earth, have you?’

‘That closet is locked.’ He seemed to be speaking rather louder than necessary and Tallie, wrenching herself out of her frozen state with an effort, twisted the key in the lock, the sharp click masked by the noise outside. ‘The key was outside,’ the man Nick said.

Oh, clever, Tallie thought as her legs gave way under her and she sank slowly down the wall until she was huddled on the floor. The closet is locked and the key was outside, so it couldn’t have been locked from the inside. All perfectly truthful and all perfectly deceiving.

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, will you not come down to the first floor, where you will be more comfortable, and we can discuss the question of Lady Agatha’s portrait, Mr Hemsley.’ The voices, the excitement dying out of them now their hunt had ended in disappointment, receded down the stairs as the men followed Mr Harland.

Tallie stayed huddled on the floor until her breathing settled a little and the wave of nausea subsided. Then she realised that she was so cold that she could hardly move. With agonising slowness, like an old woman recovering from a fall, she clawed her way up the wall until she was on her feet again. The sharp noise of the key in the lock as she turned it made her jump, but with ears straining she pushed the door open and tiptoed out into the cold attic. Far below she could just make out voices. Mr Harland had them all safely in his first-floor studio, thank goodness, probably offering them the good Madeira he kept for clients.

Tallie crept down the stairs to the next floor and into the near-empty bedchamber that she used to change in. The water in the basin on the washstand was icy as she rinsed her dusty fingers, but the blessed security of her clothing as she pulled it on warmed her from the inside, even though the old wool dress was chill from the room. The scent of the jasmine water she habitually wore touched her nostrils. In the absence of her body heat it was a faint ghost of an aroma.

Her hair snagged and tugged as she pulled the comb through it, but she had to braid it tightly and pin it up so that her hat covered the pale blonde shimmer of it modestly. To an onlooker familiar with the detail of ladies’ fashions, the bonnet that she set on her now-subdued hair would have seemed surprisingly elegant in contrast to the shabby gown and pelisse. The straw was the finest pale Luton plait and the trimming, although modest enough, was of elegantly pleated grosgrain ribbon.

Safely and respectably dressed at last, Tallie ventured out onto the landing and peered over the rail. In the hall beneath she could see the tops of the hats of four gentlemen, a variety of well-tailored shoulders and the bare heads of Mr Harland and Peter, who had poked his dishevelled grey head out of his workshop door as the visitors left.

The last man paused and Tallie could hear his voice clearly. It was the sardonic tones of the man the others had called Nick, the man who had found and protected her hiding place. ‘Good day, Mr Harland. I trust we have not caused any of your household too much disturbance.’ The cool voice did not sound as though it was overly concerned, but Tallie was left with a strong impression of a gentleman who regarded his companions’ behaviour with fastidious distaste.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, unheard. She felt she had been rescued by him as surely as though he had plucked her from a burning building.

But he had not been unaffected, she knew. This man was no Frederick Harland, impervious to the female form. The sudden, soft sound of that intaken breath when he had opened the closet door and seen her, the very control of his stillness, told her that. The sensation that he was inhaling the scent of her body was a disturbingly sensual memory that shivered through her.

Her mind probed the hideous scene that would have followed if one of his companions had been there and instead decided that it was simply too horrible to think about yet. She needed to be safe at home with a hot cup of tea, a warm fire and some reassuring feminine companionship.

Frederick Harland came up the stairs, a look of surprise on his face when he saw Tallie standing there fully clothed. ‘Are you going already, Miss Grey?’

Tallie knew him far too well to be surprised that he appeared to have already forgotten the peril she had been in. ‘The light is going, Mr Harland,’ she said simply. He gave an exclamation of irritation and continued up the stairs to the attic studio. With a sigh Tallie followed him. ‘Did the gentleman have an interesting commission for you?’ She needed her money for the day’s sitting; although he never prevaricated when asked, or quibbled about how much she told him he owed her, the artist seemed to vaguely suppose money was of as little interest to her as it was to him and always had to be reminded.

‘Hardly that. A Society dowager, Lady Agatha Mornington. Her nephew Mr Hemsley is paying for it. He doubtless sees it as an investment,’ Mr Harland added suddenly, showing a surprising awareness of those around him.

‘How so?’ Tallie asked, pulling on her gloves. Mr Harland’s portraits were hardly dagger cheap.

‘He is none too plump in the pocket and I have heard from reliable sources that he has taken out a post-obit loan on his aunt’s life. He is no doubt investing in a portrait because he needs to keep her sweet so she does not change her will.’ He noticed Tallie was holding her purse and the discussion about money jogged his memory. ‘And how much do I owe you, Miss Grey?’

‘Two guineas, please, sir. Today, and three days last week, if you recall.’ She took the coins with a smile and thanks. ‘Do you think Lady Agatha knows he has a post-obit on her? Would she not be upset to think he was borrowing against her death?’

‘She would cut him out, I should think,’ the artist replied, beginning to scrape down his palette with a frown of concentration. ‘He is a wild rake, that one. He’ll end up having to rusticate to escape his debtors if he doesn’t have some luck soon.’

‘How dreadful that anyone could regard the death of a relative as good fortune,’ Tallie observed, thinking that any relation, even a formidable dowager, would be pleasant to have in one’s life. ‘Who were the other gentlemen?’

‘Um? Pass me that rag, would you be so kind? Oh, Lord Harperley and young Lord Parry.’ Tallie bit back a gasp. She knew Lord Parry’s mother and it was even possible that his lordship would also recognise her, for he had seen her once or twice. She swallowed and made herself concentrate on Mr Harland as he continued. ‘I did not recognise the quiet gentleman. He may have been abroad, he had a slight tan.’ Tallie smiled inwardly—trust Mr Harland to notice skin tone and colour. ‘Striking-looking man,’ he added dispassionately. ‘I wonder if he would sit as Alexander.’

Tallie said her goodbyes and slipped downstairs, leaving Mr Harland musing aloud on his chances of enticing a member of the ton to model for him naked and brandishing a sword. As she stepped out onto the narrow street she found that she too was musing on that image and was finding it alarmingly disturbing. Home and tea for you, Talitha, she reproved herself. And time for some quiet reflection on a narrow escape.

Chapter Two

The walk back to Upper Wimpole Street where Tallie lodged was not inconsiderable, but even with two guineas in her purse she was not tempted to take a hackney carriage. As she walked briskly through the gathering gloom of a late February afternoon she tried to put the frightening events of the afternoon out of her mind by contemplating her finances. She only succeeded in making herself feel even lower than before.

Talitha Grey and her mother had found themselves having to eke out a life of shabby gentility when her father died suddenly five years previously. James Grey had left them with no assets other than some shady investments, which proved to be worth less than the paper they were printed upon, and a number of alarming debts. With Mrs Grey’s small annuity and Tallie’s one hundred pounds a year they managed, although Tallie’s modest come-out was perforce abandoned and her mother sank rapidly into a melancholy decline.

When she followed her husband to the grave three years later, Tallie discovered that the annuity vanished with her mother’s death and she was faced with the very limited options open to a well-bred young woman with little money and neither friends nor connections.

A respectable marriage was out of the question without dowry or sponsor. The choice appeared to be between hiring herself out as a lady’s companion or as a governess. Neither appealed: something behind Tallie’s calm, reserved countenance revolted at the thought of any more time spent entirely at another’s beck and call, cut off from all independence of action or thought. She had loved her mother and had never grudged the fact that her entire life since her father’s death had been devoted to her, but she had no intention of seeing the rest of that life disappear in the same way in the service of those to whom she had no ties of blood or affection.

Tallie had reviewed her talents once again with a rather more open mind. All that it seemed that she possessed was a certain aptitude with her fingers and good taste in the matter of style. Donning her last good gown, she had sallied out and had called upon every fashionable milliner that she could find in the Directory.

The famous Madame Phanie dismissed her out of hand, as did several others. It seemed that impoverished gentlewomen were two a penny and could be depended upon to give themselves airs from which their humbler sisters were mercifully free. But just when Tallie was about to give up, she found Madame d’Aunay’s exquisite shop in Piccadilly, not four doors from Hardin, Howell and Company, the drapers.

Madame was graciously pleased to interview Miss Grey and even more gracious when she had a chance to view Miss Grey’s work. Tallie joined the hardworking team in the back room. But one day, having heard a paean of praise of a particularly fetching Villager bonnet that Tallie had produced entirely by herself, Madame was moved to call her out of the workroom to discuss with the customer the minor changes to the trimmings that were required.

Word spread that Madame d’Aunay’s establishment boasted a young lady of charming manners and gentility who was an absolute magician with a hat, especially one to flatter a lady on the shady side of forty. Soon Tallie had her own clientele. Madame charged a handsome supplement to send Miss Grey into private homes for personal fittings, and, as Madame, once Mary Wilkinson of All Hallows, was a sensible woman, she paid Tallie a good portion for herself.

But it only just made ends meet. Tallie sighed as she climbed the steps to the front door of Mrs Penelope Blackstock’s private lodging-house for young gentlewomen in Upper Wimpole Street. It was not like her to be so despondent, but it was beginning to dawn upon her lately that she was never going to earn enough to do more than scrape by and even that depended entirely on her ability to keep working. And now she had received an all-too-clear warning that one of her sources of income was perilous indeed. If Lord Parry had recognised her, then even her respectable employment would be in jeopardy.

‘Tallie! You must be frozen.’ Mrs Blackstock’s eighteen-year-old niece Emilia, usually known as Millie, appeared from the parlour at the sound of the key in the door, her head wrapped turban-fashion in a shawl. ‘Do come in and get warm by the fire. Aunt has just made some tea and we are toasting muffins.’

Thankfully Tallie dropped bonnet and pelisse on the hall chair and followed her in, pulling off her gloves as she did so. All the residents of the household, with the exception of Mrs Porter the cook and little Annie the maid of all work, were gathered round the fireplace.

Suddenly Tallie’s vision swam and she found she could not find her way to her chair. Her sight was so blurred she had to grip the edge of the table to steady herself.

‘Tallie dear, what is the matter? Are you ill?’ Zenobia Scott, the other lodger, leapt to her feet and guided Tallie to her seat. ‘You are frozen! Please, Mrs Blackstock, may I ask Cook to bring a hot brick for her feet?’

‘I’ll go.’ Millie was already on her way and Tallie found herself a short while later wrapped snugly in a blanket with the blissful heat of one of the bricks that Cook always kept on the back of the range in the winter glowing by her feet.

She curled her fingers tightly around the teacup and smiled gratefully at her friends, thankful as always for having found this cheerful feminine sanctuary.

‘Have you walked all the way home, Talitha?’ Mrs Blackstock asked. ‘I do wish you would not; it is so cold out there, and dark now. What occurred to upset you so? Has some man offered you an insult?’

‘No, not exactly.’ Tallie made herself think. She could hardly pretend now that nothing had happened—and in any case she badly wanted to talk about it—but although the other women knew she sat for Mr Harland, they had no idea it was in a scandalous state of undress. They knew how she had begun to sit for the portraitist and had unthinkingly assumed that the supply of Society ladies who required someone else to model their less-than-perfect or pregnant figures was constant. But Tallie had failed to tell them that after the first commission, undertaken at the behest of one of her millinery customers wanting a portrait to remind her husband of her pre-childbirth slenderness, she had succumbed to the temptation of far more lucrative modelling.

‘I was at the studio,’ she began, ‘and a party of gentlemen arrived unexpectedly and insisted on coming up. They guessed Mr Harland had a female sitter and began the most dreadful hue and cry, looking for me.’

‘How dreadful!’ Mrs Blackstock and her niece said in one voice. Millie, a ravishingly pretty blonde with a lovely figure and a charming, though light, singing voice, was employed as a dancer at the Opera House. Despite all popular prejudice about her profession, she maintained both her virtue and an endearing innocence, whatever lures gentlemen threw out to ‘Amelie LeNoir’.

‘Did they discover you?’ Mrs Blackstock added anxiously. She kept a concerned eye on her three young ladies, although hard experience since she had been widowed had taught her that no lady of limited means could afford to be over-nice about her employment.

‘No, fortunately the ones who were making such a hunt of it were diverted and all was well. But it was frightening and I was so very cold …’

Mrs Blackstock clucked. ‘Make sure you have a good dinner tonight, Talitha dear, and go to bed early. My goodness, just look at the time! Millie, if we are to take out those curl papers and dress your hair for this evening’s performance, we must bustle!’

She swept her niece out of the room, pausing to pat Tallie’s shoulder as she went.

Zenobia shifted her position to regard her friend closely. Three years older than Tallie, she was a governess who chose to live independently and to go out to households daily. She had a small but appreciative clientele amongst those rare families who took the education of girls seriously and who wished to have their children’s regular learning with their own governesses supplemented by Miss Scott’s tuition in Italian, German and, in two radical households, Latin.

‘Well?’ Zenobia demanded abruptly. Years of dealing with children had given her a sure sense for prevarication and careful half-truths. ‘Who was he?’

‘He? Who?’

Zenobia rolled her brown eyes ceilingwards. ‘The man, of course. The one who was not hunting you.’

‘How did you … I mean, what makes you think …?’

‘Your choice of words was odd, that is all. And I know you very well. There is something about you, some little suppressed excitement. Come on, tell Zenna.’

‘But I did not even see him, Zenna,’ Tallie protested. ‘Only his shadow on the floor. You see, they all came trooping up and I ran and hid in the closet, but the key fell out, and my draperies, er …’

‘Tallie,’ Zenna said, her face a picture of appalled realisation, ‘you do not mean to tell me you were posing unclad?’

‘Um … yes. But you see, Mr Harland is utterly immune to any interest in the female form. Why, I am as safe with him as I am with you; no one will ever see or buy his classical canvases, for they are never finished and, besides, they are vast in size.’

‘Well, one group of men appears to have seen all too much,’ Zenna retorted grimly. ‘Just how many of them were there?’

‘Four. But even if they saw me again, they would never recognise me from the picture, for the pose was from the back.’

A little whimper escaped Zenna’s lips. ‘But what about this closet you hid in? Did none of them find you there?’

‘Well, yes, one of them opened the door. But he did not see my face and he was a perfect gentleman. He gave me my drape back and the key, and told the others that the door was locked so they went away.’

The whimper became a moan. ‘You were in a closet, with no clothes on and this man came in?’ Tallie nodded. ‘And he did not say anything, or touch you or …?’

‘He caught his breath,’ Tallie admitted, a frisson running down her spine again at the recollection of that soft sound.

‘As well he might,’ Zenna said grimly. ‘By some miracle you appear to have encountered the only safe man in London.’

‘Well, he saved me,’ Tallie admitted, ‘but he did not make me feel safe.’ Zenna’s rather thick brows rose interrogatively. ‘His voice was so … so cool and sardonic, as though he did not care what anyone else thought. And he is … powerful somehow.’

‘How on earth can you tell?’ Zenna demanded, attempting to pour some cold water over what she felt were becoming dangerously heated imaginings. ‘You did not see him, did you?’

‘No, he just emanated this feeling. I can’t describe it, but I suppose power is the best word. And Mr Harland wanted to ask him to pose as Alexander the Great.’

‘Goodness. Well, if he looks anything like the representations of Alexander that I have seen, he is an impressive man indeed. What a fortunate thing you did not see him,’ she added slyly, ‘or you would be imagining yourself in love with him.’

‘Oh, nonsense.’ Tallie laughed and tossed a cushion at her teasing friend. She was suddenly feeling better. Alexander the Great indeed!

The next morning, refreshed by a good night’s sleep, undisturbed by dreams of hallooing gentlemen and Carthaginian generals, Tallie woke to a sunny day, feeling considerably more optimistic than she had for some time.

‘Better?’ asked Zenna over the breakfast table. They were alone, for Mrs Blackstock was out marketing and Millie was tucked up in bed—as she rightly said, beauty sleep was essential in her profession.

‘Mmm.’ Tallie spread preserve on her toast with a lavish hand and contemplated the advertisements on the front page of the morning paper. ‘How much money would it take to set up in one’s own shop, do you think, Zenna?’

‘As a milliner?’ Zenna bit thoughtfully into a forkful of ham. ‘Rent for the shop—and that would need space for a workroom, redecoration and fitting it out. Girls for the workshop, materials. A lot of money. Not as much as I would need for a school, but a lot. You would need a loan, or,’ she added with a wicked twinkle, ‘a protector.’

‘I suspect that was how Madame D’Aunay got started, by prudently investing a farewell present from such a person,’ Tallie confessed. ‘But I have absolutely no intention of taking a lover so I can borrow money for a hat shop from him!’

Zenna choked back a gasp of laughter. ‘It would certainly be a most original reason for abandoning the path of virtue. What are you doing today? I have the two Hutchinson girls all day and I plan to go for a nice walk in Green Park with them, conversing in Italian throughout.’

‘That does sound pleasant, they seem such an amiable family from what you have told me. I have rather a pleasant day too, for I have hats to deliver to both Lady Parry and Miss Gower and they are quite my favourite clients.’

However, Tallie found it was hard to maintain such a cheerful mood. In the morning sunshine the hairbrown walking dress and pelisse were every bit as unsatisfactory as she had thought the day before. There was nothing for it but to purchase a dress length and make a new gown, for she really could not feel that she looked the part to be calling upon Society ladies. She looked in the windows of Hardin and Howell as she passed them and regretfully decided that the Parthenon Bazaar was likely to prove more suitable for her budget. Some economies were possible: if she did not take a hackney to her clients’ homes but walked instead, that would save a few shillings.

Tallie was soon regretting the decision, for she had three hatboxes to collect at the milliners. Although her first call at Bruton Street was not far and the boxes were light, they were unwieldy, and the sight of a young lady carrying any parcel—let alone three hatboxes—in the street was sufficiently unconventional for her to attract several impertinent stares.

Feeling increasingly flustered, Tallie was tempted to change her plans and call at Miss Gower’s in Albermarle Street first, for it was closer. But Miss Gower was eighty-three and would not be pleased to be disturbed before eleven o’clock. No, it would have to be Lady Parry and her two hats.

Tallie turned cautiously round the corner from New Bond Street, thankful that her destination was almost in sight. Inelegant though it was, she had found that, by balancing two hatboxes on top of each other and then holding the ribbons of the third twined in her fingers, she could just manage. It did nothing for her vision forward, however, and she was already getting a crick in her neck from peering around her pile of gaily striped boxes.

The collision happened just as she reached the entrance to Bruton Mews. For one startled moment she thought she had walked into the wall, for the obstacle she had hit was certainly solid enough and equally unyielding. One hatbox was driven into her diaphragm, making her whoop for breath, the top one fell off and rolled into the road and she managed to drop the other at her feet.

Doubled up, making unseemly gasping noises and with her eyes streaming, Tallie was conscious of an immaculate pair of boots in front of her. Rising out of them were well-muscled legs in buckskin breeches. Her eyes travelled upwards past a plain waistcoat revealed between the flaps of an equally plain riding coat, past a crisp white stock to a firm, well-shaven chin and the enquiring and frankly appreciative gaze of the owner of these altogether admirable attributes.

It was too much. Coming on top of yesterday’s shock and the knowledge that she had made a serious error of judgement in deciding to walk, Tallie found she was swept with an irrational wave of anger. How dare this man stand there, looking cool, calm and assured and openly scrutinising her while she made an exhibition of herself?

‘Look what you have done!’ she gasped indignantly as her breath returned. ‘Just look at that box in the road!’

Before the man could respond to her attack, a carriage clattered out of the mews rather too fast and drove straight for the gaily striped cerise-and-white hatbox lying in its path.

‘Oh, no!’ Tallie took a hasty step forward to try and snatch it up by its trailing ribbons, only to find herself unceremoniously yanked back onto the footway. She struggled against the grip on her arm, but to no avail. The carriage’s nearside front wheel caught the box and rolled it over, flipping the lid off. Lady Parry’s exquisite new promenade hat fell out into the mud of the gutter and came to rest there like a wounded bird of paradise.

‘Ouch!’ Her arm hurt and at her feet the result of hours of work and the product of the finest materials lay, its curling feathers reduced to a sodden mass.

The man released her arm without apology. ‘It appeared to be preferable to have the hat under the wheels of the carriage than to have you in that position. ’ He stepped into the road and picked up the hat, dropping it into its box and handing that to Tallie before removing a large white handkerchief from his sleeve and rubbing the mud off his gloves with it. ‘My valet insists on checking that I have a clean handkerchief before I go out; how gratified he will be that for once it was needed.’

Considering that she had collided with him and harangued him, he sounded politely unconcerned. He also sounded, to Tallie’s incredulous ears, hideously familiar. No, surely not—it couldn’t be! Tallie felt her jaw drop and she covered her confusion by groping in her reticule for her own handkerchief.

‘Yes, of course, you are quite right, I am so sorry, sir,’ she managed to stammer as she pretended to wipe her eyes. ‘I must suppose I walked into you, sir. I do apologise.’ She was blushing, she knew she was, the wave of heat was rising up her throat, try as she could to control it.

‘You did, but it is of no matter. Can all these be yours?’ He gestured at the tumbled boxes, one dark brow raised.

‘I was delivering them.’ Tallie was certain that she was crimson. Her mind hardly seemed to be functioning at all, but somehow she had to end this encounter and remove herself and her hatboxes before something triggered his memory. Because with every word he spoke she was more than ever convinced that this was Nick—Mr Harland’s Alexander the Great—the man who had found her hiding naked in the closet.

He never saw your face, you never spoke, she told herself frantically.

‘Hmm. I hardly imagine your employer will be very happy about that,’ he observed dispassionately, glancing at the boxes that Tallie had gathered up and were now piled beside her feet, each with at least one unpleasant stain on it.

Tallie glared at him, her anger returning as common sense asserted itself. Of course he would never recognise her—as far as he was concerned she was a humble milliner’s assistant, someone of a class so far removed from his as to be virtually invisible. ‘No, she will not be happy,’ she agreed between gritted teeth. ‘Have you any idea how much that hat that just fell out costs?’ She knew she should not be addressing a gentleman in such a way, let alone one who had behaved with such chivalry to her the day before, but instinct screamed at her to keep him at a distance. She picked up the hatbox and held it, an insubstantial barrier between herself and all that maleness.

He lifted the lid of the box she was cradling in her arms and looked in. It brought him very close to her; close enough to see that his lashes were quite ridiculously long and dark for such a masculine-looking man, close enough to smell a peppery cologne with a hint of limes and certainly close enough to see a flash of wicked amusement in his dark grey eyes as he looked at her flustered and indignant face.

‘Madame Phanie’s establishment?’ he enquired.

‘No, Madame d’Aunay’s.’

‘Ah. Five guineas, then.’

This was so accurate that Tallie was betrayed into speech. ‘How on earth do you know that, sir?’

She was answered with another lift of that expressive brow. ‘One receives bills from time to time, my dear,’ he drawled.

‘Oh!’ Tallie was furious with herself for asking and even more so for blushing hectically again. Even if he was merely referring to hats bought by his wife or sisters, her response to the remark showed clearly that she thought he meant he had been buying hats for a mistress. ‘Well, I made it and it took hours and now it is quite ruined—and if you had not stopped me I could have saved it.’

‘So it is all my fault?’ he enquired drily. ‘In that case I had better pay for it.’ Before Tallie could respond he reached into his pocket, drew out a handful of coins and counted five bright guineas into her hand. Then he set the lid back on the ruined bonnet, stooped to pick up the remaining hatboxes and placed them carefully in her arms. ‘Good day, my dear. And next time, ask your employer to send you in a hackney.’

Chapter Three

The man called Nick strode off up the street towards Berkeley Square without a backward glance, leaving Tallie standing staring after him. Then she realised that she was attracting no little attention. A kitchen maid, her head just visible through the area railings, stopped shaking out a rug to stare open-mouthed; a footman in livery raised supercilious eyebrows as he strode past bearing his employer’s messages; a hackney carriage driver called out something that was mercifully unintelligible to Tallie and a very smart matron, her maid at her heels, fixed her with a look of scandalised outrage.

With a gasp Tallie clenched her fingers around the coins and walked on as fast as she could with her unwieldy burden. To be seen on the street taking money from a man! No wonder people stared—she must have appeared no better than a common prostitute. Tallie almost turned tail, then realised she must at least call upon Lady Parry and apologise for her tardiness and for the damaged hat.

Feeling that everyone was staring at her and expecting at any moment to be accosted, either by some buck with a proposition or an outraged householder ordering her from his respectable street, Tallie finally reached Lady Parry’s door. It was opened with merciful promptness by Rainbird the butler. He allowed a faint expression of surprise to cross his thin face at the sight of the flushed and flustered milliner standing before him with her pile of soiled hatboxes.

‘Miss Grey! Have you been in an accident? Please, step inside at once.’ He stood aside to let her in and snapped his fingers imperiously to the footman, who hurried forward. Tallie relinquished her boxes gratefully and regarded the butler with an expression of rueful apology.

‘I am sorry to arrive in such a state, Rainbird, but I dropped the boxes in the street.’

‘I will ring for the housekeeper, Miss Grey. You will want to wash your hands and have your gown brushed before you see her ladyship, I make no doubt.’ Rainbird approved of Miss Grey, and had so far unbent as to remark on one occasion to Henry the footman, ‘A milliner she might be now, my lad, but she’s a lady for all that she has come down in the world. You just observe her manners: always easy and polite to staff. That comes from breeding and consideration and there are many with a hundred times her income who will never manage that naturally.’

Tallie was just gratefully accepting his offer when a small dark lady wearing a most fetching cap with floating ribbons and a jonquil morning dress, which almost made Tallie forget her woes, emerged into the hall. ‘Miss Grey, good morning. I thought I heard your voice.’

‘Good morning, my lady.’ Tallie bobbed a neat curtsy, conscious of the snapping brown eyes assessing her appearance. ‘I must apologise for arriving in such a state, ma’am, but I had an accident with the boxes.’

‘I was just about to send for Mrs Mills, my lady.’

‘Excellent, Rainbird. You run along with her, Miss Grey, and come down when you feel quite comfortable again. There is no hurry.’ Lady Parry vanished as abruptly as she had appeared and Tallie surrendered herself into the care of the housekeeper who, despite tutting about ruinous mudstains, restored the tired old gown to as good a condition as Tallie could hope for with sponge and badger-bristle brush.

Her cheeks cooled by a splash of water, her hands rinsed and her hair tidied, Tallie hurried downstairs and tapped on Lady Parry’s morning-room door.

‘Come in, Miss Grey, and let me have a look at you.’ Kate Parry was a widow on the wrong side of forty with a son of twenty, a tidy personal fortune and apparently boundless enthusiasm for whatever took her fancy. ‘Sit down and have a glass of Madeira. No, show me no missish reluctance, you have obviously had a shock and coddling your insides with tea or ratafia will not help at all.’

She peered closely at Tallie’s face. ‘Have you been crying, my dear? Were you hurt?’

‘Oh, no, ma’am, only I had the breath knocked out of me for a moment.’ Tallie took a sip of the strong wine, choked a little, then took another. It was certainly soothing to her nerves. ‘It made my eyes water, you see.’ She hesitated. Rainbird had placed the two hatboxes for Lady Parry upon a side-table, having first carefully spread a sheet of the morning paper to protect the polished surface from the mud. ‘I am afraid I dropped your new hats.’

‘How provoking for you! And has your handiwork been spoiled? I do hope not. Never mind, it is more important that you were not hurt. We will look at the hats in a moment: you drink your wine and tell me all about it.’

Thus encouraged by Lady Parry’s warm interest, and perhaps rather more by the unfamiliar glow of the wine, Tallie began her tale.

The foolish decision to walk was easily enough admitted to, and, although Lady Parry shook her head, she did not lecture. She was quite well aware of Tallie’s circumstances, having taken care to draw her out, little by little, during the year that she had been visiting Bruton Street. As a matter of course Kate Parry took considerable interest in most people who came her way, but she found herself particularly in sympathy with the reserved young woman who created such elegant hats for her.

Tallie was as discreet about her own affairs as she was about her other clients, but from the little she did let drop, careful study of the Landed Gentry and a thorough gossip with her old friend Miss Gower, Kate had a clearer picture than Tallie would ever have suspected. Tallie would have been even more surprised to discover that Lady Parry had a scheme in mind for her, but it was not something of which she had the slightest inkling since, for it to come about, something had to happen first to which Lady Parry looked forward with sadness.

She thought about it now and gave a little sigh before fixing her attention on Tallie’s misadventures once again. ‘So you were attracting some unwelcome attention?’ she prompted as Tallie broke off.

‘Yes, but by the time I realised how foolish it was to be walking I was halfway here, so there was no advantage in turning back. Then—’ She broke off, took a deep breath and resumed. ‘I walked straight into a gentleman. And I dropped all the boxes; the one with your special promenade hat rolled into the roadway—and I was quite …’ she searched for a ladylike expression, failed and blurted out ‘… winded.’

Lady Parry suppressed a smile. Poor Miss Grey, it must have been most upsetting for her, but the scene itself sounded not a little amusing. ‘Who was he?’ she enquired, attempting to sound suitably grave.

‘I have no idea,’ Tallie said, then flushed. She could hardly say she knew his first name only—what would Lady Parry think?

‘An elderly gentleman?’ It was said with a wicked twinkle, which Tallie did not fail to notice.

‘No, ma’am. About thirty, perhaps, or a little younger?’ Tallie speculated, wrinkling her straight nose, which Mr Harland always compared favourably to those of the best Greek statues.

Enchanting, Lady Parry thought, watching the play of emotion on Tallie’s face. To have a daughter like that! So attractive, so intelligent. And she would so repay dressing well …’ And did he assist you?’

‘Yes, ma’am, although he stopped me rescuing the box from the road until it was too late and a carriage struck it.’

‘Yet this gallant gentleman displeased you, and for more than his tardiness with the hatbox, I imagine?’ Now Tallie was blushing in earnest. ‘My goodness, Miss Grey, whatever did he do? Did he take some liberty with you?’ It might well have occurred, for the sort of man who would think nothing of fondling a kitchen maid if she took his fancy would probably be equally free with an attractive young milliner if the chance arose, and he certainly appeared to have ruffled the normally calm and self-controlled Miss Grey.

‘No. Not if you mean did he try and kiss me or make an improper remark, ma’am. But … but when I was cross because of your hat, he looked in the box and guessed how much it cost and he paid me for it, in guineas, right there on the street!’ She swallowed. ‘And people saw him.’

‘Dear me, that was a thoughtless thing for him to have done,’ Lady Parry exclaimed. ‘No wonder you are so angry with him.’ Now what had she said? The girl was as pink as a peony.

‘Yes, but I should not be angry with him, it is very ungrateful of me and I am sure it was just thoughtlessness.’ Tallie was finding herself more confused by the minute about how she regarded Nick. Gallant and quick-witted rescuer or heartless rake, not above trifling with a respectable working girl?

‘I do not think that having the courtesy to pick up your boxes entitles him to sufficient gratitude for you not to be angry at such an imprudent act on his part as to make you the cynosure of all eyes on a public street.’ Rather out of breath with the effort of such a convoluted declaration, Lady Parry sat back and watched Tallie with interest. There was more to her distracted mood than she was revealing, she was sure of it.

Tallie rummaged hastily in her reticule for her handkerchief. There really was nothing more she felt she could safely say, for the turmoil of her feelings increased the more she thought about the encounter.

To have seen the man who only yesterday saw her naked body … to feel such anger when she knew she owed him a considerable debt for his tact and quick thinking and that in any case the reaction was out of all proportion to his offence just now … And she was making a positive exhibition of herself in front of her kindest and most influential patroness.

‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ she started to say when there was the sound of the front door opening and footsteps in the hall accompanied by male voices.

‘Oh, good,’ Lady Parry said, ‘William is home. I have absolutely no hope that I will succeed, but I intend asking him to escort me to Lady Cressett’s soirée tonight. I declare the wretch knew I was going to ask him, for he made himself scarce just before I came down for breakfast! Would you be so good as to pull the bell for Rainbird, Miss Grey?’

Tallie did so, remaining standing in the shadowy corner by the bell-pull. She had glimpsed young Lord Parry on occasions, but only fleetingly as they passed in the hallway. She had no real fear that he would recognise her from the picture yesterday, but she had no desire to come to the notice of any of the men who had seen it. In any case, it would be most unbecoming of her to put herself forward.

Rainbird entered and informed Lady Parry that their lordships had gone into the study. ‘Would your ladyship wish a message conveyed?’

‘Yes, please ask them both to come in, Rainbird. My nephew must be here as well,’ she added for Tallie’s benefit.

‘I will wait in the hall, ma’am; you will wish to be private.’

‘Not at all, Miss Grey, please, come … William, my dear boy! And my favourite nephew as well. Now that is fortuitous, you may both escort me this evening.’

William, Lord Parry, was twenty years old. Born to a large fortune and rather girlish good looks, he had grown up, much to his mama’s relief, a thoroughly nice, unspoilt young man, if a touch young for his age. A suitable wife would mature him, she was sure; in the meantime she was happy for him to sow his harmless wild oats under the apparently careless eye of his guardian and her trustee, her nephew Lord Arndale.

William grinned disarmingly at the rallying note in his mother’s voice. ‘Escort you, Mama? Er … I think I am engaged; in fact, I feel sure I am.’

His companion followed him into the room and came across to take Lady Parry’s hand in his. ‘Aunt Kate.’ He bent to kiss her cheek, a tall dark man in immaculate riding wear. ‘I hope I find you well this morning, ma’am? I am happy to inform you that William has absolutely no engagements of note this evening and will be delighted to escort you to whichever concert of ancient music you have in mind.’

Lady Parry laughed, ignoring her son’s outraged protestations. ‘No such thing, you wicked man. I would like you both to come with me to Lady Cresset’s soirée. I can promise absolutely no ancient music and several tables set out for cards.’

Tallie stood stock-still in her corner. Lady Parry’s nephew was none other than the man she had just collided with in the street, the man who had protected her yesterday in the studio. To her horror she realised that Lady Parry had remembered her and had turned on the sofa to look for her.

‘Miss Grey, do, please, come and sit down again.’ Tallie hung back in the shadows. ‘Miss Grey was kindly engaged on an errand for me and has had a distressing accident in the street.’

Both men looked in her direction and Tallie realised there was nothing for it but to emerge. She stepped forward, keeping her eyes down and her hands clasped in front of her.

‘Nicholas, this is Miss Grey. Miss Grey, Lord Arndale, my nephew. I believe you have met my son on occasion before now.’

Tallie dropped a neat curtsy without looking up. Was she blushing again? Her heart was certainly pounding. ‘Lord Arndale, Lord Parry.’

William Parry stepped forward with the eagerness that typified him. ‘I say, Miss Grey, are you hurt?’

‘No, no, not at all, my lord.’

‘Perhaps if you were to move, William, Miss Grey could resume her seat,’ Nick Stangate observed drily, watching his cousin with suppressed amusement. ‘I believe this was your chair, Miss Grey?’ He indicated a bergère armchair on which a reticule lay, its drab plainness in startling contrast to the charming toile upholstery fabric.

‘Thank you, it is, my lord.’ So, this unusual young woman must be the lady milliner who had been concerning his Aunt Kate to the point where he had felt it necessary, as Lady Parry’s trustee, to take a hand and make some enquiries himself. He should have realised when he ran into her in the street just now and scattered her hatboxes. Doubtless he would have done if his mind had not been preoccupied with another young woman altogether.

Nick took a seat beside his aunt, which had the effect of bringing him opposite Miss Grey. She was certainly well spoken, and elegant in her deportment and appearance, despite the dreadful gown, unflattering coiffure and downcast eyes. Her present demeanour was in startling contrast to that of the angry girl who had scolded him in the street. She was sitting quite still now, seemingly composed, yet he sensed a desire to burrow backward into the chair cushions out of sight.

‘But what happened?’ William was persisting. ‘Are you quite sure you are not injured, Miss Grey? Perhaps we should send for the doctor, Mama.’

Despite the self-effacing meekness of the slender figure in front of him and the fact that she had spoken hardly a word, Nick was quite certain he knew exactly what the young woman’s problem was. It was not often that his conscience pricked him, but he felt its unfamiliar sting now.

‘I believe Miss Grey is wounded in spirits, not in her person. She collided with a gentleman in the street and had the misfortune to choose one who was not only so slow that he allowed her possessions to be crushed under the wheels of a passing carriage, but who then had the impertinence to recompense her for the damage in a way that was, I believe, very ill judged.’

He felt a stirring of interest as Tallie’s eyes flew to his face. There it was again, that mixture of spirit and—could it be—fear flashing out from behind the subdued front she was presenting.

‘Ill judged!’ she snapped, then appeared to recollect herself. He found himself both intrigued and amused. ‘Yes, my lord, you are correct,’ she added softly, and he realised her eyes were on his face, reading what little emotion he allowed to appear there. ‘Although I am sure the gentleman’s actions sprang from a genuine desire to make amends and not from the wish to—shall we say, tease—an inferior.’

‘Touché,’ he murmured, enjoying the emerald flash of her eyes. So, Miss Grey, you are prepared to duel, are you?

‘Nicholas,’ his aunt demanded, ‘are you the gentleman in question?’

‘I have to confess I am, Aunt,’ he admitted, turning slightly to meet her indignant look. ‘And I am justly reproved by Miss Grey. I had no idea that she was a young lady kindly undertaking an errand for you. I mistook her for a milliner’s girl—’

‘I am a milliner’s girl, my lord,’ Tallie said in frigidly polite tones. So, Miss Grey was not attempting to presume upon her patroness’s friendly treatment. And she was certainly not going to toady to Lady Parry’s nephew. How refreshing. He let his gaze linger on her face as she continued. ‘If you will excuse me, Lady Parry, you will wish to speak in private to their lordships, I am sure. I will take the undamaged hat upstairs and leave it with your dresser. I will naturally make every effort to have the other one replaced within the week.’

She stood up, dropped another curtsy to Lady Parry, picked up the hatboxes and walked briskly to the door before Nick could get to his feet and step past her to open it. As she reached for the door handle it turned and Rainbird stepped into the room.

‘Mr Hemsley is here to see his lordship, my lady,’ he announced. Nick stopped where he was with an inward flash of irritation. Damn Hemsley; he was showing not the slightest sign of becoming bored with William, despite Nick’s persistently accompanying his cousin to every gambling den and sporting venue that Hemsley invited him to. He had made no attempt to fleece William while Nick was there. Possibly Nick was misjudging him and he was not the Captain Sharp he suspected, but he rather feared the combination of William’s innocence and large fortune and Hemsley’s financial embarrassment and lack of scruple was every bit as dangerous as he thought.

Either way, he was getting more than a little weary of chaperoning his cousin. Beside anything else, it was putting a decided dampener on the more sophisticated pleasures with which Nick Stangate normally entertained himself when in London.

Beside him his aunt nodded assent to the butler and Rainbird stood aside and ushered the visitor into the room.

Nick saw Miss Grey step back, but even so she could not escape coming face to face with the man who was entering the room. Why the devil was she blushing? Nick could see the colour staining her throat from across the room. Damn the man, had he murmured some remark? Could Hemsley not restrain himself from flirting with every woman who crossed his path? He schooled his face, resisting the temptation to take a hand. It was not part of his tactics to cross swords with the man yet.

‘Lady Parry, ma’am! A thousand apologies for disturbing you …’

Flustered, Tallie found herself alone in the hall with Rainbird. ‘I will just go up to Miss Hodgson with this hat, Rainbird.’

‘There is no need, Miss Grey, I will have it taken up directly. May I call you a hackney carriage?’

This time Tallie had no hesitation in accepting, despite the very short distance to Albermarle Street where Miss Gower lived. She sat back against the squabs and contemplated the stained hatboxes on the seat opposite in an unsuccessful effort to keep her mind off those two unsettling encounters.

Infuriating man! If only she did not feel such a strong sense of obligation to Nicholas Stangate for the chivalrous way he had behaved yesterday, she could feel thoroughly and justifiably cross with him. And as for Mr Hemsley—well, he was just as much of a rake as she had imagined from what she had heard at the studio. The gleam in his blue eyes and the swift wink he had sent her as they passed in the doorway confirmed her in that opinion. A very good-looking rake, of course, if one had a penchant for that style of rather obvious blond handsomeness. And if one were prepared to tolerate such an insolent regard. Now she had been seen, but not recognised, by three of the four men from the studio; she closed her eyes and gave thanks once again for Nick Stangate’s chivalry.

The hackney pulled up in front of Miss Gower’s dark green front door and Tallie jumped down with one box. ‘Please wait, I will not be above ten minutes.’

Miss Gower had not been well for several weeks now and her maid had told Tallie that the doctor had forbidden any but the shortest visits, but even ill health was not enough to stop the indomitable old lady’s interest in her appearance. Of all her little indulgences, pretty hats were perhaps her favourite, and the more frivolous the creation that Tallie could show her, the happier she was.

On this occasion, however, Tallie saw with dismay that the heavy brass knocker was wrapped in baize. She knocked gently and the door was opened by Smithson, Miss Gower’s butler, whom Tallie suspected was nearly as old as his mistress.

‘Oh, Miss Grey,’ he said lugubriously. ‘The mistress cannot see you, I am afraid. Very poorly she is this morning, very poorly indeed.’

‘I am sorry to hear that, Smithson.’ The old man looked so shaky and distressed that Tallie wished she could give him a hug, but she knew he would be scandalised. ‘Will you tell her I called and that I sent my best wishes for her recovery?’

‘No hope of that, Miss Grey. No hope of that. Doctor Knighton called yesterday and warned us all.’ He sniffed. ‘Slipping away … slipping away.’

Tallie hesitated. ‘Should I leave her new hat, do you think, Smithson?’

‘Yes, please, Miss Grey. I will put it on the stand next to her bed so she can see it. That will give her so much pleasure. Is it a pretty one, Miss Grey?’

‘Very,’ Tallie assured him. ‘Her favourite pink ribbons, and ruched silk all under the brim, and just one pink rose tucked above the ear.’

‘Oh, she’ll like that, Miss Grey.’ The old man took the box in both tremulous hands.

‘Goodbye, then, Smithson, you will let me know when … when she gets better?’

Thoroughly depressed, Tallie gave the driver Madame d’Aunay’s direction and climbed back into the cab. One could hardly hope that a frail old lady would live for ever, but Miss Gower had seemed so indomitable and had had such a love of life that it seemed impossible that the years would ever catch up with her.

‘Well, that will teach you to refine upon encounters with gentlemen and worry about what they think and say,’ Tallie scolded herself out loud as the cab turned into Piccadilly. ‘There are much more important and serious things happening than your foolish adventures. Poor Miss Gower, and without even any family to support her now.’

Chapter Four

Tallie spent a week engaged in exemplary hard work at Madame d’Aunay’s, activity that entirely failed to distract her mind from worrying about Miss Gower or, when all self-discipline failed her, brooding about Lord Arndale. She was dwelling upon him, she told herself, because he had proved so infuriating. It was nothing to do with their encounter at the studio and most certainly had not the slightest connection with the fact he was an extremely attractive man.

As she had feared, Lady Parry’s special hat proved beyond rescue, so it had to be entirely remade from scratch. Faced with the sale of it twice over, Madame was not moved to scold Tallie for the accident and instead recommended her personal service to a certain Mrs Leighton. ‘A cit, of course,’ she confided, ‘but newly married and her husband is as rich as they come and denies her nothing. I expect her to spend at least as much as Miss Gower ever did and I would not want you to suffer from the loss of a client.’

But Tallie was not concerned about the size of Miss Gower’s orders, and her grief when she heard the news that the old lady had finally slipped away two days after her last hat was delivered was as genuine as if she had been a relative.

On Saturday evening the residents of the lodging-house in Upper Wimpole Street found themselves together in the parlour before dinner. Although they were each engaged upon some small task, Tallie sensed a palpable air of relaxation amongst all of them with the end of a busy week.

‘This is pleasant to be all together,’ Zenna observed cheerfully. ‘Do you not go to the Opera House this evening, Millie?’

‘No, the run finished yesterday and they are staging a masquerade tonight. The new production begins on Monday—it is called The Lost Italian Prince and is a very affecting melodrama.’

‘And do you have a good part?’ Tallie enquired. She was sorting through a pile of coloured silks, which had become, through some alchemy of their own, hopelessly tangled whilst untouched in a closed box. Millie was a rarity in the world of the theatre—a genuinely chaste young lady—and her aunt and her friends did their best to support her, while living in constant anxiety about the bucks and roués she inevitably encountered.

‘Yes!’ Millie glowed with pride. ‘I have a speaking line all to myself and I sing in a trio in the second act. I play one of the village maidens who, with her friends, helps hide the Prince whilst he is fleeing his Wicked Uncle.’

‘What happens in the end?’ Mrs Blackstock enquired, looking up from the account book she was filling in at the other end of the table from Zenna, who was marking her pupils’ French vocabulary work.

Millie put down the sheet she was hemming, curled up more comfortably on the rather battered sofa and prepared to explain the plot. ‘Well, the Prince falls in love with this village maiden—only she isn’t really, she’s the daughter of the Duke in disguise because he wants her to marry this awful man—and when the Wicked Uncle—the Prince’s uncle, that is, who is trying to murder him—finds where he is hiding, she sacrifices herself by throwing herself from the battlements in front of his troops and—’

The sound of the front door-knocker thudding with great force in a resounding tattoo brought each lady upright with a start, for one moment convinced that the Wicked Uncle himself must be at the door.

‘My goodness, who can that be?’ Mrs Blackstock demanded, putting down her quill.

‘Someone’s very superior footman, I should imagine,’ Tallie replied, getting up to edge the curtain aside and peep out into the dark, wet street. ‘That was a fine example of the London Knock if ever I heard one. It is too dark outside, I cannot make out who it is. Oh, yes, now Annie has opened the door I can see the livery. Why, surely that is one of Lady Parry’s footmen! I wonder why she is sending me a message here, she always sends orders to the shop.’

Annie came in, her sharp face flushed with importance. ‘There’s this footman, mam, and he’s brought this letter for Miss Grey, mam. Cor, he is tall, mam.’

‘Thank you, Annie,’ Mrs Blackstock said repressively. ‘Wait and see if Miss Grey has a reply for him.’

Tallie turned the letter over in her hands, then, real ising that she was never going to find out what it was about until she opened it, cracked the seal in a shower of red wax and spread out the single sheet.

‘But how strange!’

‘What?’ Zenna demanded at last, when, after the one exclamation, Tallie fell silent.

‘Why, Lady Parry asks me to call at ten on Monday morning upon a personal matter. Annie, please say to the footman that Miss Grey will be happy to call as Lady Parry asks. Can you remember that?’

‘Yes, miss.’ The maid closed the door behind her, mouthing the words of the message silently.

‘What can it mean, Zenna?’

Tallie handed the letter to Zenna, who scanned it and handed it back with a shrug. ‘I have no more idea than you, goose.’ Her friend laughed. ‘Perhaps she wants to set you up in your own millinery business, producing exclusive hats only for her and her circle of bosom friends.’

‘Now that would be wonderful,’ Tallie agreed, smiling back. ‘But somehow I do not think it likely.’ Rack her brains as she might, she could think of no plausible explanation for the mysterious note and she could not help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the thought of another visit to Bruton Street so soon. What if she met Lord Arndale again? ‘I wish tomorrow were not Sunday,’ she said with a little shiver. ‘I hate mysteries and being kept in suspense.’

Sunday did indeed drag, despite Matins at St Marylebone Church and a damp walk in Regent’s Park. By mid-afternoon Tallie was disgusted to find herself apprehensive and, as she described it to Zenna, ‘all of a fidget’.

‘But what on earth is the matter with you?’ her friend enquired, looking up at Tallie quizzically from her position on the hearthrug where she was burning her fingers roasting chestnuts. They had the parlour to themselves and had settled down to an afternoon of comfortable relaxation before the chilly walk to church for evensong.

Tallie considered confessing that her wild imagination was conjuring up images of Lord Arndale denouncing her to Lady Parry as an immoral and wanton young woman who posed nude for artists, but the words would not form on her lips. ‘I am afraid I may have done something to displease Lady Parry and she is summoning me to say that she no longer requires my services,’ she blurted out at last.

‘What nonsense,’ Zenna stated. ‘Ouch! Oh, do pass that bowl, Tallie—these are so hot.’ She dropped the nuts into the dish and gave the matter some thought while she sucked her fingers. ‘Even if you had displeased her, surely she would write to Madame d’Aunay, not ask you to call?’

Not if Lord Arndale had told her such a scandalous story, Tallie thought miserably. Lady Parry was too kind to spread such a tale abroad, but she would certainly not tolerate continuing contact with such an abandoned young woman.

Zenna twisted round on the rug and studied Tallie’s face thoughtfully. ‘Has this anything to do with that incident at the studio the other day?’ she demanded.

‘Oh! How did you guess? Zenna, I met the man who found me in the closet—I would know his voice anywhere. And he is Lady Parry’s trustee and nephew and he came to the house when I was there last.’

‘And did he cry, ‘’There is that beautiful woman I saw in a state of nature the other day’’? Or did he quite fail to recognise you face on, fully clad, with your hair up and a bonnet on your head?’

‘He did not recognise me then, I am sure of it. But, Zenna, he may have thought about it afterwards and something might have jogged his memory …’

‘What nonsense. You told me you had your hair loose and it was falling around your face, did you not? It is a lovely colour, but not such an unusual shade that he could recognise you from it—and you look very different with it up, in any case. Besides, I somehow feel it would not have been your hair he would have been looking at.’

Zenna got to her feet and took the bowl of chestnuts from Tallie’s limp grasp. ‘If you are not going to eat these, I most certainly am. Do you really think that he took so much notice of you? At Lady Parry’s, I mean? He would have had to be made of stone not to take notice before, of course.’

‘No, you are quite right, Zenna. I am being foolish. All he saw at Lady Parry’s was a milliner, not a young lady, or an artist’s model.’

‘Ah, but you rather wish he had.’

Tallie made a face at her friend, but some treacherous part of her mind did indeed wish that those lazy grey eyes had looked at her and seen neither a naked model nor a humble menial, but the real young lady beneath those guises. Stop it, she thought. He is dangerous, and leaned over to take a still-hot chestnut from the bowl.

But a long night tossing and turning did nothing to calm Tallie’s nervous apprehension. She dressed with care and penned a note to her employer explaining that she had been called away for the day unexpectedly and sent little Annie off to deliver it, keeping her fingers crossed that Madame would not take exception to this rare absence.

Tallie took a hackney carriage, reluctant to risk arriving either late or windswept on Lady Parry’s doorstep, but even a safe and punctual arrival did not make her feel any better.

Rainbird opened the front door with his usual stately demeanour, although a spark of something more than welcome showed in his eyes as he regarded the shabby visitor. ‘Good morning, Miss Grey. Her ladyship asked me to show you through to the library.’

Tallie followed across the hall to a door she had never entered on her previous visits and was startled when Rainbird opened it and announced with some emphasis, ‘Miss Grey.’ It was not treatment she was used to and Tallie looked around the room with interest as she entered.

The first person she saw was Lord Arndale standing by a heavy mahogany desk set in the window embrasure. He had apparently been leaning over studying a document spread before the other occupant of the room and had glanced up at Rainbird’s announcement. Tallie’s heart gave a hard thump at the sight of him and she looked in confusion at the other man, a complete stranger to her.

The two could hardly have been a greater contrast. Nick Stangate towered over his seated companion, broad shoulders filling his riding coat, everything about him seeming to exude life and ruthlessly controlled energy. The other man was more than twice his age, his hair scant and greying, his face thin and of an unhealthy shade. His eyes, though, were sharp and intelligent and Tallie almost stepped back as he fixed them on her face.

There was no sign of Lady Parry and, in the few seconds of silence as the two men regarded her, Tallie felt the colour ebbing out of her face. Why she should feel she was on trial in some way she had no idea, unless it was her guilty awareness of her scandalous secret.

As Mr Dover rose to his feet Nick Stangate straightened up and studied the young woman who had been shown in. The same shabby gown and pelisse as before; the same rather elegant bonnet, but this time she looked as though she had passed a very indifferent night. He stopped speculating as his companion spoke.

‘Miss Grey, good morning. We have not met: I am James Dover, Miss Gower’s attorney at law. I believe you are acquainted with Lord Arndale, who is her executor?’

Now, what the devil had there been in that introduction to cause her to go white to the lips? Nick stepped forward and took her hand. ‘Miss Grey, you have gone quite pale. Are you unwell? Please, sit here.’

She did not resist him as he urged her gently into a chair. ‘I am sorry, my lord, I am being foolish. It is just that meeting a lawyer brought back the memory of the last encounters I had with members of Mr Dover’s profession. You must forgive me, sir,’ she added, turning to the older man. ‘I mean no disrespect, Mr Dover. The situation when my father, and then my mother, died was … difficult.’

Nick realised that he was still holding her hand lightly in his. Her wrist felt cold under his fingers and she looked up to meet his eyes. Hers were candid, green and intelligent. He realised that although she must be deeply puzzled she had asked no questions. Her reticence was refreshing and also disconcerting. ‘I am sorry we alarmed you, Miss Grey, your pulse is racing.’ Her gaze dropped, and on an impulse he added, ‘For a moment I thought you had a guilty secret.’

There was a silence. Then her eyes flew back to his face and to his surprise Nick saw the colour staining her throat, rising up to her cheeks. Without meaning to he had touched a raw spot and some hunter’s instinct in him stirred. Instinctively his grasp on her wrist tightened and she pulled her hand free, leaving Nick staring down at her bent head in wild speculation. He thought he had found out all there was to know about Miss Talitha Grey. Had his investigators been so careless as to have missed a scandal?

With a rustle of skirts his aunt swept in. ‘I am sorry to have kept you all. Good morning, Miss Grey. I do hope you did not get wet—it is a perfectly dreadful morning is it not?’

‘Indeed, my lady,’ Tallie agreed. She stood up and bobbed a curtsy. Nick saw her hand go to the wrist he had been grasping. Had he hurt her? She had made no protest. ‘On days like this one wonders if spring will ever come,’ she added politely.

‘Do sit down, everyone.’ Lady Parry took the chair next to Tallie, and regarded the men. ‘You have introduced yourselves? Excellent. Well, Mr Dover, you had better explain to Miss Grey, who is doubtless wondering what on earth this is all about, why she has been asked to come here this morning.’

Mr Dover inclined his head, adjusted his spectacles, coughed and flattened the document before him with one hand. Nick, to whom none of this was new, watched Talitha from under hooded lids. Her first reaction was going to be very instructive.

‘Miss Grey, as I told you, I was the attorney at law to Miss Gower and, with Lord Arndale here, it falls to me to administer her will.’ He paused and regarded Tallie benevolently. ‘I have to tell you that you are remembered in that document.’

‘Oh, how very kind of Miss Gower!’ To Nick’s surprise he saw her eyes were filling with tears. Why had he thought her so composed that she would not give way to emotion? She hastily pulled her handkerchief from her reticule. ‘I beg your pardon.’ She dabbed her eyes, tried to speak, tried again and with an apparent effort managed to say, ‘I will treasure any keepsake that she has left me; I was very fond of her.’

Nick chuckled softly to himself. If she thought she had inherited a pretty ornament or a book or two, Miss Grey was in for a surprise. He was startled as she shot him a reproachful glance. She was not going to pretend she was not affected by the old lady’s thoughtfulness, the expression said as plainly as though she had spoken, even if his lordship found a milliner’s gratitude for a trifling gift amusing. He absorbed the reproof silently. What very expressive eyes she had …

‘It amounts to rather more than a keepsake, Miss Grey,’ the lawyer said, smiling at her. ‘I am happy to tell you that you stand to inherit fifty thousand pounds.’

‘But … but that is …’

‘Several thousand pounds a year if invested prudently. I must congratulate you.’

‘I was going to say ‘’impossible’’,’ Tallie stammered. ‘There must be some mistake, surely? Lady Parry?’

Appealed to, Lady Parry shook her head, laughing kindly at Tallie’s confusion. ‘No mistake, my dear. Miss Gower knew of your history, as I do. You must forgive us for looking into the past of such an unusual young milliner as you are. You must also forgive us for a little plot to restore you to the sort of life to which you were born and bred. It gave Miss Gower such pleasure to think of the difference this would make for you.’

Tallie looked from one face to another, her gaze skimming hastily over Nick’s, set in an unhelpfully bland expression. She finally settled on the lawyer. ‘But, Mr Dover, is this legal? I am no relative of Miss Gower’s—surely someone else has a better claim to her fortune?’

‘She was so devoid of relatives that she had to borrow me from my aunt to stand in as a nephew and executor,’ Nick remarked, reaching the decision that she was as genuinely incredulous as she appeared and liking her for the lack of any sign of pleasure at the inheritance. No grasping little miss, this one. ‘You are cheating no one of their dues.’

‘But her servants, her friends …’

‘Her servants have been left well provided with generous annuities and her few close friends such as myself have all been left keepsakes—pictures, jewellery and so forth.’ His aunt leaned across and patted her hand. ‘None of us need her money, my dear Miss Grey. It is quite all right. This is not a dream, and you are perfectly entitled to your inheritance.’

Mr Dover got to his feet and began to shuffle papers into a portfolio. ‘You will need a day or so to recover from the surprise, Miss Grey, but I will write to confirm what I have said and you will doubtless be able to furnish me with the direction of your bank and your man of business.’ He tied the cords around the folder and bowed to the ladies. ‘Your ladyship, Miss Grey, I bid you good day.’

Lady Parry got to her feet. ‘If I could just have a word, Mr Dover. There is the question of Miss Gower’s house—the staff asked me for advice on several matters, which I am sure you are far better equipped than I to answer. Miss Grey, would you be comfortable here for a few minutes? There is something I would very much like to discuss with you.’

The door closed behind her, leaving Nick alone with Miss Grey. Now was as good a time as any to confirm what his agents had found out about this young woman who had so won the hearts of his aunt and Miss Gower. Was she all she seemed? And what was the guilty secret that made her blush so? He suppressed a stirring of interest, which he recognised as sensual. She was far from his usual type; possibly that other blonde in the studio had had more of an effect than he thought.

Tallie was unconscious of the regard bent upon her face. She found it difficult to concentrate on what she had just been told, it was too unbelievable. Instead she found her mind wandering to the Peerage, which she had rather secretively conned the day before. Nicholas Stangate, 3rd Earl of Arndale … The family seat in Hertfordshire, a town house in Brook Street. Unmarried, twenty-nine years old with no brothers or sisters …

‘You do not appear very pleased by the news you have just received,’ he remarked, sinking into the seat opposite hers and leaning back. Tallie looked at him: he appeared completely relaxed, but his gaze was anything but casual.

‘I was not thinking about it,’ she admitted. She waited for that dark brow to lift, and, as she had anticipated, it did. Despite everything she smiled slightly, liking the expression of dry humour.

‘I have said something to amuse you?’

‘No, it was just that I was expecting you to raise one eyebrow when I admitted to such odd behaviour—and you did.’

Both brows shot up and he grinned at her disarmingly, instantly subtracting years from his age as the cool reserve vanished. ‘I am appalled that I am so predictable in my mannerisms. I can see that acquaintanceship with you will be a salutary experience, Miss Grey.’ She dropped her eyes, suddenly conscious of how intimate the conversation seemed, alone in the room with him. ‘Not only do you have a keen eye to depress affectation, but you have a mind above the acquisition of a fortune. Do tell me, how is it you can dismiss fifty thousand pounds with such ease?’

‘Oh, no! I cannot do that.’ Her eyes lifted swiftly. ‘No, you misunderstand me, my lord. It is such a shock that it does not seem real. I cannot think about it without becoming confused, so I was just letting my mind wander until I felt more rational.’

‘Then I think you should have a glass of sherry, which will restore the tone of your mind a little, and we can discuss it. You will have some practical affairs to consider almost immediately.’ He saw her dubious expression as he reached for the decanter that stood on a table beside his chair. ‘Now, what is disturbing you, Miss Grey? The thought of consuming wine at this hour of the day or my presumption in making free with my aunt’s decanters? If it is the former, think of it as medicine for your shock; if the latter, rest assured that I take no liberties without my aunt’s permission.’

Tallie bit her lip in vexation. Was she so easy to read that he could observe her every emotion in her face? ‘Neither, my lord. It is simply that I do not feel that it is my place to be—’

‘But what is your place, Miss Grey?’ He reached over and handed her the glass before picking up his own. ‘To your good fortune, and to your happy restoration to your natural position in Society.’

Tallie took an experimental sip and decided she liked the taste. It still felt very strange to be having such a conversation with a gentleman, let alone this one, but she refused to appear a simpering miss, so she retorted frankly, ‘If I knew what that was, I might welcome my restoration to it, my lord!’

‘I wish you would call me Nick.’

‘Certainly not, Lord Arndale!’

‘You could adopt me as an honorary cousin,’ he suggested gravely. ‘Miss Gower considered me as a nephew and, as you are her heiress, I am sure that makes us cousins.’

In spite of her efforts Tallie could not help but laugh. ‘I beg leave to tell you that this is ridiculous, my lord. I stand in no need of cousins, only of a recommendation to a bank and to a respectable man of business who is used to managing the affairs of single ladies, and I am sure Lady Parry will be kind enough to suggest how I go about finding those.’

At that moment her ladyship opened the door and sailed in with her usual energy, smiling gratefully at Nick as he stood to offer her the chair he had been occupying.

‘I see the two of you are getting on famously, which is just as I had hoped,’ she announced, sinking down and smiling at Tallie. ‘Now, Nicholas, pour me a glass of sherry and be off with you; Miss Grey and I have plans to make.’

He handed her the glass and began to stroll out of the room but halted by Tallie’s chair. ‘I will bid you good day, Miss Grey. I have every expectation of seeing a great deal of you in the near future.’ Lady Parry appeared to notice nothing odd in his voice, but Tallie was left uncertain as to whether she had just received a threat or a promise.

Chapter Five

Lady Parry regarded Tallie silently for a moment, then remarked, ‘My nephew is anticipating a suggestion I am about to make to you, Miss Grey—Talitha, if I may call you that. Do I have it correctly?’

‘Yes, ma’am, I agree it is very unusual. I was named for a great-aunt. Please, do call me that or better, Tallie, which is what my friends call me.’

‘Tallie, then.’ Lady Parry hesitated, an unusual occurrence for someone so decided, then said carefully, ‘You must forgive me, my dear Tallie, if you find me interfering.’ She waved into silence Tallie’s immediate protest. ‘I told you that Miss Gower and I took pleasure in our little plot to re-establish you to what, if it was not for the sad and untimely demise of your parents, would have been your natural position in Society.’

‘But, ma’am, even if my father had lived, I would not have expected one-twentieth of this fortune as my portion!’

‘Perhaps not, but I am sure you would have been able to live a life of comfort and security and to make your come-out, would you not?’ She waited for Tallie’s nod of agreement, then pressed on. ‘Now you find yourself all alone without the family to assist with your belated entry into Society and perhaps you are a little nervous of how to go on.’

‘But I do not look to make a come-out, ma’am,’ Tallie protested. ‘I am much too old! I have not been able to give this any thought, but perhaps I should find myself a house, in a country town maybe, where I may live respectably with a companion—’

‘And wither into an old maid?’ Lady Parry interrupted. ‘Nonsense! What a waste that would be. How old are you, child?’

‘Five and twenty, ma’am.’

‘Indeed, you do not look it, and you will look it even less when your hair is dressed and you are clothed as befits your station. There is not the slightest reason why you should not come out this Season, and even less why you should not find any number of most eligible suitors when you do. Not, of course, the young sprigs such as my son—they will all be too busy flirting with silly little chits just out of the schoolroom, as green as they are themselves. No, you will attract the slightly older men, those who are bored with vapid girls in their first Season and who look for character and intelligence as well as a pretty face and good breeding.’

Tallie blinked. This fairy-tale picture was so far from her imaginings that she could not believe Lady Parry was serious. ‘But—’

‘But me no buts! Really, my dear, are you attempting to tell me that you had resigned yourself to your life of industry and self-reliance; that you dreamed no dreams?’

‘Why, no, ma’am, I mean, yes, I had resigned myself . What use are dreams when one must worry day to day whether one can continue to support a respectable style of living, however modest?’ Perhaps some dreams, her conscience prompted her. Perhaps some dreams about cool grey eyes and a lazily amused, deep voice …

‘Then you must learn to dream, Tallie. In fact, you must learn to make your dreams reality.’

‘I would need a chaperon,’ Tallie said doubtfully. ‘I believe one can hire gentlewomen who arrange come-outs …’

‘Shabby genteel, most of them,’ Lady Parry said dismissively. ‘What I was going to suggest was that you come here to stay with me and I launch you this Season. There, what do you say to that?’

Tallie felt her mouth fall open unbecomingly and shut it with a snap. ‘Lady Parry … ma’am … I could not possibly impose upon you. Thank you so much for such a wonderful offer, but—’

‘I have told you, Tallie, no buts!’ The older woman leaned forward and took Tallie’s right hand in hers. ‘My dear, let me confide in you. I have no daughter, no nieces and I long for the fun of launching a débutante upon a Season. I want the company, I want to have a lively young person to shop with, to gossip with, to watch over and hope for. I want a daughter—and you need a mama. What could be more perfect?’ Tallie stared at her speechlessly, feeling like Cinderella, whirled from her cold hearth into the glittering ballroom at the palace at the wave of a magic wand. ‘Do say yes!’

Feeling as though she was stepping into space, Tallie whispered, ‘Yes.’ Then her voice returned to her. ‘Oh, yes, your ladyship, if you are quite sure I would be no trouble …’

‘I want you to be a trouble! I want to plot and plan and make lists and schemes. We must think of parties and dances and I must make sure all the most influential hostesses know about you. Vouchers for Almack’s, drives in the parks. Gowns, a riding horse, dancing lessons … We will be worn out, my dear, never fear. Oh, yes, and will you not call me Aunt Kate?’

‘I could never …’ Tallie saw her ladyship’s expressive face fall and smiled helplessly. ‘If you really wish me to, ma’am … Aunt Kate. I will do my very best not to disappoint you and to be useful.’

‘Then you may start by pulling the bell rope for Rainbird. Will you be ready to move here in a week, do you think? Ah, Rainbird, has my nephew left yet?’

‘He is on the point of doing so, my lady. Shall I request him to step in here?’

Nick Stangate put his head around the door, sending a sharp glance from his aunt’s animated expression to Tallie’s stunned face. ‘I see my aunt has outlined her scheme, Miss Grey.’

‘And dear Tallie has accepted my suggestion,’ Lady Parry responded gleefully. ‘Will you drive Miss Grey home, Nicholas? You may tell her your thoughts on a suitable bank and man of business while you are about it.’ Taking his assent as read, she got to her feet and enveloped Tallie in a warm embrace. ‘Off you go with Lord Arndale and I will speak to the housekeeper about your room. I did not dare tempt fate by making anything ready before I had spoken to you.’

Dazedly murmuring her thanks, Tallie allowed herself to be swept into the hallway and out to where a groom was standing patiently at the head of a pair of match bays harnessed to a rakish high-perch phaeton.

Nick Stangate helped her up into a seat, which seemed dangerously far above the roadway, and swung himself up beside her. ‘Let them go, Chivers.’

They wove through the traffic in silence for a few minutes, then Nick remarked, ‘Stunned into silence by your good fortune, Miss Grey?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted baldly. ‘It all seems like a dream—the money, Lady Kate’s wonderful offer, a Season … And last week I was worrying about whether I could afford a new gown and—’ She broke off, biting her lip.

‘And?’

‘And Miss Gower and thinking about how shallow it was to worry about such a little thing as old gowns or muddy hatboxes when someone for whom you have affection and respect is reaching the end of their life.’

‘And you had no idea of her intentions towards you?’ He reined in to allow an old-fashioned closed carriage to draw away from the kerbside, then let the bays ease back into a trot, watchfully negotiating the Bond Street traffic.

‘Why, no, not the slightest hint. It is so improbable, so like a fairy story I still cannot believe it.’

There was a hint of laughter in his voice as he said, ‘Miss Gower as the fairy godmother—yes, I can imagine her in that role, wearing one of those outrageous hats you used to make for her.’

‘She liked them as pretty as they could be,’ Tallie said defensively. ‘I am glad she saw the last one I made for her; it was quite impossibly pink with as much ruched silk ribbon as I could fit under the brim and a big rose.’

‘I saw it,’ Nick assured her. ‘She had it on the stand by her bed and showed it off to all her visitors—’ He broke off, then added, ‘Do you have a handkerchief?’

‘I am so sorry.’ Tallie scrabbled in her reticule and blew her nose. ‘You must think me a positive watering pot, I seem to be weeping on virtually every occasion we meet.’

‘Not at all. No one can help their eyes watering after a blow to the … er, middle, and to shed a tear at the reading of a will is a most natural reaction, I am sure.’

He sounded indifferent rather than sympathetic and Tallie, who had began to warm to him for telling her about Miss Gower’s hat, frowned.

‘So my aunt persuaded you to come and stay in Bruton Street?’ he observed as they crossed Oxford Street.

‘Yes,’ Tallie agreed, flushing at the coolness in his tone. ‘Do you not feel that is a good idea?’

‘I am sure it will be very much to your benefit.’

Was she imagining the slight emphasis on your? ‘You feel I am not a suitable person for Lady Kate to sponsor?’ she asked, keeping the anger out of her voice with an effort. ‘You think perhaps I am not who I purport to be? Or perhaps you object to my employment at Madame d’Aunay’s?’

Nick shot her a hard glance. ‘I know that you are precisely who you say you are,’ he replied. ‘I made it my business to find out. And I am sure that your employment as a milliner has been entirely respectable.’

The furious retort that rose to Tallie’s lips went unspoken. Of course he had to check on her, he was his aunt’s trustee. It was his duty to protect his widowed relative. How was Lord Arndale to know that she was not an adventuress, ready to prey upon Lady Kate’s kind heart, or someone who would bring scandal to the household?

Then as they crossed Weymouth Street into Upper Wimpole Street her heart seemed to stop with a sickening jolt. But she was just such a person! She had kept her shocking secret about Mr Harland’s studio because she had feared disgrace and being branded immoral. But what would be simply a personal shame to a young milliner would be an utter scandal if it was exposed in the household of a Society lady.

Tallie realised that Nick had asked her a question. ‘I am sorry, you said something?’ Was her voice shaking?

‘I asked if I am correct in saying it is the house just here on the left with the green front door?’

‘Yes.’ Of course he knew the address, he must have been checking on all of her circumstances and connections. He would know all about the humble lodging-house and its inhabitants and the fact that they were women earning their own way in the world. Did he know about Mr Harland? Surely not, he would have mentioned something as scandalous as that.

Nick reined in the horses and half-turned on the seat to look at her. ‘Are you quite well, Miss Grey?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course, my lord.’ He looked at her for a long minute; Tallie stared back defiantly, expecting to see that cold grey, inquisitorial look in his eyes, but all they revealed was a concern and a warmth that completely unsettled her. The events of the day had overwhelmed her other senses and perceptions ; now she was aware of him again as a man, a disturbing physical presence and an unreadable intelligence.

Behind her she was vaguely aware of the front door opening, but her eyes seemed locked with Nick’s.

‘Tallie! Thank good … I mean, Miss Grey, you are home.’ It was Zenna, sounding uncharacteristically flurried. Tallie turned in her seat, conscious of a strange feeling; part relief, part resentment.

‘Zenna! Please will you give me a hand down? I am sure his lordship will not want to let go his reins.’ Zenna hurried down the steps and stretched up a hand while Tallie jumped down. ‘My lord, may I introduce my friend? Zenobia, this is Lord Arndale, who has kindly driven me back from Lady Parry’s. My lord, Miss Scott.’

Lord Arndale raised his hat. ‘Miss Scott, good afternoon. Miss Grey, I will send details of a bank that I can recommend; should you wish me to accompany you to their offices, I am entirely at your disposal.’

Tallie tried to order her thoughts and behave like a young lady for whom a banker was a necessary adjunct to everyday life. Beside her Zenna was waiting silently; Tallie could feel the waves of antipathy coming from her like the heat from a fire.

Startled, she glanced from Nick Stangate to her friend. He was sitting patiently awaiting her reply, his gaze resting on the two plainly clad young women. Tallie was beginning to be able to interpret his apparently indifferent regard; it appeared Zenna was able to do instinctively. There was assessment in those grey eyes regarding them—assessment and disapproval.

She collected her straying thoughts and said politely , ‘Thank you, my lord, that would be most kind. Good day.’ She dropped the slightest of curtsies and turned to mount the steps. ‘Are you returning inside, Miss Scott?’

As the door closed behind them, cutting off the sound of Lord Arndale’s carriage wheels on the cobbles, Zenna said furiously, ‘Insufferable man! Is he the one who …?’

‘Yes, Lady Parry’s nephew, as I told you the other day. But why do you say he is insufferable?’

Tallie took off her bonnet and gloves and followed the still fuming Zenna into the parlour. His regard had certainly been cool, but Zenna’s life as a governess had inured her to snubs and she had always seemed to shrug them off.

Zenna appeared flustered, then she said slowly, ‘I really do not know, but something in his regard infuriated me. I could feel my hair rising like a cat seeing a dog!’ She brooded for a moment. ‘I have it: he disapproves of me as your friend, not in principle. He does not like seeing you on good terms with a humble governess.’

‘Nonsense,’ Tallie retorted. ‘I am a humble milliner, if it comes to that.’ Not for much longer, an inner voice reminded her. ‘And in any case, what is it to Lord Arndale what company I keep?’ Even as she said it, the thought intruded that as his aunt’s trustee Nick Stangate had every legitimate interest in the company she kept—and that included Miss Grey’s friends.

‘Do have a care, Tallie, I am so worried about Millie; the thought that both of you might be the prey of rakes is too worrying to contemplate!’

‘Lord Arndale’s interest in me and my connections has nothing to do with any amorous intentions, I can assure you.’ Tallie allowed herself one flickering moment’s contemplation of being the object of such desires and hastily suppressed the thought. ‘I will explain it all in a minute—but do tell me what is so concerning you about Millie.’

Zenna paced around the room, too agitated to join her friend on the sofa. ‘I walked back from the Langton house across the Park and there was Millie, with no female companion at all, arm in arm with this man.’

‘He may have been a perfectly respectable admirer.’

‘You know as well as I that, given her profession, Millie cannot hope to make a respectable connection with anyone of the ton! And this man is nothing if not a member of the most fashionable set—his clothes, his air, everything about him. If his intentions were respectable, why did he not welcome an introduction to one of Millie’s friends?’

‘He did not, then?’

Zenna flushed angrily. ‘I was comprehensively snubbed; not that Millie noticed, it was very smoothly done and she is obviously too entranced by him to see what is under her nose.’

No wonder Zenna had reacted so strongly to Nick Stangate’s cold and judgemental regard. ‘Do you know his name?’

‘A Mr Hemsley. Millie calls him Jack.’ Zenna, who was finally sitting down on the sofa, caught her friend’s look of alarmed recognition. ‘You know him?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Tallie said grimly. ‘He is an acquaintance of Lord Arndale and the Parrys, and he was the man who led the pack of them hunting for me in the studio. I saw him again when I last delivered hats to Lady Parry. You are quite correct to be worried, Zenna, he is a complete rake and I am certain can have no respectable reason for paying attention to Millie.’

‘What can we do? Should we speak to Mrs Blackstock?’

They regarded each other dubiously. ‘It might have been a chance meeting,’ Zenobia said. ‘I would not wish to upset Millie by questioning her judgement.’

‘And we would be suggesting that she might behave imprudently if we were to mention it to Mrs Blackstock …’ Tallie’s voice trailed away. ‘We must keep a quiet eye on Millie. It is possible that, if his intentions are dishonourable, the realisation that she has attentive friends will deter him.’

Zenna nodded decisively. ‘Yes, I agree, that is the best plan.’

An awkward silence followed their decision on what action to take over Millie’s unsuitable admirer. Tallie knew Zenna would be expecting her to tell all about the mysterious request to call upon Lady Parry and she must be equally curious as to why Tallie was being driven home by the very man she was so wary of. But Zenna would not pry and Tallie found her own tongue stumbling over what should be a perfectly simple piece of news.

But it was not so simple, she realised. As the fog of shock and confused delight at the news cleared, things became more and more complicated and delicate.

All her friends were in very straitened circumstances. They would greet the news of her good fortune with unenvious delight, she was sure, but her immediate, unthinking instinct to give money away and make life easier for them was fraught with difficulties.

How could she do it without appearing to patronise and putting them in a position where what had been a friendship of equals would be shadowed by inequality? An outright offer of money would wound the pride of any of them, but she did so much want to help lift the anxiety of making ends meet day after day from all three, just as it had been miraculously lifted from her.

‘Zenna,’ she began tentatively.

‘Yes? Do you want to tell me about this morning? Has something unpleasant happened?’

‘No, nothing unpleasant—far from it. But I have had such a shock my head is spinning and I hardly know what to think or do.’

‘Lord Arndale has proposed?’ Zenna enquired.

‘Proposed? No! Certainly not! Why should he do such a thing?’ Tallie felt so hot and bothered at the very idea that she completely lost her train of thought and simply stared at her friend.

Zenna shrugged. ‘Just a fancy that crossed my mind.’ Tallie regarded her, astonished, until she retorted, ‘Well, he is quite extraordinarily good-looking.’

‘Zenna!’

‘I might be a spinster governess, but there is nothing wrong with my eyesight and I can recognise an attractive man when I see one, even if I do not care for him,’ her friend replied somewhat snappishly.

‘Yes, of course you can,’ Tallie apologised hastily. ‘Do you really think him so handsome?’

It was Zenna’s turn to stare. ‘There appears to be something amiss with your eyesight, Talitha. But never mind Lord Arndale—what happened if it is nothing to do with him?’

‘Dear Miss Gower who died the other week has left me a legacy in her will,’ Tallie said cautiously.

‘Oh, how thoughtful of her. What is it? A piece of jewellery or a small sum of money?’

‘That is what I expected when they told me, but, Zenna—it is fifty thousand pounds.’

‘Fifty thou … are you sure? Not fifty or five hundred?’

‘That is what I thought at first, but there is no mistake. She has left me her entire fortune, beyond legacies to friends and servants.’

‘How wonderful!’ Zenna hugged Tallie hard, then sat back with a face radiant with pleasure at her friend’s good fortune. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘I hardly know, it is such a surprise.’ An idea suddenly struck her and, without giving herself time to worry about details, Tallie said, ‘I must make some sensible investments, of course. Zenna, you know you have always said your dream is to have your own school? Why do we not go into partnership and do just that?’

‘I do not have any money,’ Zenna protested. But Tallie saw the sudden flare of excitement in her eyes.

‘Yes, but you have all the skills and know how a school should be run. I will provide the money for the house and so forth, you manage the school. And,’ she added as Zenna opened her mouth to argue, ‘I would hope to find somewhere large enough for me to make it my home as well, if you should not object.’

‘Object? Object! Tallie, do you really mean it? How wonderful, there are so many things I want to try, so many new ideas about the education of girls—’ She broke off. ‘But you have not given this any thought yet, have you? You must do so, and take advice. And, in any case, why on earth would you want to live in a girls’ school? With this fortune you can be a Society lady.’

‘I am too old, Zenna, and I know no one.’

‘Nonsense.’ Zenna leapt to her feet and began to pace the room. ‘Lady Parry would advise you.’

‘She already has,’ Tallie admitted. ‘She has invited me to stay with her and make my come-out under her aegis.’

‘Did you not agree? That is a marvellous opportunity, you could not hope for anything more fortunate.’

‘Yes, I did agree, but now I think I must tell her I have changed my mind,’ Tallie said slowly. Her conscience was pricking her very badly and she knew that, whatever her views might be about Lord Arndale’s opinions, she owed it to her kind patroness to ensure that she brought not a whiff of scandal to her household.

She met Zenna’s bemused gaze and blurted out, ‘I must tell her about my work for Mr Harland. I cannot risk the scandal if anything came out, it would be a dreadful way to repay her kindness.’ She did not add the other consideration, which had been looming large ever since she saw Lord Arndale’s inimical stare fixed upon her friend.

If a respectable governess was not considered a suitable acquaintance for the newly wealthy Miss Grey, what would Lady Parry make of a lodging-house keeper and an opera dancer?

‘I must speak to her this afternoon,’ she said resolutely. ‘I will thank her for her kindness, but she will see that I am an unsuitable recipient of it. Better to do it at once, before she has the chance to make any further plans on my behalf.’

Zenna shook her head sadly. ‘You must do as you think fit, of course, but it is such a shame that you will not make a come-out.’

‘Never mind. Tomorrow we can start to make plans for the school—if that idea is still agreeable to you.’

‘How can it be anything else? I cannot believe my good fortune—I declare I feel as dazed as you look, Tallie dearest.’ She broke off at the sound of the front door opening. ‘That must be Mrs Blackstock. What will you tell her?’

‘Nothing yet, I think. I have no wish to embarrass our friends with the size of my inheritance, although I would value your advice about how I might help them at some point. I think perhaps tomorrow we can tell her of our plans and give notice. If she finds other tenants before the school is ready, we can always find lodgings together, or go to an hotel.’

‘An hotel?’ Zenna echoed, wide-eyed.

‘Why, yes,’ Tallie said recklessly. ‘I can afford it, after all!’

This frivolity did not last much beyond luncheon. Zenna was distractedly making lists, breaking off to suck her pen, gaze into space and then resume her scribbling.

But Tallie was imagining how disappointed in her Lady Parry was going to be when she discovered that her protégée was so abandoned as to supplement her living by posing naked.

Chapter Six

Rainbird hid any reaction he felt at Tallie’s second, unexpected, call of the day. ‘Her ladyship is At Home, Miss Grey, and has no one with her at present.’

‘Talitha! What a nice surprise.’ Lady Parry put down the book she was reading and looked up with a pleased smile as Tallie was announced. ‘Come and sit down by me.’

‘I … I think I would rather stand, ma’am.’ Tallie took a deep breath and said, ‘I am very sorry to appear ungracious, Lady Parry, but I feel I should not have accepted your kind offer this morning and I thought I should come and say so immediately.’

‘Why ever not? My poor child, stop standing there looking like a parlour maid who has broken the best Minton and sit down. There, that is better. Now, I know you must have had a shock this morning, but—’

‘It is not that, ma’am. I had not considered what a difficult position I would be putting you in.’

‘Because you have had to work for your living? If I do not regard it, be certain that Society will not— not when they learn of your family and fortune, and observe your ladylike deportment.’

‘My friends, ma’am—’

‘Your friends are more than welcome in my house, Talitha.’

‘Lady Parry,’ Tallie said with some emphasis, feeling she was being swept along faster than she wanted, ‘my only friends are a governess, a lodging-house keeper and an opera dancer. I do not believe you could have been aware of that fact when you made your kind offer just now.’

‘I have never met a governess who was not respectable and I am sure if the lodging-house in question is where you make your home, its proprietress is bound to be most acceptable.’

‘The opera dancer is her niece and lives with us,’ Tallie persisted.

‘And is she a nice girl?’

‘Very. And despite what the world thinks of actresses and performers, she is a modest, virtuous and respectable young woman into the bargain.’

‘There now, so where is the problem?’

‘You would not object if I were to continue my friendships?’

‘Certainly not. Your friends are most welcome in my home whenever they wish to call upon you.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. But not everyone will be of your opinion.’

‘By everyone, I assume you mean my nephew?’

‘Er … I …’ Tallie had no wish to tell tales or to sound in any way critical of Lady Parry’s family.

‘And which of your friends has Nicholas been viewing with that chilly eye of his?’

‘Miss Scott, the governess.’

‘Foolish boy—he has always been overprotective. And has he set eyes upon the young lady from the opera yet?’

‘I believe not.’

‘He will,’ his fond aunt prophesised cheerfully. ‘At least, he probably already has met her if she is pretty. Never mind, Talitha. Whom I allow under my roof is my decision. Once Nicholas gets to know you better he will soon cease to worry.’

‘That is not all, Lady Parry.’

‘I thought we had agreed that you would call me Aunt Kate?’

‘You will not wish me to when I tell you about the other matter, ma’am,’ Tallie said, feeling ready to sink now that the moment for confession was upon her. ‘I am not just a milliner, I have been earning my living in another way as well.’

‘I know,’ Lady Parry said calmly.

‘You know? But, ma’am, you cannot … I have been sitting for an artist!’

‘Indeed. Mr Harland, a most talented gentleman, I believe.’

‘But, Lady Parry, how could you have discovered what I have been doing?’

Her ladyship held up a hand to silence Tallie as Rainbird appeared with a tea tray.

‘Will you pour, my dear?’ She waited while Tallie handed her her cup with a hand that trembled. ‘A macaroon? No? You must not become so agitated, Talitha. I called upon Mr Harland a while ago as I am considering having my portrait painted. I observed a canvas and asked who the model was, for I thought I recognised her.’

‘He told you?’ Tallie was aghast, both at the thought that the compromising classical paintings had been displayed in the studio and that Mr Harland had been so indiscreet as to reveal her name.

‘He was immediately very embarrassed at his slip. I am sure it was only because I said I thought I knew the model.’

‘And you are not shocked, ma’am? The fact that I was sitting for an artist at all, let alone the way I was … dressed.’

‘Admittedly it was not the way in which one would normally wish an unmarried lady to be depicted, but under the circumstances I feel we should disregard it.’

‘Circumstances?’ Tallie said weakly.

‘I can tell Mr Harland is a most respectable person and I am sure that his slip in revealing your name would not be repeated.’

Tallie was so taken aback that for a moment she could not find the words to continue.

Finally she ventured, ‘But, ma’am, if it should be found out once I am launched in Society, it would reflect upon you. After all, I am of no account, but you are a leading member of the ton.’

‘And have more than enough credit to carry off any little indiscretions of my protégée,’ Lady Parry said with a chuckle. ‘And it will not be long before you too are a figure in Society, mark my words. A fortune the size of yours is more than enough to cover up any number of indiscretions. Now then, you are still going to be able to move here in a week?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Tallie stammered.

‘Aunt Kate, please, my dear Tallie. Goodness, is that the time? I am due at Lady Fraser’s in an hour, and be seen in this gown I cannot and will not! No, there is no need for you to rush off, this is your home now. Just ring if you need anything.’ Lady Parry sprang from the sofa on which she had been decoratively draped, fluttered across to drop a kiss on Tallie’s cheek and was out of the room before the younger woman could do more than gasp,

‘Goodbye.’

Tallie got slowly to her feet, too bemused to pull herself together and leave. She had been steeled to explain why she was an inappropriate person for Lady Parry to take under her wing and had found both her anxiety for her friends and her scrupulous confession about Mr Harland swept aside.

Which meant that in a week’s time her former life also would be swept away and she would be making her come-out as a young lady of fashion. Her money worries would be about how to invest and spend it, not how to make enough to afford a new pelisse.

Tallie stood by the window and stared out at the fashionable street life bustling below her. She untied the ribbons of her bonnet and tossed it onto the sofa as though freeing her head would help her think, but things still seemed just as unreal and unbelievable as they had before.

‘Back again, Miss Grey?’ a voice behind her enquired. Tallie stiffened, but did not turn. He had entered without her hearing. ‘Come to confess your secret?’ Lord Arndale’s voice sounded as uninterested as if he had enquired whether she had just returned from walking in the park.

Tallie felt the breath catch in her throat. She wanted … What did she want? Why had she had hardly a coherent, calm thought since this man had found her in the attic studio?

She found her voice suddenly. ‘Confess? Yes, that is precisely what I have been doing, my lord.’

‘You have?’ Despite everything Tallie felt her mouth curve into a smile. So, she had managed to surprise the imperturbable Nick Stangate, had she?

‘Yes, my lord.’ Emboldened by the fact that she could not see his sardonic expression, Tallie wondered if it was safe to tease him further and decided against it. ‘It appears that Lady Parry was already aware of the matter that was troubling me.’

‘And?’ He was coming closer; Tallie could see his reflection blurred in the window glass. How could she ever have said he made her feel safe?

‘Lady Parry appears to feel I am refining too much about it. She does not regard it.’ How her voice was staying so steady she had no idea. Nick Stangate was standing at her shoulder, just behind her.

‘And do you think I would share her opinion?’ He had lowered his voice. It sounded faintly menacing in the quiet room.

‘Without wishing to appear rude, my lord, your opinion does not concern me. But then you are Lady Parry’s trustee, not her guardian, are you not, my lord?’

Had she overstepped the mark? It appeared not: there was a faint noise that she realised incredulously was a muffled snort of amusement. Then he was still.

‘What scent are you wearing, Miss Grey?’ The question was so unexpected it was all she could do not to spin round.

‘Jasmine,’ she replied. Was it her imagination, or was he so close that she could feel his breath on her nape?

‘It reminds me of something,’ Nick said slowly. ‘No—somewhere, a place. But somewhere cold, dusty …’

‘Really? How strange: I have always thought it a summer smell.’ Then Tallie realised what he was remembering—the faint traces of her scent on her chilled, naked skin in the attic room. And he was standing as he had then, close by her left shoulder, close enough to touch, close enough to smell her fear and her perfume.

Talitha turned so swiftly that Nick had no opportunity to step back, even if he had wanted to. He stopped racking his memory for a trace of an elusive perfume as a far more intrusive sensation than curiosity flooded through his body. Simple desire. Damn it, why had he not realised the feelings that Talitha Grey evoked in him for what they were? It was not suspicion of the secret she openly admitted to him she was hiding. It was not even the perfectly natural protectiveness of his aunt that would mean he would take a sharp interest in any new acquaintance of hers.

His habitual honesty with himself answered his own question. He had been rather too preoccupied with another blonde young woman for him to have thought more clearly about this one until she had achieved this insidious effect on him.

Not that the two women were more than superficially similar, of course. That exquisite nymph huddling in the dirty attic closet was shorter than Miss Grey. Her hair had waved in tresses shot through with varied shades of gold, unlike the straight, pale gilt severity of the coiffure so close in front of him now. And she had quivered with fear, unlike the tense fierceness that this young woman showed in the face of his curiosity or disapproval.

Nick shook himself mentally. He had allowed his imagination to drift too often to that naked girl. She had proved a damnably uncomfortable preoccupation, so uncomfortable that he had been tempted to go back to the studio and ask for her name and direction. A natural fastidiousness had stopped him; to do so felt like an extension of Jack Hemsley’s behaviour.

But how had he been so blind as not to appreciate the delicious feminine charms now standing so close to him? That reproof about not noticing a ‘milliner’s girl’ was deserved. And how had he failed to look beyond that frightful pelisse to the charming figure beneath? Lord Arndale ruthlessly suppressed thought of just how Miss Grey would appear clad only in that length of sheer linen and smiled into the defiant green eyes.

‘Naturally I bow to my aunt’s good judgement. Can we not call it a truce, Miss Grey? After all, immediately after you heard of your good fortune we seemed to be on good enough terms, did we not?’

Yes, he had allowed himself to relax with her, succumb to the image she presented of the innocent young lady forced to fend for herself by harsh circumstances. And he had let her lull his suspicions at the way she had reacted to a confrontation with a lawyer. The sensation of her pulse fluttering under his fingers returned and he clenched his fist to banish the frisson.

Talitha nodded with apparent reluctance, but did not let her eyes drop from his. They were standing so close that she had to tilt her head back at what must have been an uncomfortable angle, yet she made no move away from him. Nick was suddenly struck by the fancy that she was attempting to hold his attention away from something else, something she was desperate to hide from him.

He broke the eye contact, abruptly stepping back and sweeping the room in a comprehensive glance. Nothing.

‘Satisfied that I have not been stealing the silver?’ she enquired icily, stooping to pick up her bonnet and tying the ribbons with a jerk. ‘The truce did not last long, did it, my lord?’

‘The truce will last just as long as I am satisfied you are hiding nothing that will embarrass or harm my aunt,’ he replied, trampling firmly on a desire to rip open that bow, toss the bonnet to one side and kiss the anger off her face. Then the image of those green eyes fluttering closed in passion, that firm mouth softening beneath his, that delicately curved body yielding in his arms crashed into his mind with the force of a blow and he turned abruptly on his heel to hide the shock of arousal.

‘I will ring for Rainbird. I regret that I am unable to drive you this afternoon, but he will call you a cab.’

‘Thank you, my lord. Perhaps before you leave you would be so kind as to give me the direction of the bank you were going to recommend to me. I have no need to take you up on your kind offer to escort me—Miss Scott will do so, I am sure.’

Nick strode to the bureau and, pulling a sheet of paper towards him scribbled a few lines. When he turned, Talitha was standing closer to him, her hand held out for the note. ‘Miss Scott? Ah, yes, the governess.’

‘Indeed. My friend to whom you were introduced this morning. Doubtless your investigations will have unearthed the full list of her extremely respectable clients. Lady Parry has been so kind as to say that all of my small circle of friends are welcome here while I am staying with her.’ She tucked the paper into her reticule and added, ‘In addition to Miss Scott, there is Mrs Blackstock, the lodging-house keeper, and her niece Miss Blackstock, who is an opera dancer.’

‘Are you attempting to provoke me, Miss Grey?’ Nick was conscious that his strong desire to kiss Talitha Grey until she was whimpering in his arms was rapidly being replaced by the need to shake her until her teeth rattled. ‘An opera dancer?’

‘Certainly, my lord. I am surprised your researches did not uncover that fact,’ she replied placidly, slipping past him as Rainbird opened the door. ‘Possibly you know her as Amelie LeNoir. Thank you, Rainbird. Good day, my lord.’

Nick threw himself down in the nearest armchair and stared at the closed door. Damn it! A little milliner with gilt hair and green eyes and a secret had undermined his self-control, his carefully maintained lack of emotion and his utter confidence that he had his world, and that of each of his dependents, firmly where he wanted it.

And no bad thing either, he told himself, his sense of humour returning as rapidly as it had left him. Bear-leading his cousin, assisting the failing Miss Gower, ruthlessly checking up on his aunt’s new protégée—he would turn into a sanctimonious straightlaced Puritan if he carried on like this. You need some fun, Nick Stangate, he told himself. Whether having Miss Talitha Grey in the Parry household would prove to be fun, exactly, remained to be seen. It was certainly not going to be dull. And if that young lady thought she was going to keep any secrets from him for very long, she was seriously mistaken.

That small stiletto thrust about the opera dancer had been neatly delivered, he thought appreciatively. Presumably it was intended to repay him for the remark about buying hats, which she had risen to all too easily.

Amelie LeNoir. Could she really mean that she was friendly with an opera dancer? Presumably, if she was the niece of the lodging-house keeper, she shared the same house—unless she was in some man’s keeping. No, even Miss Grey would not openly profess friendship with a kept woman. A virtuous actress would be a novelty—and possibly a means by which to tease Talitha Grey.

In a very short time he was becoming addicted to the stimulus of provoking the flash of green fire in those wide eyes. He would seek out Miss LeNoir and in the meantime he must have a word with his enquiry agent. Neither Miss LeNoir nor Talitha’s secret had featured in the expensive reports that had arrived at regular intervals, systematically setting out Miss Grey’s career from respectable gentry childhood through reclusive poverty with her dying mother to hard-working self-reliance. Lord Arndale disliked incompetence almost as much as he disliked not being in command of all the facts: Mr Gregory Tolliver was going to have some explaining to do as to why a Society matron knew his target’s secrets and he did not.

Chapter Seven

The next day Zenna accompanied Tallie to see first Mr Dover the solicitor and then to Martin and Wigmore, the bankers Nick Stangate had recommended. Tallie found herself expected at both sets of offices and at both of them found herself making decisions and issuing orders, which, if she gave herself time to think about it, seemed the stuff of fairy tales. Eventually they emerged blinking into the watery sunlight on the corner of Poultry and Queen Street, an obsequious clerk at their elbow to hail them a carriage.

‘We were received with the most gratifying degree of attention,’ she observed to her friend once they were alone and the cab was crawling down Cheapside towards St Paul’s. ‘But I still cannot believe that I was sitting there, making decisions about bank deposits and gilts, and being lectured on the absolute necessity to make my will.’

‘You and your money were what was receiving the attention,’ Zenna retorted. ‘What a lowering thought that men who would have scarcely noticed us yesterday hung upon your every word and wish today, simply because of your acquisition of wealth.’

‘That is the way of the world, I suppose.’ Tallie looked sombre for a moment, then smiled wickedly. ‘But reprehensible though it may be, I fully intend to enjoy it—we have been prudent and sensible too long, Zenna. We deserve a holiday!’

‘We? But I have my plans for the school to draw up and house-agents to see, as well as my pupils to attend to,’ Zenna protested.

‘You cannot do both, not efficiently at any rate. Zenna, why do you not give notice to the parents of your pupils and concentrate on the school. No, hear me out.’ She raised a hand as Zenna opened her mouth. ‘This school is an investment—a joint investment—is it not? Then I should be investing in your time to set it up, and you should be concentrating on house-agents, and interviewing teachers and drawing up a curriculum and so on.

‘Stop frowning, Zenna!’ She laughed at her friend’s dubious expression. ‘I understand all your scruples. We will talk to Mr Dover and ask him to draw up a partnership agreement, then all will be set out and fair. Now agree, do, because I have lots of other plans I want to discuss with you.’

‘Very well,’ Zenna agreed with the air of someone being persuaded to do something they wanted to do, but felt they should not. ‘I will be guided by Mr Dover, he does seem a very rigorous lawyer and will make sure I am not taking more than my fair share in this agreement.’

Tallie nodded decisively. ‘And I have had another brilliant idea for investing my money. It concerns Mrs Blackstock. What if I should buy a town house or two? She could run them as select boarding-houses. I am sure she would soon be making a handsome profit for me and thereby a good income for herself.’

‘An excellent idea,’ Zenobia approved, grabbing the hanging strap as the cab once again jolted to a halt. ‘What a crush! I had not realised the City would be so busy. What about Millie? I confess, I have not observed Mr Hemsley in her company again, but I know she is receiving notes from someone, for she blushes and hides them under her table napkin when the morning post arrives.’

‘That is difficult,’ Tallie agreed, peering out of the window. ‘Why, no wonder the street is in such chaos, some yokel is driving a herd of sheep through! But I do not think it will be any faster to get out and walk, so we had better stay where we are. I had thought that if Mrs Blackstock was busy with the new boarding-houses, Millie might stay at home to help her. But she loves the stage—it is not as if she is doing it because she needs the money. Then I thought of giving her a dowry in the hope of attracting some respectable person to marry her, but I cannot think of a tactful way of doing that, so I confess I am somewhat at a stand.’

‘Hmm. No doubt something will occur to us. What are you doing this afternoon? Shopping?’

A roll of banknotes had been burning a hole in Tallie’s reticule for the past hour, but she wanted to take Zenna shopping with her when she went. Tallie had a plan to buy her friend some clothes so she could be invited to parties too. That was going to take some tact and cunning and Zenna was engaged that afternoon with pupils.

‘I must go shopping tomorrow, for I cannot arrive at Lady Parry’s with my wardrobe in the state it is. I am sure she will recommend me to all the right modistes once I am with her, but until then I need your advice, Zenna. Are you free tomorrow? Because if you are, we can look at house-agents as well.’

Zenna agreed, attempting to look as though she would enjoy the experience. She produced her tablets and began to add to her endless lists, while Tallie brooded on the interview with Madame d’Aunay she had resolved on having that afternoon.

She had already written to her employer, apologising again for her absence, giving a carefully edited account of her change in circumstances and informing her that she would be stopping work as soon as she had finished the hats on which she was working. She expected Madame to be unhappy about this, but she was unprepared for the atmosphere that greeted her when she arrived at the shop that afternoon.

The first shock was the fact that Madame curtsied as she entered the salon and ushered her through to her inner sanctum, the elegantly appointed private room reserved for the best clients.

‘I must apologise, Madame …’ Tallie began, only to be silenced by the expression of forced affability on Madame’s face.

‘Do not mention it, Miss Grey. Naturally you will wish to dissociate yourself from this establishment immediately. I have your outstanding wages here.’ She reached for an envelope, a slight flush staining her neck.

‘Goodness, no,’ Tallie protested. ‘I have given you no notice, I cannot take that.’

‘Very well, ma’am.’

Tallie blinked. Had her former employer called her ‘ma’am’? ‘The hats on which I am working—’

‘Sarah will take them over, Miss Grey.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘I will naturally be sorry to lose Lady Parry’s business, but—’

‘But why should you?’ Tallie felt distinctly disorientated.

‘I understood that you would be living with Lady Parry, Miss Grey, and naturally assumed—’

‘Oh, good heavens, no!’ Tallie realised her former employer thought she would be making the hats directly for her patroness from now on. ‘Obviously if Lady Parry needed a trim changing or something of that nature … but I am sure she will wish to continue purchasing her hats from you.’

‘I see.’ Madame looked even more uneasy. ‘I believe you said you will be making your come-out this Season, Miss Grey?’

‘Indeed, yes, and I will need several hats …’

‘What a pity that this salon produces hats so much more fitting for the older lady,’ Madame said expressionlessly.

‘But …’ Tallie gathered her wits together. So, suddenly she was an embarrassment to Madame: neither a lady nor an employee, but someone who might prove a liability if there was a scandal when she made her début. Society ladies might take exception to the fact that one of Madame d’Aunay’s artisans had the presumption to move above her station.

She glanced towards the door into the workroom. ‘The girls are very busy, Miss Grey,’ the milliner said hurriedly.

‘I am sure they are, Madame.’ Tallie got to her feet. ‘I must thank you for having given me a chance when I needed employment: I will not forget that. Please be assured that I will do nothing to dissuade Lady Parry from continuing to buy hats here.’

She swept out, head held high before she saw whether she was receiving another curtsy or not. When she found herself on the pavement outside the shop she hesitated, unsure which way to turn along the crowded street, unable to think clearly about what she should be doing next.

Anger, sorrow and insecurity fought within her. Was it going to be this difficult with everyone she met in her new life?

‘Miss Grey, good afternoon.’ The cheerful voice at her elbow jerked her back to the present and an awareness that she was still standing on the pavement with passers-by flowing around her.

‘Lord Parry. I do beg your pardon, I was woolgathering.’ Tallie pulled herself together with an effort and managed a smile. William was regarding her with unaffected delight and she was irresistibly reminded of a large retriever puppy. He seemed painfully young and, she suspected, was rapidly reaching the stage when young ladies were proving a mysterious, but irresistible, source of interest.

‘May I escort you anywhere?’

‘No, I thank you, but I was just going to … to walk home.’ She supposed that would be the best thing to do. She hardly felt inclined to go window-shopping in her present distracted frame of mind.

‘I say, that is rather a long walk, isn’t it? Let me call you a hackney carriage.’

‘I … no … thank you. I think I would like the fresh air.’

To her surprise, for in Tallie’s experience youths were often far too self-absorbed to take much notice of anyone else’s emotional state, William shot her a sharp glance, tucked her hand firmly under his elbow and began to steer her towards the end of Berkeley Street.

‘Are you feeling a little out of sorts, Miss Grey? Never mind, I know just the thing.’

‘What, my lord?’ Half-amused despite her battered feelings, Tallie meekly allowed herself to be guided along the crowded pavement.

‘Ice cream. I will take you to Gunter’s and you can have a nice lemon ice and a wafer and a cup of chocolate and you’ll soon feel right as rain.’

Tallie suppressed a smile. Of course, food and the sweeter the better—the answer to distress for every very young person. ‘That is extremely kind of you, my lord.’

They arrived at the fashionable tearooms in a slight lull and found a choice of tables available. ‘Would you like to sit in the window?’ William suggested. ‘There is more to look at.’

And everyone can see us, Tallie thought, allowing herself to be seated. She could hardly feel that her presence in her drab pelisse was adding much lustre to young Lord Parry’s carefully cultivated image. His clothing was immaculate, if a little on the exaggerated side when it came to cut, his hair was ruthlessly pomaded into elegant curls and his neckcloth, although lacking the exquisite folds achieved by a certain gentleman Tallie could think of, was highly creditable.

‘I see you are admiring my neckcloth,’ he confided, dropping his voice.

‘I beg your pardon,’ Tallie said hastily, ‘I had no intention of staring …’

‘Not at all.’ He fairly glowed with pride and Tallie concluded that if his lordship was twenty years old his birthday must have been very recent indeed. ‘My cousin Nick showed me how to tie it. I was trying for a Waterfall and making a complete mull of it, so he taught me this.’

‘You are close to Lord Arndale?’ Tallie enquired, moving her napkin to allow a water ice and a cup of steaming chocolate to be set in front of her.

William became quiet, obviously unused to discussing his feelings. ‘He’s the best of fellows,’ he managed after some thought. ‘Like a brother, only he doesn’t lecture. Leastways, I don’t have a brother, but I hear what the other chaps say and older brothers sound like the very de—are very strict. Always lecturing.’

‘And Lord Arndale does not lecture you?’ Tallie enquired, surprised. It seemed unlikely from what she knew of him that Nick Stangate would tolerate the foolishness of youth.

‘No.’ William took a large spoonful of vanilla ice and paused with it halfway to his mouth. ‘He looks sometimes.’

‘Looks?’

‘Yes, just looks. And then you feel uncomfortable and wonder if whatever you are doing is a good thing. You know?’

‘No, but I can imagine.’ Tallie took a reviving sip of chocolate.

‘You’ll see, once you come and live with us.’

‘Do you mind me moving in, my lord?’ Tallie asked abruptly. This was an unlikely conversation to be having with a very young man who was virtually a stranger to her, but William with his natural confiding friendliness did not appear to find it so.

‘No, of course not. It’ll be like having a sister and Mama is having a wonderful time already. You will call me William, won’t you?’ He ate some more of his ice and demolished his wafer, then, with the frankness that Tallie was beginning to associate with him—so unlike his cousin—said, ‘Are you feeling better now?’

‘I … yes, thank you.’

‘Good. What was wrong?’ Then he blushed scarlet. ‘Lord! I am sorry, it is just that it is so easy talking to you I just didn’t think. Forget I asked.’

Perversely Tallie, who ten minutes ago would have walked on hot coals rather than reveal her wounded feelings, said, ‘No, it is quite all right to ask. I had just had a very difficult conversation with Madame d’Aunay, who used be my employer.’

‘Um?’ William nodded encouragingly. ‘Old tartar, is she?’

‘It isn’t that. She is embarrassed because a day ago I was a milliner and her employee; now she thinks she has to treat me like a lady and is afraid that if I make a scandal it will reflect on her business. I do not think I know what I am any more.’ To her horror a lump appeared in her throat.

‘Oh, I say!’ William whisked out a large pocket handkerchief and, leaning across the table, held it out to her. ‘You aren’t going to cry, are you, Miss Grey …? I feel an absolute clod …’

Tallie ducked her head and shot a rapid glance around the still half-empty room. No one appeared to have noticed them. ‘Thank you, William, I am quite all right, truly. And I’m not going to cry, it is just that I do not know whether I am angry or hurt or what I feel.’

His hand still hovered with the linen, and she put up her own hand to touch his wrist and silently urge him to put the handkerchief away. As she did so a movement outside caught her attention. Lord Arndale was watching them through the glass, one dark brow raised in chilly incredulity.

‘Good afternoon.’ He appeared at their table with what seemed to Tallie to be supernatural speed. Glancing at William’s face, she saw he had turned as red as she knew she had. The pair of them must have presented a perfect picture of guilt surprised.

This was ridiculous. William might be an awkward adolescent, but she was five and twenty and a woman of the world. She was certainly not going to allow Nicholas Stangate to put her out of countenance.

‘Good afternoon, my lord,’ she said affably. ‘Will you not join us? Lord Parry has been treating me to the indulgence of an ice. I can certainly recommend the lemon, although I believe the vanilla is equally delicious.’ William was rapidly collecting himself, stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket and rising to move around the table and offer his cousin his seat.

‘Thank you, William. No, nothing for me.’ Nick waved away the hovering waiter with a careless hand and regarded Tallie with what she could only interpret as scepticism. ‘It appeared that my cousin, far from treating you to afternoon tea, had reduced you to tears.’

‘Oh, I say …’

‘Did it appear so?’ Tallie took another tiny taste of ice and smiled. ‘A mote of something flew into my eye and Lord Parry was kind enough to offer me his handkerchief.’ She smiled warmly at the youth, who blushed again, this time with pink-cheeked pleasure.

Lord Arndale was watching the byplay with little sign of either belief or approval. Tallie decided it was time to distract him from his cousin. ‘I deserve a little indulgence, my lord. I have spent the morning in the City, paying close attention to Mr Dover and the gentlemen at the bank, just as you recommended me to.’

The dark brows snapped together. ‘You went alone?’

‘Certainly not, my lord.’ Tallie managed a tone of modest outrage. ‘Naturally I was accompanied by Miss Scott, as I told you I would be.’

‘Ah, yes, your governess friend.’

‘And my business partner,’ Tallie corrected gently, watching him from under demurely lowered lashes.

‘And what business might that be?’

‘It is far too early to divulge the details,’ Tallie said repressively, dapping her lips delicately with the napkin.

‘If you are going to plunge into dubious investments, Miss Grey, I must tell you as your—’

‘As my what, my lord?’ Tallie gathered up her reticule and smiled at William. ‘Do you know, I think I would like you to call me a hackney after all, Lord Parry, if you would be so kind.’ She waited until he rose and went to the door before turning back to his cousin, who was watching her with smouldering eyes. ‘You may be Lady Parry’s trustee and you may be Miss Gower’s executor, my lord, but you have no role in my life.’

William was on the pavement, head tipped back, obviously asking the driver of the hackney carriage drawn up at the kerb to wait. ‘What a thoroughly nice young man Lord Parry is,’ she added, without thinking. ‘His mama must be very proud of him.’

‘He is indeed,’ Nick Stangate said close by her ear as he pulled back her chair for her. ‘Very nice, very young, very titled and very rich. And he is in no need of a wife, or any other romantic liaison at the moment.’

Vehement, furious denial rose to Tallie’s lips, but she controlled it—just. Only a hesitation as she rose betrayed the anger that lanced through her. That he thought she could entertain the slightest desire to flirt with, let alone set out to ensnare, a lad five years her junior for the sake of title and wealth was utterly insulting and she half-turned to hiss a furious response. Then a wicked thought flashed through her brain and she bit her tongue.

She calmly straightened her skirts and turned to smile into the darkly handsome face so close to hers. ‘And what were you doing when you were twenty, my lord? I cannot believe that romantic liaisons were very far from your thoughts. I am sure Lord Parry is quite old enough to know what he wants. I am so looking forward to getting to know him better.’

She kept her temper under control as she thanked William prettily for her treat and for the hackney and sat stock-still while the vehicle rocked and bumped over the cobbles back to Upper Wimpole Street. She could hardly give way to her feelings in the middle of a public street. But when she got back to the house and found the parlour empty, she seized a cushion from the sofa and pummelled it until feathers started to leak from one seam.

‘Insufferable man!’

‘Let me guess.’ Zenna appeared in the doorway, quill in one hand and Latin primer in the other. ‘Lord Arndale.’

‘Yes.’ Tallie threw the cushion back onto the sofa and sat on it with emphasis. ‘I declare, Zenna, that man has the most appalling effect on me. Did you ever know me to lose my temper before? Did I not always try to be calm and philosophical in the face of setbacks? Would I have stooped to mockery and deception in order to annoy another person? Was I able to sleep at night?’

‘No, yes, no and usually,’ Zenna said with a grin. ‘Now, what has he done? Has he tried to kiss you?’

Tallie glared at her. ‘I do wish you would stop this jesting of yours, Zenna. First you say you expect him to propose, then to kiss me. The wretched creature is suspicious of me, that is all. He knows I have something to hide and is busily investigating me. And now he accuses me of setting my cap at his cousin.’

‘Lord Parry? But how old did you say he was? Sixteen?’

‘Twenty, and a very young and very charming twenty-year-old at that. I met him in Piccadilly and he took me for an ice cream and we talked until who should arrive but Nick Stangate, looking like the wrath of God.’

‘Tallie!’

‘I am sorry, I did not intend to blaspheme. He is like one of those Greek gods. You know, thunderbolts and eyes that turn people to stone,’ she added wildly.

‘I think you are getting thoroughly confused with your Greek myths and need a nice cup of tea.’ Zenna put her head out of the door and called to Annie, then came back in and sat down.

‘I don’t think I can drink anything, thank you. I am full of lemon ice and hot chocolate.’ She tried not to think about the episode in Gunter’s, but it kept insisting on being worried at, like a sore tooth. ‘Why should he think anything so foolish as that? William is five years younger than I am.’

‘Perhaps he’s jea—’ Zenna caught herself and bit off the word. ‘Perhaps he is just abnormally suspicious,’ she said soothingly. ‘Tell me all about Gunter’s, I have always wanted to try one of their ices.’

Chapter Eight

‘There was a time—can it be just a few days ago?—when my only worry was earning my living,’ Tallie lamented as the hackney carriage made its way along Oxford Street. ‘Now I have to worry about my position in Society—or lack of it; how to invest a ridiculous amount of money wisely; how to keep an interfering, autocratic aristocrat from discovering my secrets and how to persuade you to allow me to buy you a dress or two.’

‘Tallie, I simply cannot accept expensive presents …’ Zenna protested for the third time that morning.

‘I am not trying to give you expensive presents—just one evening dress so we can go to parties together. Please, Zenna. I need your support. Lady Parry is so kind, but it is not the same as a friend my own age. And it would give me such pleasure to give you a present.’ She smiled hopefully at her friend, who sighed and smiled back.

‘Very well, and thank you, Tallie. It would be very pleasant to have a nice evening gown, I have to admit, but as for the other gowns you were talking of, that is far too much.’

‘Business expenses,’ Tallie said firmly. ‘We can put them down as business expenses. You must have some good day dresses for interviewing teachers and parents. We are aiming at the highest quality for this school, are we not?’

Zenna began to protest that arguing with Tallie was more exhausting than trying to handle a room full of six-year-old boys when the hackney pulled up outside the Pantheon Bazaar and Tallie got to her feet. ‘We will start here, then I thought Hardin and Howell, Stagg and Mantle’s and Clark and Debenham’s.’ She smiled at Zenna, who descended onto the pavement looking apprehensive at this formidable list. ‘Then this afternoon, Dickens and Smith …’ She plunged into the shop pursued by Zenna, who was grimly resolving that, whatever else the day held, it was going to include a lengthy pause at Gunter’s. A very lengthy one indeed.

At four o’clock that afternoon two very weary young ladies made their way up to Tallie’s bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, scattering parcels and bandboxes on the floor as they did so. Behind them came the faint sounds of little Annie struggling up the stairs with still more packages.

‘My feet!’ Zenna moaned, pulling off her shoes and wriggling her toes with a gasp of relief.

Tallie levered herself up on her elbows from her position prone on the mattress and sighed happily. ‘Mine too. Oh, thank you, Annie. Put them in the corner, please, and then please bring us some tea up.’ She dragged the pillows up into a heap and sat back against them. ‘A nice cup of tea and then all the fun of unwrapping everything.’ She smiled at Zenna coaxingly. ‘Admit it, Zenna, you did enjoy it a little bit, did you not?’

‘Well … yes, I have to confess I did. Thank you very much for the gown and the slippers and gloves. It felt very good to dress up for once. But we do seem to have bought a vast amount of things—do you think you have almost everything you need now?’

‘I should not think so for a minute,’ Tallie replied, reflecting on the ladies’ boudoirs she had glimpsed so frequently in her career as a milliner. ‘Lady Parry would be very disappointed if she does not have the opportunity to supervise my shopping. No, this was just so that I did not feel too drab in the first few days. My old pelisse and walking dress are on their last prayers, all my stockings have been darned and both my pairs of gloves have got splits in the seams.’

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the images of the day’s extravagances swirl across her memory. ‘It is fun to have a holiday and to be able to buy what one wants, but I am glad we have our business ventures to be working on, Zenna. I cannot feel comfortable with the thought of Society life. From what I have seen it is entirely composed of luxury and pleasure. I am sure I would soon become bored with nothing else to think of.’

Into the images of dress lengths and slippers, fans and feathers the picture of a tall, dark, elegant gentleman rose, quite unbidden. How did Lord Arndale spend his time? she wondered. In the company of actresses and opera dancers? At the card tables? At cock-fights and the prize-ring? She tried to imagine that coolly sardonic expression giving way to excitement , passion, anticipation—and failed. His lordship was undoubtedly a prime example of the indolent and aloof members of Society whose way of life she was about to sample. It would be satisfying to cause some emotion to cross those chiselled features or to provoke a response that was neither controlled nor temperate. A small smile caught at the corners of Tallie’s lips. Yes, very satisfying indeed.

Two days later the indolent and aloof gentleman in question mounted the steps of the house in Upper Wimpole Street and found himself unexpectedly encountering almost the entire household.

Nick had spent a taxing morning with his steward, who had come up from the country estates with a formidable pile of problems and questions to be resolved, and later that afternoon he suspected he was going to have to have an equally long list of details to decide with Mr Dover before the final work could be completed on Miss Gower’s will. That evening he fully intended leaving young William to his own devices, however dubious they sounded, and relaxing with a small group of friends over dinner, cards and several bottles of excellent brandy.

But he had been waylaid by his aunt and asked to call upon Miss Grey. ‘You will tell her I will collect her in my carriage at ten on Wednesday morning, will you not, Nicholas dear? And if you can establish how many trunks she has, then Rainbird can organise the carrier.’ She had stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you, dearest.’ And she had rushed away in her usual whirlwind manner before he could enquire why a note would not serve the purpose just as well.

Now he was here, he might as well take the opportunity of smoothing over the friction from their last encounter. He could not really believe she had set her sights on young William Parry, but it had been bad tactics to let her see he was concerned. If she was the sort of woman who saw opposition as a challenge, she might attempt to attach the lad’s interest simply as a game. And William was far too young to be breaking his heart over an older woman Nick decided, conveniently forgetting his own initiation into the arts of love at the age of seventeen by a beautiful, sophisticated lady more than ten years his senior.

The door was opened by a diminutive maid with a snub nose, freckles, an apron too large for her and an expression of alarm. ‘Oh, sir! Miss Grey? Oh, yes, sir! I’ll tell her you’re here, sir, if you’ll just wait in the front parlour, sir.’

She flung open the door to let him in, appeared to realise she should have asked his name to announce him, gave a scared squeak and shut the door again behind him. Nick found himself in a cosy, slightly shabby room with an indefinable air of comfort and femininity. The latter quality was enhanced by the presence on the sofa of an enchantingly pretty girl with large blue eyes and a mass of blonde curls. Tumbled in a pile by her side were undergarments of a most frivolous, intimate and dainty variety.

She bundled the lingerie under a cushion with what struck Nick as admirable quick-wittedness and got to her feet, placing a thimble and needle on the table beside her. ‘I am sorry, sir,’ she said, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. ‘Annie is not yet trained as a downstairs maid and I am afraid she does not always remember to announce callers.’

‘Nicholas Stangate. I called to see Miss Grey. May I presume to guess I am addressing Miss Amelie LeNoir? I apologise for disturbing you.’ It would not be the slightest hardship to disturb Miss LeNoir, he reflected, watching the artless pleasure at his recognition, the lovely figure in a surprisingly modest afternoon dress, the parted lips and soft curves. No hardship at all.

‘Oh, how did you guess? Your lordship,’ she added hastily, bobbing a curtsy.

‘You were described to me,’ Nick said simply, enjoying the deepening of the flush of pleasure, the flutter of the long lashes. For a man who had always favoured dark-haired women, his life suddenly appeared to be full of blondes. It made an agreeable change.

‘I … I had better go and find Tal … Miss Grey, my lord. One simply cannot rely on Annie. Will you not sit down?’ She gestured at the sofa, recalled her mending, hastily whisked it from under the cushion to under her arm and hurried out.

Nick grinned. The enchantingly fresh young woman who had just fluttered out was either an exceptional actress or that contradiction in terms, a chaste opera dancer, just as Talitha Grey had said. Instead of taking the proffered seat, he began to prowl around the room. It was a rare glimpse for a man into a feminine world that was not arranged for display or entertaining, but simply for a group of women to pass their daily lives in.

A neat stack of account books next to a spike impaling tradesmen’s bills. A basket of laces, ribbons and artificial flowers by a sewing box and a large velvet pincushion studded with glass-headed pins. A pile of novels and some copies of fashion journals upon a shelf. A chessboard set out for the start of a game. He moved a pawn in an opening gambit and continued to look around. A quill stained with red ink lay beside an open exercise book.

Nick paused and flicked open a page of the lexicon next to the exercise book. Greek! The door behind him opened to reveal not Miss Grey, but her governess friend. ‘Miss Scott, good afternoon. You have surprised me reading what I imagine must be your Greek lexicon.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ She stood there, regarding him from under level dark brows. He expected disapproval; instead, he found himself unable to interpret the assessing look in her eyes. ‘I teach both Latin and Greek, besides the modern languages.’

‘I had not realised you teach boys,’ he remarked, more to make conversation than anything, and was surprised by the flash of irritation in her steady gaze.

‘I do not. These days I teach only girls. Perhaps your lordship does not consider the female mind has the capacity for the ancient languages?’

‘I had never given it any consideration,’ he admitted. ‘But I can see no useful purpose in it for a woman.’

‘Beside the intellectual discipline, the improved understanding of modern tongues and of history and art?’ she enquired frostily.

‘Well, there is that, of course, but if a girl is to marry …’

‘Not all of us do,’ Miss Scott informed him. ‘I see no reason why an unmarried lady should have her intellectual range diminished because of that. Nor why a married woman may not be educated.’ Her expression softened slightly. ‘No doubt you consider that a married woman has no need to use her intelligence on more than the ordering of the household? Not that housekeeping is as simple a task as most men appear to think it.’

Nick thought of his mother, smiling gently whenever any problem arose. ‘Your papa will know what to do’ was her inevitable response, and more recently, ‘Whatever you say, Nicholas dear.’ And his aunt, undoubtedly intelligent, vibrant, energetic—but quite content to place her business affairs entirely in his hands.

‘There is no need for a lady to concern herself with difficult matters—’ he began.

‘But not all of us chose to be helpless pawns,’ said another voice gently. Miss Grey walked into the room behind her friend. ‘I believe you wish to see me, my lord?’

Nick took a step forward, found his foot entangled, glanced down and saw he was standing on a piece of fabric. He stooped to pick it up and found himself holding a garment he had no difficulty in recognising as a chemise. Neither young lady appeared prepared to help him out of his difficulty so he folded it neatly and placed it on the side-table. Keeping his face entirely bland, he looked up and found he had met his match in coolness in Miss Scott, whose expression showed not the slightest recognition that he had been handling a piece of intimate apparel. Miss Grey, on the other hand, appeared ready to give way to laughter. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement at his predicament and her lower lip was caught firmly between white teeth.

The thought of nipping that fullness between his own teeth struck him with a bolt of erotic heat. A flare of it must have shown in his eyes for instantly hers sobered, widened, and he wondered if she had read correctly the nature of his thoughts and was in tune with them. Then the moment of mutual awareness was gone and she was waving him towards the sofa.

‘Will you take tea, my lord?’

‘No, thank you. I have called simply with a message from Lady Parry.’

Talitha Grey answered the queries with a directness that reinforced his knowledge of her previously straitened circumstances. ‘Trunks? Why, just the one, my lord, and a valise.’

‘And several new bandboxes,’ the governess added drily.

‘Oh, yes. I was forgetting.’ She turned to him, smiling slightly. ‘I have been succumbing to the lure of shopping.’

‘Indeed? In that case I am surprised you have had the time to attend to your new business venture.’ He watched not Talitha but her friend and saw the look of surprise and speculation she directed at him. But to his disappointment the governess did not speak.

‘Ventures, in the plural. Yes, when one has been accustomed to working for one’s living, my lord, one can find plenty of time in the day for business. Shopping is hardly time-consuming.’

‘I suspect you may modify your opinion on that after a short experience of my aunt’s approach to the subject.’

Talitha merely smiled politely. It was intensely frustrating. Every time he spoke to her he had the impression that she was keeping a part of herself hidden from him and he only caught brief flashes of the real Talitha Grey. Now he had the question of her ‘business interests’ to add to the list for Tolliver to investigate.

It was not until Nick was halfway down the front steps that he caught himself wondering why he wanted to find out about that aspect of her life. She was being advised by Dover and by the bank; she was hardly going to do something imprudent. Nor was it his business if she did, as she had so frostily reminded him during that encounter in Gunter’s.

He was not given to self-deception and he did not indulge in it now. Finding out about Miss Grey’s ‘secret’ might have started out in his desire to protect his aunt. Now finding out everything about her had assumed an altogether different character. Nick Stangate smiled ruefully as he nodded to his groom and got up into his phaeton. This was becoming personal.

For Tallie, too, the encounters with Nick Stangate were beginning to feel very personal indeed. She felt gratitude, anger, fear and attraction in a disturbing mixture that was threatening to obsess her.

The degree to which she felt the various emotions he evoked varied wildly, depending on what he had just said to annoy or alarm her and also on those fleeting moments when their eyes met and locked and she felt as though a dentist’s probe had touched a nerve. When it happened her heart beat rapidly, her breath caught and she felt a strange heated ache deep inside. Tallie told herself it was fear: fear at what he might find out about her, fear of exposure. But she was very much afraid that it was another raw, basic emotion and one that young ladies, especially respectable unmarried young ladies, were not supposed to feel.

She could only be grateful that for the first week of her stay with Lady Parry in Bruton Street she did not meet him once.

‘Have you seen Nicholas lately?’ Lady Parry enquired of her son at breakfast on the Wednesday after Tallie’s arrival.

‘Hmm?’ William put down the paper he was idly conning and furrowed his brow in thought. ‘Twice … no, three times. You know Nick, he just strolls in when you least expect him. Now, when was it? Oh, yes, he dropped in at Watier’s when I was playing cards with Hemsley and some fellows on Saturday. And he arrived at Jackson’s Saloon just in time to see me pop a terrific right over Jack’s guard. That was Monday afternoon …’

‘Is Jackson the famous bare-knuckle fighter?’ Tallie enquired. ‘And you managed to hit him? My goodness!’

‘Lord, no.’ William blushed at her praise, but hastened to set her right. ‘No one lands a punch on the great Jackson unless he lets them. No, it was Jack Hemsley.’

‘Oh, I see. Still, I am sure you must be very good to be admitted to Jackson’s Saloon,’ Tallie said encouragingly. ‘Might I trouble you for the preserve? Thank you. And you saw Lord Arndale for a third time?’

‘Er, yes. Last night.’ William seemed disinclined to explain further, but Tallie, convinced she was beginning to see a pattern, persisted.

‘And where was that? I do enjoy hearing about all these fashionable places. I can hardly wait until I am ready to be going about in Society,’ she added artlessly.

‘This wasn’t the sort of place you would be going,’ William said with a harassed glance at his mother. Lady Parry, however, had returned to her correspondence and was busily slitting envelopes with her butter-knife.

‘Do tell,’ Tallie encouraged quietly, giving William the sort of look designed to convince him he was an exciting rake.

‘Well … it was a bit of a hell, if you must know. I was feeling rather uncomfortable actually.’ William was blushing. ‘Some of the young ladies there were … were …’

‘Not ladies?’ Tallie suggested. Bless the boy, he really was a decent young man.

‘Exactly that.’ He looked grateful for her tactful description. ‘I wasn’t sure how to leave, I mean, I’d been invited by one of the guests and it seemed rude just to walk away. And then Nick strolls in, looking bored to death, curls a lip and drawls that he’s been looking for me all over and had I forgotten we were going to White’s that evening? White’s! As if I’d forget that!’

His eyes gleamed and Tallie recalled that the club in question was the most exclusive in town and certainly one which a mere youth would not have the faintest hope of joining. The honour of being invited to spend an evening there by one of the members must have been overwhelming.

‘So you went with him?’ William was positively glowing. ‘I imagine Mr Hemsley was a little put out.’

‘Well, a bit. But you don’t argue with Nick, you know.’ It did not seem to occur to William that he had not told her he had been in the hell at the instigation of Jack Hemsley.

Tallie returned to her toast with a thoughtful expression. So, Nick Stangate was putting himself out to intervene every time William was in the company of the rakish Mr Hemsley. And he was managing to do so without his young cousin realising that he had a guardian angel at his heels. Very clever—and thoroughly admirable. She was sure that for a mature and experienced man about town, bear-leading an inexperienced youth must be a complete bore.

She took a bite of toast and wondered if Mr Hemsley was aware of just how closely his pursuit of a rich young lordling was being observed. She rather suspected he was, for he had not struck her as a fool, however unpleasant his character. Lord Arndale had better watch his back and take care.

It was one of his most admirable characteristics, she realised: taking care. He took care of William, of his aunt—and of naked models in garrets. She rather suspected that his irritating interference in her life was part of that too. She had become family, so she was going to be looked after whether she liked it or not. With a little shiver Tallie decided she liked it rather too much.

Tallie was soon able to test this new-found charitable feeling. His lordship was waiting for her that afternoon as she and Lady Parry came back into the house.

Chapter Nine

‘Nicholas dearest!’ His aunt kissed him thoroughly, stood back to scan him from head to foot, flicked an invisible speck from his lapels and announced, ‘I like that coat. Now, I must go and change before the orphanage committee meeting. Tallie, you need to rest. Nicholas, we have been indulging in an absolute orgy. Goodness, is that the time …?’

‘Orgy?’ Tallie made herself look at Nick, only to be met with one of his blandest, most infuriating expressions.

She raised an eyebrow. It was difficult, but she had been practising in front of the mirror and was almost satisfied with the effect. ‘Of shopping, my lord.’ Carefully sweeping the skirts of her newest afternoon dress to one side, she sank elegantly onto the sofa. ‘Will you not sit down, my lord?’

‘Certainly.’ He took the chair she had indicated and sat, legs crossed, one booted foot swinging gently, fingers steepled and just touching his lips.

Tallie tried not to look at his mouth and stared at his booted foot instead.

‘Lobb’s,’ he said helpfully. ‘That is a very fetching gown.’

‘Thank you. Lady Parry’s taste is excellent. I am much indebted to her guidance.’

‘My lord.’ Tallie stared at him. ‘You forgot to say ‘’my lord’’. Up to then you had managed to insert it in every sentence. You also forgot to raise that eyebrow again, although I can quite understand why—it is devilishly uncomfortable until one has the knack of it.’

Tallie glared at him, then her sense of humour got the better of her and she laughed. ‘It is, is it not? You do it to such effect I thought it worth cultivating to depress pretension. But it gives me a headache if I practise for too long.’

‘And what did I do that required depressing?’ he enquired gently.

‘Nothing,’ Tallie admitted. ‘I was practising, my lord.’

‘There you go again! I have a perfectly good name, Tallie. Why not use it?’

Tallie. He had called her not just by her Christian name, but by the diminutive that only her friends used. It sounded different on his lips. She gave herself a little shake and said firmly, ‘It would be quite inappropriate.’

‘You call Lady Parry Aunt Kate, you call my cousin William. I did suggest to you once before that you adopt me as an honorary cousin.’

The idea of adopting anyone as large, sophisticated and self-reliant as Nicholas Stangate was a preposterous fancy. Tallie felt her lips quirk and saw an answering twist on his. ‘Very well, Cousin Nicholas.’

‘Thank you, Cousin Talitha.’ So, she was Talitha now. She fought with the fantasy of hearing him whisper Tallie while he … while he …

‘I am glad I caught you at home,’ he was saying, reaching for a slim portfolio. ‘Most of the house-agents are in the City and other areas where it is unsuitable for you and Miss Scott to be going unaccompanied. I have had my man of business assemble some particulars that should meet your requirements for both your projected schemes. If they are not to your liking he will find others. Meanwhile, if you or Miss Scott wish to view—’ He broke off to get to his feet in response to Tallie positively leaping to hers. ‘Cousin Talitha?’

‘How did you find out?’ she demanded. ‘Who has been spying on us? Or have you been worming it out of Zenna?’

‘Miss Scott is the soul of discretion,’ he said, sounding far too soothing. ‘I would not dream of worming anything out of your friend behind your back.’

‘But you are quite happy to set spies on me—behind my back?’

‘Only to protect you,’ he said, still so reasonably that Tallie wanted to hit him. ‘It is your choice which properties you select.’

‘After they have been edited and approved by you,’ she said furiously, pacing back and forth on the fine Oriental rug. She used to be calm, she used to hide every feeling, she used to be self-contained—what was he doing to her?

‘Cousin Talitha, young ladies do not conduct business on their own account.’ He was standing relaxed by his chair, one hand resting on the back of it, his eyes hooded to hide the gleam that betrayed his appreciation of the sight she presented as she swept to and fro.

Tallie came to a halt in front of him, glaring up into his eyes. ‘I am not a ‘’young lady’’, I am an independent woman. I have had to earn my own living and I intend to carry on doing just that. I will be for ever grateful to Miss Gower for her wonderful legacy and to Lady Parry for the opportunity to experience the Season, but by this time next year I need to know what I am doing and how I am going to spend the rest of my life. And I need to prepare now.’

‘But you will be spending the rest of your life as someone’s wife,’ he said, smiling at her. And that d … d … damned eyebrow was quirked at her as though she was an idiot.

‘Really, my lord? I am twenty-five years old. I have been earning my living as a milliner. I have nothing to recommend me …’ He opened his mouth. Tallie swept on, ‘And before you say that I have my fortune to recommend me I must tell you, sir, that I would go back to hat-making for my livelihood rather than marry a man who wanted me for my money.’

‘You think that your fortune is all that you have to recommend you?’ Nick took her by the shoulders and turned her so that she was facing the great mirror that hung over the fireplace. ‘Look at yourself.’

Tallie looked. Looking back at her was a young woman of slightly more than average height, dressed in a fashionable gown of soft spring green that clung to full breasts and skimmed over a slender figure. Her eyes, just a little darker than the gown, were wide and her lips full and slightly parted. Her colour was high, white cheeks flushed with rose.

Behind her a tall man held her with hands that rested firmly on each shoulder. In the glass their eyes met—hers wide and startled, his dark and hot as she had never seen them.

‘If you would just let your hair free a little …’ One hand left her shoulder to touch the pins that kept the gilt mass tight and disciplined.

With a gasp Tallie whirled round and found herself right against Nick’s chest. ‘No!’

‘No?’ He was not asking her about her hair. His voice was deep, dark, husky. His hands were on her shoulders again, pulling her inexorably against him. ‘No?’

She should step back. She should say ‘No’. She should … she should let him kiss her.

Tallie closed her eyes against the fire in his and stopped pulling back. The heat of him remembered from the studio seemed to burn her flesh through the fine muslin of her gown. The scent of him—male, exciting, overlain with a civilising veneer of sharp cologne—that she had not remembered.

Nor had she imagined how his mouth would feel when it came down on hers. How could she know what her first kiss would be like? She had not realised that his mouth would be both firm and soft, demanding yet tender. She had not dreamed that her lips, already parted in surprise, would open of their own accord under the pressure of his, that his tongue would slip caressingly, shockingly between them. And she had had not the slightest suspicion that a caress on the lips would make her breasts ache, would send strange, uncomfortable, wanton messages down—

Tallie jerked back gasping and instantly Nick released her. His eyes were dark, his breath was short, but the imperturbable mask of control was back. Then she made the error of dropping her eyes from his and became jarringly aware of just how unsuited for hiding the effects of male arousal the fashion of the day for tight trousers was.

It was probably impossible to blush more than she was already, Tallie thought wildly as she took refuge behind the chair. And she had thought Nicholas Stangate made her feel safe! She must have been insane. Insanely blind. ‘My lord …’

‘Cousin Nicholas.’

‘That was hardly cousinly!’ She could not look at him.

‘Cousins may kiss. And adopted ones certainly may. I am sorry to have discomforted you, Cousin Talitha; it was just that you appeared to be quite blind to the effect you are undoubtedly going to have on a large proportion of the men who meet you. It is best that you are on your guard before some rake takes advantage of that enchanting modesty of yours. I thought a demonstration would be advisable.’

‘Demonstration!’ Now she did look at him, incredulity showing in both voice and expression.

‘But of course. You are quite safe with me. I will go and leave you to rest as Aunt Kate advised. Good day, Cousin Talitha.’

Safe? Safe? She would be safer in a locked room with Jack Hemsley! At least she knew exactly what her reaction to any advance from him would be—a slapped face and a briskly raised knee would be a good start. But with Nicholas Stangate she also knew exactly what she wanted to happen, and she knew too he was the last man in London with whom it was safe to let her guard down. And to think that only a few days ago she had decided it would be satisfying to provoke a response from him that was neither controlled nor temperate!

Now it seemed she had fallen neatly into her own trap. He appeared capable of reining back his passion as it suited him. She was the one left palpitating with confused, humiliating desire.

Tallie was not left to brood on Nick Stangate for long. The next day Kate Parry finally announced herself satisfied with her preparation of her protégée for the start of the Season, but with one omission.

‘Your hair, Tallie,’ she announced, making her jump and almost drop the portfolio of properties Nick had left behind. Infuriatingly they all looked highly promising, both for the school and for the lodgings. Tallie had too much good sense not to use what had been laid out for her so efficiently, however she felt about the source of the information.

‘My hair, Aunt Kate?’ Tallie set down the portfolio and eyed Lady Parry cautiously.

‘Yes, dear. Everything else is perfect. Your clothes and accessories are just as they should be, you have proved a quick study with your dancing lessons and I could not believe how rapidly you have soaked up all I had to tell you about Society and how to go on. That just leaves your hair.’

‘But, ma’am, I like it like this. It is suitable.’

‘It is certainly suitable for a hired companion. It is not at all suitable for a fashionable young lady. And definitely not for one who is going to make her come-out at the Duchess of Hastings’s ball tomorrow night. Now, Mr Jordan is coming this afternoon to cut it for you.’

‘Oh. I am very sorry, Aunt Kate, but I have arranged to take this portfolio of properties to Upper Wimpole Street and discuss them with Zenna. I had not realised you had other plans.’

‘Why not send a note round and ask her to come here? She might enjoy watching Mr Jordan at work.’

‘Will he not object to an audience?’

‘Tallie, he is going to be here as your employee; besides, he is bound to want to make a good impression on you by being as obliging as possible.’

‘To me? But why?’

‘Dearest, I keep trying to impress upon you that as the possessor of a fortune you are a very eligible partie. You are sure to take and it will do him good if you recommend him to other ladies.’

Tallie found this hard to believe, almost as hard as she found it to believe Nick telling her she would find herself the target of numerous amorous advances. But she could not bring herself to refuse whatever her kind friend wished her to do, so she obediently scribbled a note for Zenna and dispatched it with a footman.

To her surprise Zenna was not at all adverse to watching her having her hair styled, even tossing aside the portfolio of houses with a careless, ‘I will look at it this evening.’

So Tallie submitted to the scissors so expertly wielded by Mr Jordan. She was prepared to dislike him, for she had never come across anyone quite so affected as the stick-thin coiffeur. She was convinced that he was wearing maquillage and his hands had certainly been manicured into an almost feminine softness.

However, from the moment he set those delicate hands on her hair he stopped mincing and became impressively professional. After an hour of brushing, pinning, snipping, curling and further snipping, he stepped back and gestured to the other ladies to admire the results. The response he got would have gratified the heart of even the most exacting artist.

‘There,’ said Lady Parry triumphantly. ‘Now you are ready for your first ball.’

Nick Stangate accepted a glass of brandy from his cousin and leaned back in the chair by the fireside. ‘Stop fidgeting at that neckcloth,’ he advised as William peered in the mirror for the third time and prodded at the gold pin securing the crisp folds of palest lavender linen.

William came and took the chair opposite. ‘How much longer can they be?’ he enquired impatiently. Occasionally he squired his mother to dances, but he had never known her to take so long getting ready that the horses had to be sent back to the mews.

‘As long as it takes for Aunt Kate to make her arrival at exactly the right moment,’ Nick said lazily, swirling the amber liquid round and admiring the way the light hit it. ‘She will wait until all the people she wants to impress are there and before it becomes too much of a squeeze.’

‘But why?’ William grumbled. ‘She usually likes to get there early, all the better for a good gossip.’

‘I think we are about to find out.’ Nick got to his feet, forcing himself to do so slowly. He sauntered out into the hall with William at his heels and waited at the foot of the stairs, his head tilted so he could see the full sweep of polished mahogany treads.

His ears had caught the sound of bedroom doors shutting. He did not have long to wait. Faintly the sound of Lady Kate urging someone to go on in front of her reached the men in the hall, then a vision appeared.

Nick thought he had been prepared for what he would see. But he was not prepared for this. A tall slender figure in a dress of silver spider gauze over white crepe appeared to be floating down the stairs, one white-gloved hand resting lightly on the rail.

Huge green eyes, serious with the effort of maintaining both poise and a sweep of fragile skirts; full red lips slightly parted with nervousness and, crowning it all, a crown of gilt curls falling from a severely upswept mass of hair. As she got closer he realised that her face was pale and the soft tendrils of hair that had been teased loose around her temples were quivering slightly.

Tallie looked exquisite, terrified and, for the first time since he had known her, achingly vulnerable. There was no sign of the fierce independence, the anger when he crossed her, the aloof calm behind which she could so disconcertingly vanish along with her secrets.

Nick felt his entire body tighten, harden, racked with desire and that desire warred with a fierce protectiveness. He wanted to seize her in his arms, carry her to the nearest bed—or the floor, or the sofa—or take her here and now in the hallway. And he wanted to stop any man, himself included, who so much as laid a finger on her.

For once in his life Lord Arndale found words beyond him and it was his inexperienced cousin who knew exactly the right thing to say.

‘Tallie, you look absolutely gorgeous. May I have a waltz?’

Nick felt more than saw Tallie’s gaze sweep over him and past him to William. He saw her anxious face break into a soft smile of relief at the frank admiration and then she was past him in a soft cloud of silk gauze and jasmine perfume before he could find his own voice.

‘Thank you, William. I would love that; here, please, can you write it on my card?’ Nick watched as his cousin lifted the little folded card with its minute pencil that dangled from her wrist and carefully inscribed his name. He was aware of his aunt arriving at the foot of the stairs beside him and he turned abruptly to greet her as Tallie raised one hand to touch William’s lapel. ‘That neckcloth is the best yet,’ she confided quietly.

Was Aunt Kate regarding him with covert amusement? People did not as a rule laugh at Nick Stangate. He narrowed his eyes at her, but she simply smiled and whispered wickedly, ‘Close your mouth, dear,’ before stepping to one side to allow room for her dresser who was carrying the ladies’ cloaks.

It took some time to fit the four of them into the carriage without crushing skirts, knocking tall silk hats or mangling the magnificent plumes that were topping Lady Parry’s coiffure, but it was achieved at last.

Nick hoped the forced closeness might break the ice a little with Tallie, for he had begun to realise that a good part of her nervousness as she came downstairs was because of their last encounter. He had been torn between kicking himself for letting that kiss happen, a fervent desire to do it again and a rather cooler interest in what it had taught him about her.

Whatever the secret she was guarding from him so carefully, it did not involve an entanglement with a man. There was no mistaking the innocent shock as his lips had met hers. That had been her first kiss and he felt a strange sense of privilege that it was he who had given it to her. Was that just a glimpse of a man’s feelings when he took his bride’s virginity? The thought shook him so much that he shifted in his seat abruptly, knocking William’s elbow.

‘Sorry. Cramp.’ The thought of initiating Tallie into the arts of lovemaking was so powerfully erotic he could only be thankful for the dimly lit interior of the carriage. But it was the word ‘bride’ that really shook him. Marrying a milliner-come-lady, and one with presumably disreputable secrets, was not in his plans at all. He had no need of a bride with a fortune, he was eligible enough to have his pick of whatever Society beauties crossed his path and his intention was to find a well-bred young lady who would fit neatly into his life, produce his heirs, ornament his drawing room and generally make life agreeable.

Nick gritted his teeth, crossed his legs with care and reviewed his tactics. Discover exactly what that secret was. That was the first thing. Deal with it, if that were possible, cover it up if it were not. And if it was really bad, remove Miss Grey from his aunt’s household and set her up with her school and her lodging-houses and whatever other schemes she had in mind. Safely out of Society, that was the best plan. It would be the most comfortable solution for everyone concerned. And in the meantime, make sure that no one made her a declaration. The thought of a lurking scandal being compounded by the girl having a romantic entanglement with a member of the ton was too much.

In consequence he emerged from the carriage looking so grim that rumours began to fly around the ballroom that Lord Arndale had suffered a crushing reversal on the ‘Change, that his favourite racehorse had died or that he was about to be called out by an enraged husband.

A little thought caused these speculations to be dismissed. Arndale was too sharp to be burnt by his investments, his racing stable was too well stocked for him to suffer greatly by the loss of just one animal and he was well known to conduct his amours with the utmost discretion and a scrupulous avoidance of the charms of married ladies.

It was a mystery and one that gained savour by the fact that he did not appear to intend to dance and instead stationed himself at his aunt’s side by a pillar against which he leaned, arms crossed, regarding the dance floor with brooding indifference.

‘He is so romantic,’ one impressionable young lady remarked languishingly to her brother. ‘Just like Lord Byron.’

‘Dash it all, Lizzie,’ he replied, shocked. ‘You can’t compare Arndale to that poseur of a poet! Byron’s dashed bad ton—and he’s putting on weight.’

The object of their attentions was watching his cousin circle the dance floor with Tallie in his arms and was doing his level best not to scowl. They made a very fetching picture, both blond, both tall enough to be striking and both with a natural grace, which made up for the fact that William was still inclined to fall over his feet on occasion and Tallie had never danced in public before.

He had no real fear that Tallie was going to try and attach William whatever she said to tease him, so why he should feel so thoroughly out of sorts he could not imagine. He had a plan to deal with the chit and that should be the end of it.

Lady Parry had attracted her usual group of bosom friends around her and from the hum of conversation he could tell she had done her work well to prepare for Tallie’s first appearance.

Ladies were sighing at the thought of the well-born girl forced by undeserved poverty to work with her needle and skilful fingers to earn an honest living. It was rapidly borne in on Nick that his inventive aunt had done more than sow a few seeds and let natural sympathy do the rest. She had been engaged on some major embroidery.

‘How dreadful that a parent’s well-intentioned plan should go so frightfully amiss,’ one dowager was saying to another.

‘Indeed,’ the other lady responded, unaware of Nick’s sharp ears bent in her direction. ‘To have tied up Miss Grey’s fortune until she was twenty-five in order to deter fortune hunters was very wise, but then to have omitted to provide her with the means of support until she reached that age …’

Nick swivelled slowly to meet his aunt’s eyes and was met with a look of calm innocence that almost charmed a grin out of him. ‘Baggage,’ he mouthed silently before turning to see where Tallie and William had got to. The music had ended and she ought to be on her way back to her chaperon.

There she was, talking with William in a knot of attentive gentlemen. Nick caught William’s eye and jerked his head slightly in a signal to steer her back, but he was too late. The music struck up again and Miss Grey was being led out onto the floor by Jack Hemsley.

Chapter Ten

Tallie knew perfectly well, even if William did not, that she should have made her way back to Lady Parry and allowed her chaperon to approve her partners. And she was certain she should not had agreed when Mr Hemsley had appeared at her elbow and had begged the privilege of the next dance. But the sight of him had so flustered her that she had not been able to decline gracefully.

It was a quadrille and Tallie quailed somewhat at the thought of the complexities of the steps. They joined a set with three other couples and at first Tallie was too focused on setting to the right partner at the right moment to pay much attention to Jack Hemsley.

But after the first repeat her confidence came back and she relaxed. Mr Hemsley was fortunately behaving himself impeccably and, if she had not known just how despicably he could behave to a defenceless woman, she would have felt perfectly comfortable in his company. It was obvious he had not the slightest idea he was dancing with the model for the ‘Diana’ picture and she even doubted he recalled the mousy milliner he had winked at in Lady Parry’s drawing room.

She was quite certain, however, that he had garnered every scrap of gossip about her fortune and circumstances and this dance was the opening salvo in his campaign to woo the new heiress. It would be amusing to thank him coolly after the dance and to refuse another. She had no sooner resolved on this admirably sensible course of action than the parting lines of dancers gave her a view of Nick Stangate watching her across the floor.

His disapproval was as palpable as if he had spoken and she flushed angrily.

Did he think that after kissing her and lecturing her he was now going to try and exert some form of control over her in the ballroom? Well, it was time he was taught a lesson, Tallie fumed inwardly. She would show him she was not easily taken in by rakes and fortune hunters and could perfectly easily handle the likes of Jack Hemsley.

She pushed away the knowledge that she had been hurt that evening by his silence when she came downstairs. If she thought about it she would cry, which was ridiculous. She did not need Nick Stangate’s approval or admiration. She knew she was looking very fine. Lady Parry had told her, William’s open admiration told her, the expressions of the people she met told her.

Tallie tried not to refine too much on the look on Nick’s face as she had walked tremulously down those endless stairs. She had expected him to be pleased at the transformation, to smile, to show some warmth and admiration. Instead his face had set into stone, his eyes had glittered coldly and he had not even managed to make some token remark.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face for, as the last notes of the dance echoed around the room and she rose from her curtsy, Jack Hemsley asked, ‘Have I displeased you, Miss Grey? Do not say I am responsible for that frown.’

‘Was I frowning? I do beg your pardon. It is just the … the noise and the heat. I am not accustomed to balls, you see.’

‘Then you must have a glass of lemonade and some air, Miss Grey.’ He was guiding her from the floor with practised smoothness, one hand just resting under her elbow, smiling and bowing as they made their way through the throng.

‘I am all right, really, Mr Hemsley. If I could just go back to Lady Parry.’ It was difficult to know how to extricate herself without making a scene.

‘In a moment, Miss Grey, you are quite flushed. I am sure there is a risk of you swooning if you return immediately to that crush and heat. Now just here … ah, yes.’

He pushed open a door and Tallie found herself in a little room, almost like a box at the theatre. It opened out onto a balcony overlooking the garden, although the windows were closed against the chill March night.

‘I will just open this a crack, so, and if you sit here …’ he patted a sofa encouragingly ‘… then you will not be in the draught, but you will have the benefit of the air.’

It all seemed very sensible, even innocuous. ‘Thank you, sir.’ Tallie sat down, suddenly aware of just how warm she was feeling. ‘Perhaps if I was to drink some lemonade as you suggested, I will be able to go back in a moment.’

‘Of course.’ Instead of going out for the drink, he sat next to her and lifted her hand in his. ‘Why, your pulse is racing my dear Miss Grey. I think I had better remain here for a moment just in case you feel faint. Put your head on my shoulder so …’

‘Stop it!’ Tallie struggled to stand up and found herself very effectively pinned against the upholstery. Mr Hemsley might affect the airs of a languid man of fashion, but the muscles under his coat were alarmingly hard as she pushed against them.

‘Just one little kiss before we go back, my dear.’

Tallie freed a hand and swung it. It made satisfying contact with the side of his head, but left her gasping and clutching her wrist with the jarring pain. Hemsley’s hands groped for her, found her hair and gripped in an effort to turn her face for a kiss.

Tallie wrenched back and felt pins and combs falling down. With a jerk of her knee she was free, on her feet, halfway to the door.

It opened and she found herself face to face with Nick, William at his back. She stopped dead, the carefully piled edifice of her coiffure broke free and hair cascaded down her back. Behind her Jack Hemsley swore, a sharp, vicious sound. In front of her she saw Nick pull William into the room and slam the door to behind him.

‘Stop anyone coming in.’

William placed his back against the panels and stared at the scene. The sight of the shock and distress on his young face hurt Tallie more than anything else.

‘You will name your seconds, Hemsley.’ Nick sounded icily calm.

‘Now look here, I know how this looks …’

‘It looks as though you were assaulting Miss Grey.’

‘Well, I wasn’t. Thought she was going to faint—heat and so on. Brought her in here, opened the window, see. Wouldn’t do a damn fool thing like that if I was going to tumble the girl now, would I?’

William straightened up from the door, his fists clenched. Nick put out a hand and stopped him. ‘You will speak of Miss Grey with respect or I will not trouble with form and deal with you here and now.’

‘You wouldn’t do that—look, Nick old chap, it’s all a misunderstanding, silly chit thought I was trying to—’

The blow landed with a satisfying thump right on the point of Hemsley’s chin. Nick stepped forward, rubbing his balled fist in the other palm. ‘Get up. I want to do that again.’ He sounded as though he was asking the man to deal another hand of cards.

Tallie swirled round and stared at the wall. She didn’t want to see what Nick was doing, didn’t want to see the look on his face as he methodically began to take Jack Hemsley to pieces. And she did not want to see the disillusion on William’s face as he realised what the man he thought was his friend was capable of with a young woman living in his house.

‘Now get out. William, make sure he gets away from this room without anyone seeing him. And, Hemsley, don’t even think of speaking of this, will you? Because if you do, I’ll break your neck.’

Thank God, he hadn’t killed him. Tallie wondered vaguely if she was going to be sick. Probably not, she concluded after a fierce struggle with her stomach. Was she alone? William had gone, and Hemsley. The room was quiet except for the sounds of music and talk and laughter penetrating the heavy door.

She put out a hand to the wall in front of her and just stood, head bowed, her hair shielding her face. Then she knew she was not alone. Someone moved behind her, so close she could feel his heat through her flimsy gown and hands turned her into the safety of soft linen, encircling arms, a strong comforting heartbeat.

‘Nick.’

‘What?’ His breath stirred her hair. She felt a weight on the top of her head as though he had laid his cheek there.

‘Just … Nick. I am sorry to have been so foolish, I really thought he was going to get me a glass of lemonade. He won’t say anything, will he?’

‘Not and expect to live, no. He is a coward and I am both a better shot and a better swordsman than he is.’ There was a pause. ‘Are you crying?’

‘No,’ lied Tallie, trying not to sniff. She felt so safe, so warm, so cherished.

‘In that case, why is the front of my shirt becoming soggy?’ Nick enquired.

Tallie felt his hand under her chin and her face was ruthlessly tipped up despite her efforts to resist. ‘I have to tell you, Cousin Talitha, your nose is pink, but your eyes look absolutely enchanting swimming in tears. It is quite obvious that you did not pay the slightest attention to the warning I gave you the other day. I will just have to repeat it.’

This time the kiss was not so gentle, not so careful. Tallie found her lips parting under the onslaught of his, then gasped as his tongue invaded ruthlessly. Her body appeared to understand exactly what that intrusion meant, wanted more, was telling her to react in ways that were new and shamingly wanton in order to incite him.

She felt her own tongue darting to meet his, to caress, challenge his, flicker daringly into the heat of his mouth. Her body arched against him, soft against the answering hardness. Her breasts ached, her loins ached, she ached …

There was a knock on the door.

When William peered round, he found Tallie lying back against the sofa cushions looking flushed and Nick on one knee on the carpet gathering up hairpins.

‘Has he gone?’

William nodded. ‘I followed him. He went out through the back; no one saw him. I brought you a glass of lemonade, Tallie.’

Tallie forced a smile for him, her heart aching at the look of distress on his face. ‘Thank you, William, I am quite all right, truly.’

‘What can I do? Shall I fetch Mama and send for the carriage to come round to the back?’

‘No.’ Nick’s voice was sharp. ‘The ball has hardly started, Tallie cannot simply vanish like that. It will cause talk. Help me find all these pins and then go to the kitchens and ask for some rice powder.’

‘Rice powder? I can’t just—’

‘You are Lord Parry and a guest. If you ask them for a bucket of earthworms, they’ll give it to you. Tallie, how many pins were there?’

Tallie racked her brains. ‘Twelve, I think, and two combs.’

‘I can find ten, that will have to do. William, have you got a comb?’

Tallie found herself perched on the edge of the sofa while Nick combed, cursed and muttered through a mouthful of hairpins. Eventually she felt the weight of her hair lift and put up a tentative hand. ‘Nick, it’s wonderful! How did you learn how to do that?’

‘I don’t think I want to tell you,’ he said. ‘It would shock you. Well, Aunt Kate will be able to tell something has happened, but I don’t think anyone else will suspect more than overenthusiastic participation in a country dance. Now, where’s William?’

He appeared on the question, flushed and more than a little put out. ‘They looked at me as though I was mad,’ he muttered, handing over a large jar.

Nick grinned. ‘I want to powder Tallie’s nose, not bake a batch of whatever one cooks with the stuff, you young idiot. Oh well, it will give the housemaids something to speculate about in the morning when they find it.’ He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket, dipped it in the jar and turned to Tallie. ‘Sit still. There, that’s better, now you look less like a white rabbit and more like an overheated young lady.’

Tallie dropped her eyes, too embarrassed to meet his amused gaze. He stood up and straightened his cuffs, then dabbed at his grazed knuckles with the powdered handkerchief. ‘William, go and tell your mother that Tallie is all right and will be out in a moment.’

There was a long silence after the door closed. Tallie got carefully to her feet and smoothed down her gown. Surely the moment she stepped outside the door people would look at her and know that only a few minutes before she had been locked in Nick Stangate’s heated embrace, kissing him back with all the fervour she could. Surely wanton was branded across her forehead?

‘Tallie,’ he said softly, one hand on the doorknob.

‘Yes?’

‘Will you not tell me your secret?’

Tallie’s eyes flew to his face. Of all the things he might have said, this was furthest from her imaginings. ‘No!’ she blurted out. ‘No! Was that why you kissed me? You thought you would confuse and befuddle me until I would tell you anything? No!’ And she was through the door and into the corridor before he could stop her. Three hurried steps and she was on the threshold of the ballroom. Tallie ignored the footsteps behind her, took a deep breath, fixed a social smile on her burning lips and, with pounding heart, stepped calmly into the mêlée.

She made her way to Lady Parry’s side and sat down with a careful smile on her face. After one startled glance her chaperon handed her a fan and said brightly for the benefit of their near neighbours, ‘Talitha dear, how often did I warn you about the country dances? You look a sad romp.’

‘Yes, Aunt Kate. I am sorry, Aunt Kate.’ Tallie did her best to shrink back while around her amused chaperons tutted and smiled at her overenthusiasm.

She was rescued eventually by William asking her to accompany him to the supper room. He tucked her hand firmly under his elbow, treated her as though she was made of glass and scowled so forbiddingly at any man who came near that they ended up in sole possession of a table.

Tallie made herself nibble at a savoury patty and relax in the hope that William would relax too. It was rather like being escorted by a large, fierce dog. ‘Where is Lord Arndale?’

‘I’m not sure. I think he has left; he was certainly looking like thunder when you came out of that room. And he was pretty short with me when I tried to ask him what he was going to do next.’

‘What … what did he say?’

‘Didn’t make sense.’ William’s brow furrowed. ‘He said it was time to take some precautions and at least he now knew what he was dealing with. Does that make any sense to you?’

‘No.’ Tallie shook her head. ‘None at all, unless … William, he wouldn’t have gone after Mr Hemsley, would he?’

‘What, to call him out after all? No, not without me. He’d need at least one second, and I’m the only one he can involve without risking talk.’ William offered Tallie a plate of sweetmeats and, when she shook her head, stood up. ‘Let’s get back, shall we? Do you think we can have another waltz without all the old biddies shaking their heads over us?’

Tallie followed him, just relieved at the thought of being in a safe pair of arms and having something to think about other than Nick Stangate. All the contradictions were back, tearing her apart, making her unable to think about him coherently, let alone know how to deal with him.

He had saved her again, this time with his anger and his physical courage rather than his quick wits and self-restraint. And he had aroused in her feelings and longings that she could hardly comprehend, let alone control. And then he had struck at her with that question about her secret. He had tried to trick her into an answer when he must have known she was at her most vulnerable, must have known that he himself had contributed to that vulnerability.

Nick Stangate was ruthless and dangerous, and he had most cause to be when he thought something of his was threatened. If he found out the truth about her, he would see it as a direct threat to his family, never mind how forgiving Lady Kate was inclined to be about it. And now he knew how she reacted to being in his arms, he had a potent weapon she had to make certain he never again had the opportunity to use against her. Never.

Chapter Eleven

The household in Bruton Street received no visits from Lord Arndale during the week following the Duchess’s ball. Which was not to say that he was not making himself very much felt.

Tallie heard from Zenna that she was receiving particulars of houses almost daily. Then there was a visit from a very helpful clerk who offered Miss Scott his escort to any properties she might wish to view.

‘He brought Lord Arndale’s card with him,’ she explained on a fleeting visit to ask if she might borrow a maid to accompany her. Lady Parry had agreed immediately, explaining that she had a parlour maid with aspirations to become a ladies’ maid. ‘It will be useful practise for her to learn how to behave when out with a lady.’

William reported bumping into his cousin in various clubs and once as he emerged from a house near Pickering Place. ‘Asked him what on earth he was doing there. He gave me one of his poker-faced looks and said he was calling on his agent. Rum sort of place for an agent if you ask me.’

But, disconcertingly, Nicholas appeared at every function Tallie attended. He did not ask her to dance or engage her in conversation, merely stopping long enough to give the appearance of normality before moving on to the card tables or another dancing partner.

Tallie moved rapidly from feeling relieved to being intrigued and then downright piqued—especially as she was beginning to enjoy a flattering amount of success with her come-out. The least Nicholas could do was to ask her to dance occasionally. When his parting shot at Lady Cressett’s musical evening was, ‘I am glad to see you are doing nothing indiscreet or unwise’, Tallie was filled with an urge to do something quite outrageous out of sheer defiance.

Fortunately nothing occurred to her and the next afternoon she set off in the Parrys’ carriage for a cosy evening in Upper Wimpole Street to discuss the lodging-house scheme with Mrs Blackstock.

She arrived early enough to spend some time with Millie before she set off for the Opera House and listened with interest to tales of backstage rivalries, Millie’s excellent progress in her singing and the flattering number of floral tributes she was receiving.

Tallie caught Zenna’s eye. She had confided her experience with Jack Hemsley because she wanted to put Zenna on her guard if she had any further contact with him. Now she raised an eyebrow and nodded slightly in Millie’s direction. Zenna shrugged and a few moments later took the opportunity to whisper, ‘I have not seen him around, but it doesn’t mean she isn’t seeing him at the Opera House.’

‘Probably hiding his bruises,’ Tallie said grimly, remembering the sound of those blows thudding home on flesh and bone.

* * *

By seven o’clock Tallie and Mrs Blackstock found themselves alone. Zenna had been invited to visit the family of one of her ex-pupils and Millie had departed for the Opera House in a hackney carriage.

‘I’ll just spread out the details of the ones we thought most suitable,’ Tallie suggested, picking up the sheaf of house particulars. ‘If I move these things off the table … Is this not Millie’s reticule?’

Tallie held it up and Mrs Blackstock looked anxious. ‘Oh, dear, it is, she must have forgotten it. Is her purse inside?’

A quick glance found the stocking purse nestling within, along with Millie’s house key.

‘I had better take a cab and go to the theatre,’ Mrs Blackstock said with a sigh. ‘She could borrow the cab fare back from another girl, I suppose, but knowing Millie she won’t think of it until she’s outside the theatre on her way home.’

Tallie looked at the older woman’s tired face and got to her feet. ‘No, I’ll go. I haven’t seen the new production yet and it will be fun to do so from backstage.’

Mrs Blackstock accepted the offer with gratitude, but insisted on coming out with Tallie until she found a respectable-looking hackney carriage and made sure that Tallie had Millie’s stocking purse tucked inside her own reticule.

It took some while for the cab to make its way through the crowded evening streets from Upper Wimpole Street to the point where the Opera House stood on the corner of Haymarket and Pall Mall. Tallie had never been backstage before, but she knew where to find the stage door and the elderly man on duty there let her in willingly enough when she asked for Millie and tipped him a silver coin.

Tallie had to push her way through shabby, crowded corridors half-blocked with scenery flats and overflowing wicker baskets. Faintly she could hear the orchestra tuning up ahead and small knots of people hurried past, careless of whom they pushed aside in their haste.

Searching for someone who was not in such a hurry, Tallie turned into a quieter passageway. A door opened in front of her and a man wearing nothing but skintight inexpressibles, an obvious wig of red hair and a scowl stepped out. Tallie blinked at this apparition, unsure whether to scream or give way to giggles.

‘John!’ the man bawled, breaking off to glare at Tallie. ‘Where in the name of Heaven is my fool of a dresser?’

‘I have no idea, sir,’ she replied, tearing her gaze away from his naked torso. ‘Where is the chorus changing room?’

‘Boys or girls?’ he demanded.

‘Girls!’ Tallie said indignantly.

‘Never can tell,’ he observed obscurely. ‘Down there, turn left, down the stairs, follow the cackling. John, you idle bastard!’

With her hands clamped over her ears Tallie hastened down the corridor in the direction of his pointing hand. There was no denying that the noise betrayed the location of the dressing-room, and when Tallie peeped round the door she could quite see why.

At least two dozen girls in various stages of undress filled the room, which was overheated, glaringly lit and reeked of perspiration, cheap scent and face powder.

At the nearest makeshift dressing-table to the door a dark girl in a thin chemise was clutching a post while another in pink fleshings that left nothing to the imagination hauled on her stay laces. ‘Tighter, you silly tart,’ the first girl gasped when the second stopped heaving. ‘Tighter or I’ll never get into the costume.’

‘Fall out of it more like,’ her friend retorted with a chuckle. ‘That’ll be a crowd pleaser.’

‘Excuse me,’ Tallie ventured when they both subsided panting, ‘is Amelie LeNoir in here?’

‘Millie? Yes, over there. Here, luv, just stick your finger on that knot while I do the bow. Ta. Millie!’ She raised a voice trained to be heard from the front row of the chorus to the back seats in the gods. ‘Visitor!’

Tallie extracted her finger from the tangle of stay laces and hurried over to where Millie’s startled face appeared round a rack of costumes.

‘You forgot your purse,’ she explained, plumping down on a stool next to her friend. ‘May I watch the performance from backstage?’

‘Oh, thank you, Tallie,’ Millie said warmly. ‘Yes, of course, just take care you do not get in anyone’s way—and you won’t have to mind the language.’

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