The wager he had made bothered him.

And his conscience, that he’d thought long since dead, chose that moment to resurrect itself. Realizing the enormity of what he’d done, William was already regretting it. He had taken the wager to seduce a woman he found to be full of goodness, trusting and candid—a combination of wisdom and naïveté that was undeniably lovely. Miss Greenwood was above a mere dalliance. It was madness, and he hated himself with a virulence that nearly knocked the breath out of him.

For the first time in a long time he had met a woman without guile. Her young, innocent face passed before his mind’s eye, a face of much seriousness, a ripe, opulent beauty that made his blood stir hotly. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined anyone like Miss Greenwood. For some peculiar reason that was quite beyond him, it mattered what she thought of him.

A Scoundrel of Consequence

Harlequin® Historical

MILLS & BOON

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HELEN DICKSON

was born and still lives in south Yorkshire, with her husband on a busy arable farm, where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.

A Scoundrel of Consequence
HELEN DICKSON

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

Available from Harlequin®Historical and HELEN DICKSON

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A Scoundrel of Consequence #248

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

1813

Thundering down the length of track in a deserted Green Park as dawn was breaking filled William Lampard with exhilaration. A stiff breeze was rolling away the early morning mist and the park stretched out in shades of green and brown and grey. Stabs of sunlight between the clouds edged the colours in bright gilding, and birds were waking in the foliage. For those few minutes as he raced along, there was just him and his horse—no duties, no expectations, just sheer abandon and forgetfulness of all the obligations that awaited him.

Slowing his horse to a more sedate trot, he left the track and directed it beneath some sheltering trees, thinking how good it felt to be back in London after three years as a soldier fighting the war in Spain. Suddenly, the serenity of the early summer morning was shattered by the explosion of a gunshot. A force hit him in the shoulder and the world hurtled in a slow tumble as he toppled out of the saddle on to the dew-soaked grass, where he sank into a black hole and everything ceased to exist.

Cassandra was travelling to her place of work earlier than usual and taking a short cut through the park when she heard the shot. Seeing a horse and rider leave the shelter of the trees and ride as if the devil himself was after him, she urged Clem to drive the carriage into the trees to investigate. On seeing the wounded man she immediately climbed out, believing he had been shot in a duel, since Green Park was often a venue for those sinister appointments in the dawn mist. Coming to her side, Clem bent and rolled the limp form over, nodding his head in relief as he took in the slow, shallow breathing.

‘He isn’t dead, thank the Lord.’

When sanity returned to William, somewhat hazily, it was to find a young woman in a dark grey coat kneeling beside him, and a short, stout man holding his frightened horse. There was a dull throbbing in his head, and an ache in his shoulder that pulsed in unison with it.

Cassandra gazed down into two crystal-clear orbs. There was a vibrant life and an intensity in those eyes, dark, brilliant blue, like the sea in a summer storm that no one could deny. ‘I’m happy to see you are still with us,’ the woman said in a soft, well-bred voice. She held her head gracefully, the brim of her bonnet casting a light shadow over her face. ‘You have been shot. Let’s hope your wound is not serious.’

William returned her smile with difficulty and tried to allay her fears by pushing himself up against a tree. He winced as pain—red hot and piercing—shot through his shoulder, then closed his eyes and rested his head back. Without more ado the woman briskly unfastened his bloodsoaked jacket, removed his crisp white cravat and opened his shirt, her expression schooled to a nun-like impassivity as she examined his wound. William’s gaze flickered to the slender fingers pressing a wad of cloth against the torn flesh to staunch the flow of blood.

‘You’ve done this before, I can see that,’ he remarked, his voice deep and strong.

‘I have, but usually my patients haven’t been shot and they are much smaller than you.’

As she worked, Cassandra noted that the wounded man’s clothes were of expensive elegance that could only have come from one of the ton’s foremost tailors. Having lost his hat in the fall, his hair, thick and dark brown, fell in disarray about his head, shading his wide brow and brushing his collar. About thirty years of age, his face was handsome, recklessly so, lean and hard. His nose was straight, his jaw uncompromisingly square. He had fine dark brows that curved neatly, and a firm but almost sensuous mouth. Everything about him was elegantly aristocratic, exuding power and a sense of force.

When the wad was secure she rested back on her heels and met his gaze. ‘There. I think you’ll live. Not much damage done—more to your pride I’d say. When will you gentlemen learn to settle your quarrels in a more civilised manner? Duelling is certainly not the answer.’ Without giving William a chance to utter a reply in his defence, she got to her feet. ‘Now come along. Try to stand. I think a doctor should take a look at that shoulder.’

‘There’s no need for that. If you’ll get your man to bring my horse, I’ll be on my way.’

‘The bullet’s still in there. It will have to be extracted and the wound dressed properly.’ William uttered a protest, but it emerged as little more than a croak and when he tried to move, his limbs would not obey. Cassandra looked at him crossly. ‘Please don’t argue. You are in no position to object.’ She turned to Clem. ‘Come and help Mr…’

‘Captain. I am Captain William Lampard,’ he provided with difficulty as a fresh wave of pain swept through him.

‘Oh!’

William saw an odd, awed expression cross her face as she scrutinised him, and in her eyes a momentary flash of a deeply rooted dislike. ‘You’ve heard of me?’

‘Yes, your name is familiar to me—although you are better known as Lord Lampard, the Earl of Carlow.’

Cassandra had heard all about Captain Lampard. He was an arrogant lord who thought he could do as he pleased with whomever he pleased. For years, gossip had linked him with every beautiful female in London. His scandals were infamous. Whenever he was on respites from his military duties he was the talk of the town, and any sensible young woman mindful of her reputation kept well out of his way. The same could be said of his young cousin, Edward Lampard, who she had already decided possessed the same traits—for hadn’t he tried to compromise her own sister, and the silly girl would have let him if she could have had her way?

‘You’ve recently returned from foreign parts, I believe.’ Her expression did not alter, but something in her eyes stirred and hardened and she compressed her lips.

‘Spain.’

‘Yes, well, I’d have thought you would have had enough of fighting in the Peninsula,’ she remarked haughtily.

William had to stifle the urge to smile at her tart reprimand. ‘I have, more than enough. By your reaction to my identity, I strongly suspect my reputation has gone before me, but let me tell you that it is much a matter of gossip and wishful dreaming.’

‘If you say so, Captain Lampard, but it really is none of my business.’

‘Would you think it forward of me if I were to ask you your name?’

‘Not at all. I am Cassandra Greenwood.’

‘Miss Greenwood, I am most pleased to meet you, and I’m thankful you came along when you did.’

Cassandra slowly arched a brow and her smile was bland. ‘So you should be. Now come along and I’ll get Dr Brookes to take a look at you.’

‘Dr Brookes?’

‘He’s a doctor at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. He comes to help out when I need him at the institute. I’m expecting him first thing, which is why you find me out and about so early. Don’t worry. I have every faith in his ability as a doctor. He’ll soon have you fixed up.’

Observing the stubborn thrust of her chin and the glint of determination in her eye, William raised a brow in amusement. ‘I see you have no intention of relenting.’

‘Quite right, sir. When Dr Brookes has finished with you, Clem will take you home to Grosvenor Square in the carriage.’

William gave her a quizzical look. ‘You know where I live?’

‘Oh, yes, Captain Lampard, I do know that much about you—and some more,’ she uttered softly, which brought a puzzled frown to William’s brow, ‘but we won’t go into that just now. It would be inadvisable for you to ride after sustaining a wound that rendered you unconscious. There is every possibility that you would fall off your horse and incur a more severe injury, which would incapacitate you for some time.’

‘Perish the thought,’ William said wryly.

‘Quite,’ Cassandra replied. ‘After awaiting your return from Spain for so long, no doubt the entire female population in London would go into a decline. Now come along. See if you can stand.’ She would have liked nothing more than to help him on to his horse and send him on his way, but that would be a cowardly thing to do simply because he had a poor reputation.

Impressed by her efficiency and naturally authoritative tone, William tried to get up, but fell back as a fresh haziness swept over him.

Without more ado, Clem took the wounded man’s arm over his broad shoulders and hoisted him unceremoniously into the carriage. After securing the Captain’s horse to the back, he set off towards Soho, where they drew up outside a grim-looking building among streets where poverty and disease ran side by side. A score or more of undernourished children dressed in rags, their legs bowed and eyes enormous in pinched faces, were hanging about. William was helped out of the carriage and Clem again took his arm. With Cassandra leading the way, Clem half-carried the wounded man inside and into a room, where he lowered him on to a narrow bed, obviously not made for a man as tall as the Captain.

Taking deep breaths in an attempt to remain conscious, William was aware of dim forms moving about the room. Turning his head on the pillow, he saw a child lying in the bed next to him. Whimpering in his sleep and no more than seven years old, his stick-thin legs were poking out from beneath a blanket. Both his feet were bandaged. His face was an unhealthy grey, his skin ingrained with dirt, and his knees scraped raw.

Dragging his gaze away from the pitiful sight of the child, he took stock of the room, which looked like a small infirmary. It was quite large with five bunks and sparse, stark furnishings. With small windows and a stone-flagged floor, it was scrubbed clean. There was a stone sink in which a trim, white-aproned young woman was washing utensils and a fire burned in the hearth. The air was tinged with the aroma of food cooking—not unappetising—plain, mutton stew, he guessed. Suddenly a cup was pressed to his lips.

‘Drink,’ Miss Greenwood commanded.

Doing as he was told, William gulped the water down gratefully, letting his head fall back on the pillow when replete. ‘Where in damnation am I?’ he breathed, his curiosity aroused.

‘Please don’t swear,’ Cassandra chided, having discarded her outdoor clothes and fastened an apron about her slender waist. ‘I’ll have no obscene language spoken here. You are not in damnation, but a small infirmary in a house that is a place of refuge for destitute children.’

William’s lips twitched with a suppressed smile. ‘I stand rebuked. I did not mean to be disrespectful.’

‘Yes—well, keep a close rein on your tongue, Captain Lampard, lest the children overhear—although sadly some of them use a few choice words themselves and might be able to teach even you a thing or two. Ah, here is Dr Brookes.’ She stood back to allow a good-looking man in his mid-forties enough room to make his examination.

‘Good day, Captain Lampard.’ Dr Brookes proceeded brusquely and cheerily as was his custom. ‘It’s not every day I get a distinguished patient to attend—especially one who’s been shot.’

Cassandra brought a tray of salves and implements, placing them on a small table at the side of the bed.

Dr Brookes wrinkled his nose as he glanced at the injury. ‘That looks to be a nasty wound. Right, we’d better get to work before you bleed to death. I don’t think the shot’s too far in so it shouldn’t be especially difficult getting it out. There’ll be a bit of digging around to do though. Can you stand it?’

‘Captain Lampard has recently returned from the war in the Peninsula, Dr Brookes,’ Cassandra provided. ‘I’m sure he’s had to endure worse.’

‘Spain, eh?’ Dr Brookes remarked, impressed. ‘Would have gone myself—had I been years younger.’

‘Miss Greenwood speaks the truth. I have seen and endured many things during the war, but this is the first time I’ve been shot—so get on with it, Dr Brookes.’ William looked at the young woman who had taken a stance beside him, a wicked twinkle in his bold, appraising eyes. ‘Are you to stay and hold my hand, Miss Greenwood?’

‘No,’ she replied primly. ‘I shall stay to assist Dr Brookes.’

‘Pity. Here is my last scrap of dignity. Enjoy it while you can, but I would advise you to step back, Miss Greenwood,’ he said, eyeing with trepidation the probe Dr Brookes was holding. ‘My temper is about to take a decided turn for the worse.’

Cassandra spoke no word, but stood aside while Dr Brookes began his work.

William gritted his teeth against the white shards of pain that were shooting through his shoulder as Dr Brookes probed the wound. Mercifully, within a matter of minutes the shot was located and removed.

‘There—all done,’ Dr Brookes said with a satisfied smile, showing his patient the round ball. ‘The wound’s clean so it should heal nicely—though you should keep it rested for a time.’

‘Thank you for all that you’ve done. You won’t go unrewarded, I shall see to that.’

Dr Brookes nodded, and there was a gleam in his eye when he glanced at Cassandra. ‘A small donation to the institute wouldn’t go amiss, is that not so, Cassandra? Have your own physician keep an eye on the wound—and perhaps take some laudanum if the pain becomes severe. Now excuse me if I leave you in Miss Greenwood’s capable hands. I must fly—patients to see at the hospital.’ Hesitating by the young boy’s bed as he began to mumble and mutter, to twist and turn, he placed a hand to the child’s forehead. Shaking his head, he turned to go. ‘I’ll be in tomorrow to take another look the boy.’ He paused a moment longer before enquiring haltingly, ‘Will—your mother be at the institute?’

Cassandra lowered her head to hide a knowing smile. She had long suspected that it was her mother, as well as his concern for the children, that drew Dr Brookes to the institute. ‘Yes, she should be—around midday, I think.’

Looking pleased, Dr Brookes nodded and hurried out.

Cassandra turned back to Captain Lampard to dress his wound, amazed that he had endured the whole procedure without a murmur.

‘What happened to the boy?’ William asked. ‘How did he come to be in that state?’

‘That’s Archie,’ she answered, her expression softening when her gaze rested on the child’s face. ‘His mother sold him to a sweep for a few shillings, poor mite.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Six years. Climbing boys don’t stand a chance, any of them. So many die of consumption and they are never washed except by the rain. No one knows the cruelty that they undergo. Bullied and beaten by their masters, they rub their poor elbows and knees raw climbing the dark flues. Their flesh must be hardened. This is done by rubbing it with the strongest brine. But often their skin—if they survive—doesn’t harden for years.’

‘And Archie’s feet?’

‘Burnt by the fires—which aren’t always completely out.’

If William was disturbed by this, apart from a tightening of his features he made no comment. Though her voice was without expression, before Miss Greenwood turned her face away, he was startled to see tears in her eyes mingled with compassion for the child.

‘He doesn’t complain, but I know he’s in constant pain. It is my intention to find him a situation—but it will be weeks before he is fully recovered. One thing is for certain, it will not be with the sweeps—although it will be hard to place him. Your coat is ruined, I’m afraid,’ Cassandra said, picking it up and placing it at the bottom of the bed with his equally ruined shirt.

‘I’ll get another.’

‘Yes, I suppose you will,’ she said, smiling then and forcing her eyes from the bronzed, dark, fur-matted muscular chest. The shoulder muscles jerked as she proceeded to dress his wound. This close he smelled of shaving soap and sandalwood. Overwhelmed by every scandalous tale she had ever heard about him, she willed herself to ignore the strength of the lean, hard body stretched out on the bed beneath her, to complete her task and send him on his way.

William caught his breath at her unexpected glowing smile and started in amazement when he felt a peculiar, inner tingle from her touch. Light fell on her face only inches away from his own. She really was the most glorious creature, even in her sombre dark grey dress buttoned up to her throat. Her softly scented skin glowed like silk, and her mouth was a soft coral pink. Her hair was honey gold, pulled up to a chignon, but from which endearing rebellious tendrils escaped. Her blue-green eyes gleamed as she smiled.

‘Do you work here all the time?’ he asked.

‘No, not all the time. I do have a life away from here.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. It would be a crime for you to spend your entire life in this dreary place. There are better areas of London to focus your energies on. I would have thought young ladies could find more interesting and exciting ways of passing their time.’

Giving her a long, leisurely look, there was a twist of humour around his attractively moulded lips. The smile building about his mouth softened the hardness of his jaw and made him appear in that moment the most handsome man in the world to Cassandra. Then, suddenly, his direct, masculine assurance disconcerted her. She was acutely conscious of his close proximity to her and she felt a mad, unfamiliar rush of blood singing through her veins.

Instantly she felt resentful towards him. He had made too much of an impact on her and she was afraid that if he looked at her much longer he would read her thoughts with those brilliant clever eyes of his—which he did when her cheeks pinked, bringing a darkening to his eyes and an amused, satisfied smile to his lips.

‘I am sure you’re right, Captain Lampard, but not nearly as rewarding or as worthwhile. What I do here is more than a pastime for me and I am content with the way things are. The institute was brought into being by my father with the intention of providing aid and provision for destitute children—a place of Christian charity. He died three years ago. Like Dr Brookes, he was a surgeon at St Bartholomew’s hospital. It’s quiet just now, but it gets busier towards supper time. My mother is keen to carry on what my father began and devotes many hours to the institute. We also have volunteers who come to help for what they can do, not for what they can get. The institute really couldn’t manage without them—or the benefactors, who help fund it. We feed the children, provide them with articles of clothing, which are donated to us, and if they are sick or injured we patch them up as best we can.’

‘Even though some of them are criminals, uncivilised and riddled with vermin and diseases they might pass on to you?’ William asked, raising himself up so she could pass the bandage over his shoulder.

‘Yes, and since that is exactly the kind of children who come here, we have all the more reason to try and make their young lives more bearable. The place might not look much, but times are hard just now. However, we do have plans and raise funds in many ways to enable us to find larger premises and hopefully found an orphanage.’

‘And are you successful in your fund raising?’

‘Sometimes. You see, I make it my business to know the names of wealthy people I can approach for monetary contributions.’ She smiled when she saw his eyes register surprise. ‘You must think me terribly mercenary to go around trying to extract money from people like I do, but it’s because I care for the children.’

‘You are so hungry for their money?’

‘Oh, yes—and I am not ashamed to say so.’

‘Just remember that greed is a terrible thing, Miss Greenwood.’

Cassandra started at his statement, her gaze darting to his enigmatic dark blue eyes. ‘Please don’t look at me like that, Captain Lampard. I’m not greedy—at least not for myself. Only for the children. Money means nothing to me, but you have to agree that it is a useful commodity, and a few pennies can be the means of life or death to a starving child.’

‘Maybe so, but for a young lady to tout for money by herself is highly irregular I would have thought. It is also a dangerous game you play.’

‘Nothing is only a game, Captain Lampard.’ The sparkle was gone, leaving only a frosted blue in Cassandra Greenwood’s eyes. ‘To many people, the notion of becoming allied with a woman in such a way is so extraordinary as to be laughable—and distasteful when they realise I am indeed serious.’

‘Do you not think you should take what God sends you and be thankful?’

His words were so glib and offhand that Cassandra gave him a rueful stare. ‘Try telling that to the children. You look surprised by what I do, Captain.’

‘Surprised, yes—and appalled to a certain extent. You are an attractive young woman, and why your family has allowed you to become involved in this unusual and somewhat dangerous enterprise, I cannot imagine.’

‘My work at the institute is often hard and intense and keeps me away from home for long periods, but I take pride in what my father began and in my work and what I achieve—that the children who come here go away with full bellies and, if they’re lucky, a pair of boots, even though I know that in all probability they will sell them for a few pennies when they are back on the streets. A great many of them are orphans, others are unwanted, having been turned out by parents who have too many mouths to feed already, and others have been sold to chimneysweeps and the like for a few shillings. The children who come to us have nothing—and very little hope. Someone has to watch over them.’

‘And you think you can make a difference to their lives?’

‘A few of them, yes.’

‘There are always the workhouses—and the charity schools—and the hospital for those who are injured.’

‘The workhouses are appalling places, but better than living on the streets, I do agree, but they don’t house all the children and the hospitals exclude children under the age of seven—except for those who require amputations.’ Her lips curved in a wry smile. ‘How sad is that? Are you aware that out of all the people in London who die, almost half of them are children?’

‘No, I was not aware of that,’ William replied stiffly, never having thought of it since this was the first time he’d had contact with anything to do with destitute children. He scowled. Cassandra Greenwood had an irritating tendency to prick his conscience and to make him feel inadequate in some way, which he was beginning to find most unpleasant.

Having finished her task, Cassandra looked him straight in the eye. ‘I’m not proud, sir, just determined to carry out what my father started, and if you can find fault with that then I am sorry for you.’

‘No, Miss Greenwood, I can find no fault with that. You speak brave words. Such sentiments are highly commendable and admirable to say the least.’ Swinging his long legs on to the floor and standing up, he was relieved that the last vestiges of haziness had left his mind.

Cassandra’s breath caught in her throat, for the lean frame unfolded until the man stood a full head and shoulders taller than herself. Assisting him into his ruined jacket, collecting the soiled dressing and instruments Dr Brookes had used, she moved away from him.

As she busied herself with the task at hand, William watched her, his eyes roving approvingly over her lithe figure, stopping at the swelling breasts beneath the restricting fabric, then straying back to the shock of honey-gold hair. His fingers ached to release it from its strictures, to run them through the luxuriant softness and kiss the shaded hollow in her throat where a small brooch was pinned to the neck of her dress. He studied her stance and the language of her slender form. Despite his experience with the opposite sex, he wasn’t familiar with women of her class. He’d made a point not to be, but this one made him curious.

All of a sudden warning bells sounded in his mind with such unexpected force that he knew he had to get out of that place, to dispel the unwelcome, unpleasant thoughts as he tried to understand what it was that made an attractive woman like Cassandra Greenwood want to waste her life in this sorry establishment for underprivileged children.

He was a shrewd and rational man, a man of breeding and style who understood his motivations and knew his goals. He prided himself on his good sense not to be swayed by emotion or flights of fancy, so it came as a shock that he wanted to know more about Miss Greenwood—and that was the moment he realised what was happening. He—the ruthless and heartless Lord William Lampard, Earl of Carlow in Hertfordshire, with a distinguished army career, who kept London alive with gossip and scandal when he was in town—was afraid of the effect that this place and Cassandra Greenwood was having on him.

‘Tell me, is there no board of trustees you are answerable to?’

Cassandra stopped what she was doing and turned her blue-green eyes on his with a candid air. ‘Trustees? Oh, yes. There are four on the board—Dr Brooks and a colleague of his at St Bartholomew’s, my mother and me.’

‘I see. I was beginning to think you were your own woman, Miss Greenwood.’

‘I am, in every other way, answerable to no one. Very much so.’

‘And there is no prospective husband in the offing?’

‘No. I like my freedom and independence—which is something a husband isn’t likely to give me.’

‘That depends on the husband. No doubt, given time, things will change.’

When Cassandra met his gaze she experienced a shock of something between recognition and a kind of thrilling fear. Those eyes, deep blue and narrowed by a knowing, intrusive smile, seemed to look right past her face and into her self. For that split second she felt completely exposed and vulnerable—traits unfamiliar to her, traits she did not like.

‘Not if I have my way, Captain Lampard. And I always do.’

‘I can see that. However, I am not here because I want to be convinced of the merits of children’s charities. I am here because I was shot and in no condition to object—although I do thank you for all you and Dr Brookes have done.’

‘Don’t you like children, Captain Lampard?’ she asked suddenly.

‘It’s not a case of not liking them. I’ve never had anything to do with them.’

William became thoughtful and a heavy frown creased his brow. It was an expression those who knew him well would recognise, for it indicated his interest. His curiosity was aroused. Cassandra Greenwood was a woman who lived and breathed her cause and he did not know how he knew, but he knew he was looking at that rare individual who would tell the whole world to go to blazes should it get in her way.

As the initial shock of his assault by an unknown assailant began to wear off, an instinct, a built-in awareness that thrived inside the soldier in him and was essential if one was to survive, told him that here was the dedication, ambition, determination and a sense of purpose of one who meant to succeed. There was an air about her, in the set of her chin and the firmness of her lips, a resolve so obstinate and positive that he found if difficult to restrain himself from showing the same enthusiasm as she did.

Donning his hat, he turned from her, his gaze resting for a brief moment on the child. He seemed to hesitate before coming to a decision. Looking back at her, he said, ‘The boy—Archie. When he is recovered, send him to my house in Grosvenor Square. I’ll have a word with Thomas, my head groom. If the lad likes horses, Thomas might very well set him on in the stables. I’m sure we can find him something to do that will keep him off the streets. I shall also make sure you are repaid for your kindness.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, her expression registering surprise as he moved towards the door. ‘It would be much appreciated,’—but he must not have heard her words, for he did not turn to look at her again. Unable to believe he had offered to provide Archie with work and a home, she stood staring at the door through which he had disappeared for several moments. Just when she was beginning to believe that every scandalous thing she had heard about him was true, he had to do something nice.

It would appear Captain Lampard had hidden depths. By offering to provide Archie with work and a home, he had exposed one redeeming feature to her. Was it possible that the renowned rake had returned to England a reformed character?

As William sat in Miss Greenwood’s carriage taking him to Grosvenor Square, his horse tethered to the back, he tried to define what had been so attractive about her. She certainly wasn’t plain. Her real physical confidence was sensual and there had been an assured innocent vanity in her smile. He smiled to himself, remembering it, but then a more pressing matter entered his thoughts and he became preoccupied with discovering the identity of whoever it was who had tried to end his life. A cold, hard core of fury was growing inside him, shattering every other emotion he’d ever felt, leaving him incapable of feeling anything other than the need to find the person responsible.

Cassandra, her mother and her eighteen-year-old sister Emma lived in a house of modest proportions in Kensington compared with Aunt Elizabeth’s grand residence in Mayfair. Cassandra’s parents had been well matched in character, but they came from different backgrounds. The Greenwood family belonged to the entrepreneurial and professional classes. Her mother was of the landed gentry with aristocratic connections. What Cassandra’s parents did have in common was that they came from the poorer branches of their respective families. Neither of them had a private fortune.

Deeply concerned with the sorry plight of the City’s destitute children, James Greenwood had opened the small institute in Soho. Since his death three years earlier, Cassandra and her mother had struggled to keep it open. They were constantly short of funds. Dr Brookes, who had been Dr Greenwood’s close friend and associate, generously gave up his time to tend the seriously ill or injured children who came to them, and raised funds on their behalf.

Bereft after the death of her beloved husband, Harriet Greenwood, not content to lead a quiet life, had become involved in the running of the institute and was willing to allow her eldest daughter to work alongside her, even though twenty-year-old Cassandra’s break from convention shocked friends and acquaintances and brought severe disparagement. But Cassandra, undeterred, refused to allow a lot of small-minded, ignorant people to take from her all that she and her mother were trying to accomplish.

Harriet’s cousin Lady Elizabeth Monkton, a widow, childless and a wealthy and extremely popular socialite, had taken both girls under her wing when James had died and done her utmost to guide them in the way she thought was best for them. Eager to give them each a Season, she had been disappointed when Cassandra, who had her own ideas and quietly despised the useless frivolity of the social scene, had declined her offer—although she was not opposed to using Lady Elizabeth’s position to her advantage. In her own subtle and charming way, Cassandra was successful at coaxing money out of the well-to-do at the balls and parties she attended.

Tonight, Aunt Elizabeth—as she liked to be known to Harriet’s girls—was to give a ball to mark her fiftieth birthday. Cassandra was to attend and, as a special concession, Emma, too, despite not having made her curtsy. They were at Monkton House, getting ready for the ball, and Emma was irritatingly out of sorts—one of the reasons being that she had earlier received a severe scolding from her mother for going riding in the rain and arriving back at the house soaked to the skin.

‘It isn’t fair,’ Emma wailed, pouting petulantly, bemoaning the fact that Edward Lampard, the young man she was enamoured with, would not be at the ball. Ever since he had left London three weeks ago she had been restive and impatient for him to return. Flopping into a chair beside her sister seated at the dressing table as she put the finishing touches to her toilette, she scowled her displeasure.

‘Please stop it, Emma. No good can come of your seeing that particular gentleman and I’m tired of discussing it. I’ve told you before that young man is a scoundrel in the making and will not be content until he’s compromised you so completely that your reputation will be beyond redemption. Then no gentleman of worth will want you,’ she finished severely.

Emma was stricken as she stared at the sister she loved and admired more than anyone else, whose strength and force of character were so much greater than her own. ‘Scoundrel?’ she protested heatedly, two high spots of colour burning on her cheeks. ‘How can you possibly know that?’

‘Because he happens to be the cousin of that renowned rake Captain William Lampard—a man with a string of broken hearts and shattered marital aspirations that would make any level-headed young woman steer well clear of him.’

‘That’s an awful thing to say, Cassy,’ Emma retorted indignantly. ‘Just because his cousin’s a renowned libertine of the first order does not mean to say that Edward will follow suit. He is a decent, upright and honourable man—a gentleman.’ There was a look of acute dismay in her eyes. She was bewildered by pain and confusion—anxious for Cassandra’s approval and agonisingly aware that she did not understand her sister’s antagonistic behaviour. ‘He loves me and values what I think and feel—and raises me above all other considerations.’

‘Well, with all these attributes he must be quite unique,’ Cassandra said drily, unconvinced by her sister’s defence of Edward Lampard. ‘But he should not be saying these things to you, and to respond to a gentleman’s attentions before his intentions are known is to risk the ridicule of others. I do wish you would behave with more propriety, Emma.’

‘Really, Cassy, considering your limited experience, I need no instructions from you on how to behave in society.’

‘It’s not society that concerns me and you know it. I worry that this preoccupation you have with Edward Lampard will frighten away all the eligible young men before you come out—which Aunt Elizabeth seems set upon—although why she allows you to go out in company so much when you have not yet made your curtsy is quite beyond me.’

Emma stared at her. Their ability to communicate was truly broken down. ‘Really, Cassy, what man could be more eligible than Edward?’

‘I’m only trying to warn you of the dangers of you showing favour to any one man before your début, and you must not allow yourself to be alone with him.’

‘Kindly keep your warnings to yourself. I am quite capable of taking care of myself.’

‘How do you know he isn’t merely toying with you, Emma?’

‘Because he cares for me. Anyone would think you’re jealous because you’ve failed to arouse any man’s passions yourself,’ Emma uttered petulantly.

‘Passions? My dear Emma, I sincerely hope Edward Lampard keeps his passions under control when he is with you.’

‘Cassy, will you please listen to me? I am in love. Really in love.’

‘You think you are. Whatever the sentiments that young man has created, I have no doubt that in time the true nature of his character will be revealed. Now please go and get ready before Aunt Elizabeth comes looking for us.’

‘You go to the ball, I don’t feel like it,’ Emma snapped petulantly.

Cassandra sighed and looked at her sister. Bold, open and loving, full of confidence and life, her green eyes set off by the lustrous gold of her hair, her nose pert and cute and her lips soft and full, at just eighteen years of age Emma had attended few social events. As a rule she looked forward to them and enjoyed them, always wearing her best gown and preening in front of the mirror like a bird of paradise determined on a grand display. Cassandra had thought tonight would be no exception, but she was wrong.

Emma had known Sir Edward Lampard for several weeks, meeting him at the odd soirée and the theatre, visiting neighbouring friends with Aunt Elizabeth in the mornings, and on outings in the park. Cassandra was not unaware that friendship of a certain kind was beginning to grow between them. At first she had considered it to be nothing more than youthful attraction, but Mr Lampard was persistent and always sought Emma’s company, which, fearing he was intent on compromising her vulnerable and naïve sister, gave Cassandra cause for concern—particularly since he was closely related to the notorious scoundrel Captain Lampard—the man who had promised her a donation for the institute and had apparently reneged on his word. Now the thought of Emma having anything to do with that family did not sit easy.

‘You’re mean, Cassy.’ Emma pouted. ‘I don’t know why you always have to say hateful things about Edward. You’re spiteful.’

‘No, I’m not. I’m just being realistic.’

Emma sulked for a moment longer, but, realising a fine pout would not sway her sister, she changed her tactics. ‘Very well, I’ll go and get ready. Perhaps his cousin, Captain Lampard, will tell me when Edward is to return.’

Cassandra swung round. ‘Captain Lampard? He’s coming here tonight?’

‘I believe so. I know Aunt Elizabeth invited him.’ Emma got up and, gathering up her skirts, flounced to the door. Ignoring her sister’s perplexed frown, she rushed on. ‘As well as being a magnificent combat officer, a man without fear and already a veteran of at least two campaigns—which Edward proudly told me about—he’s extremely handsome, too, by all accounts. I’ve never seen him myself, but all the ladies positively drool over him.’ She was the epitome of angelic goodness now her tirade was spent. With a delicious giggle she kicked the hem of her gown and opened the door.

‘Emma, wait.’ Getting up, Cassandra crossed to her sister. ‘I want to be at the institute early tomorrow, so I don’t intend being late to bed. I don’t think you should be late, either.’

‘I won’t be, and I know you need your rest to pander to all those uncivilised children and to scrub the floors.’ Perceiving that her thrust had hit its mark, Emma turned away.

Bruised by Emma’s manner, the thoughtless insults cutting her to the quick, Cassandra drew a long breath, striving to get control of her temper. When she spoke again she was more composed and put her hand on her sister’s arm.

‘Please don’t be angry, Emma. I’m sorry if I sounded harsh. Edward is handsome enough, I suppose, and I can understand why you are attracted to him. Such infatuations are common, but you are just eighteen and he is what—nineteen? You are an attractive and intelligent girl. Have you absolutely no idea of the harm this will do to your reputation? The way you have behaved with Edward Lampard is not a desirable mode of behaviour, and I know how much it upsets Mama.’

Cassandra’s mention of their beloved mama made Emma look contrite. Their mother was a hard-working woman who doted on her daughters. ‘I don’t mean to upset her, truly. I know she desires me to be more like you—to take an interest in the institute that was so dear to Papa’s heart—but I can’t. It’s just not in my nature.’

‘I know, Emma, and it doesn’t matter. I enjoy what I do; if I didn’t, I couldn’t do it, so I don’t blame you. Only I do wish you’d listen to me when I attempt to advise you. I do have your best interests at heart, you know. Now go and get ready.’

On a sigh she watched Emma go out. She could only hope that, beneath her indignation, Emma had sufficient common sense to heed her words.

Escorted by Aunt Elizabeth, when Cassandra and Emma entered the large, mirrored ballroom with French windows leading out on to balconies, it was already congested with over two hundred of the ton’s most illustrious and sophisticated personages. Dancing was in progress, with ladies dipping and swaying, talking and laughing with their partners. Around the room were enormous bouquets of flowers and the immense chandeliers, dripping with sparkling crystals, reflected the dazzling kaleidoscope of colourful gowns and jewels.

Lady Monkton, a widow of ten years and one of society’s most respected and influential ladies, was standing behind her charges like a protective mother hen, her chest puffed out, her back ramrod straight, her eyes proudly resting on her lovely girls.

There was little opportunity for the chaperons to relax and enjoy themselves at a ball, for they felt compelled to keep an eye on their charges at all times—to know who they were dancing with, and who they were dancing with too often.

Cassandra paused to casually overlook the throng to see who was present. Full purses would be plentiful. She never openly asked anyone for money—that would never do—but there were several here who were sympathetic to her cause and subscribed on a regular basis. She observed that Lord and Lady Ross were present. They were extremely wealthy, and Lady Faversham’s husband was an influential London property owner who had frequently made generous donations to the institute in the past. Cassandra glanced at Emma when she gasped.

‘Oh, look, Cassandra,’ she remarked excitedly. ‘It’s Edward—over there. I had no idea he was back in London—and see, he’s coming this way.’

Dismayed, Cassandra saw that the young man in question was indeed wending his way towards them, his blond hair falling attractively over his forehead and a smile on his lips. She saw the pleasure that lit up his youthful face, warming him with astonishing intensity.

She sighed, defeated. ‘So he is, Emma. I do so hope he is not going to be persistent and that you do not forget how to behave—and it is undignified, as well as unattractive, to stand with one’s mouth open,’ she chided, leaving her sister in Aunt Elizabeth’s charge and strolling to the edge of the crowded dance floor to accost and charm anyone she thought would benefit her cause.

Alluring, fiery, and with an unshakeable sense of her own worth, Cassandra was bright and unpredictable—often playful and engaging, just as often frostily aloof. She drew men to her side almost without benefit of conscious effort. But those who fell victim to her potent magnetism soon learned to their cost that the fascinating Miss Cassandra Greenwood, while accepting their masculine admiration as both her right and her pleasure, kept herself beyond their reach.

An uncertain future loomed ahead of her, this she knew, but she was going to meet it squarely in the eye. She would not be looked over like ripe fruit on a costermonger’s stall. There would be no inept youth with groping hands and wet kisses for her but a man, someone to love her with all the masculine authority at his command—experienced, bold and dashing—like Captain Lampard perhaps? She was shocked and instantly ashamed of the way her mind was working. Captain Lampard was totally unsuitable in every way and it was a ridiculous thought which she dismissed at once—but she could not deny it.

Chapter Two

Since his return to London and conscious that someone was trying to kill him—the reason why still eluded him—William had lost interest in society events. When the invitation to Lady Monkton’s birthday ball had arrived he’d given it a cursory glance and was tempted to instruct his secretary to send a polite refusal, despite any social occasion at Monkton House reputed as being exceptional. It was Edward, having returned to London from visiting friends in the country, who’d persuaded him to attend. In fact, young Edward seemed to be in an exuberant mood of late and William was curious as to the reason for it—a young lady, perhaps?

Arriving at Monkton House, he entered the ballroom, impatient to get the evening over with; since he had no desire to strike up a conversation with any of the people who seemed eager to talk to him, in particular the ladies who were delighted to see him back in London after so long an absence, he stepped into the shadows at the back of the room and lifted his champagne glass to his lips.

With one shoulder nonchalantly propped against a pillar, from his vantage point he idly watched the crowd. A smile curved his lips when Edward waltzed a small, exceedingly pretty and engaging young thing around the dance floor. She was dressed in a white silk gown with a blue sash tied at one side in two small bows. The look of complete absorption on both their faces as they gazed into each other’s eyes told him that here was the cause of Edward’s recent preoccupation.

Not best pleased, a troubled frown furrowed his brow. Anyone with eyes in their head could not fail to notice that almost invisible aura with which two young people in love seemed to surround themselves. William had certainly seen it, and because of Edward’s young age and William’s expectations for his cousin to enter his own regiment, he had strong objections to his cousin forming a match with any woman just then. Influenced by his hopes and fears, he would observe his cousin’s behaviour attentively and discourage any entanglement.

His eyes did a slow sweep of the room and came to rest on a young woman on the edge of the dance floor. He looked away, but his gaze was drawn back to her, for there was something about her that kindled his interest—something familiar—her stance, the tilt of her head. Recognition flowed across his face and pleasure lit his eyes, followed by pure masculine admiration as his gaze drifted over Miss Greenwood. The effect of seeing her surprised him.

Instead of the stiff and aloof young woman he remembered in an unflattering drab grey dress, she was now draped in the palest off-white gown, the satin clinging to her, hugging her waist and accentuating her rounded bosom. With regal poise, Miss Greenwood, a proud, striking young woman with large luminous eyes beneath thick dark lashes and exotically winged brows, moved serenely from group to group, untouched by the noise and bustle all around her.

Observing her with the impartiality of a connoisseur, looking for flaws that others would miss, he found only perfection. Her colouring was more vivid in this glamorous setting, William thought. Her hair was the same vibrant honey-gold glistening with innumerable shades beneath the light of the chandeliers. A delicate necklace of diamonds lay against her throat in perfect complement to the gown.

She belonged in beautiful gowns and glittering jewels, he decided. They suited her far better than the sombre grey. But who was she really and what was she doing among the cream of London society? He continued to stand in the shadows, admiring the alluringly beautiful woman, but far more intrigued by the indefinable but unmistakable presence that made her stand out so clearly from the rest.

‘So, William, I trust you will enlighten me as to what your thoughts are as you look at the thoroughly enchanting and delectable Miss Cassandra Greenwood with that possessive gleam in your eyes. Damned engrossed you are.’

William turned and regarded Sir Charles Grisham, decked out in rich peacock-bright satins and velvets—obviously chosen to create an eyecatching display—with a bland expression. His manner was so indolent that he always gave the impression of being half-asleep.

‘My thoughts are my own affair, Charles—though favourable,’ he added with a cynical curl to his lips and an appreciative gleam in his eyes.

‘Singled her out for yourself, have you?’ Charles said in a bored drawl, raising his jewelled quizzing glass the better to study the lady under discussion, the rings on his fingers glinting in the light from the chandeliers. ‘Can’t say that I blame you, and if you are contemplating making her one of your amusing bed warmers, then you are going to be disappointed. Many have tried and all have failed. There are certain things you should know about that adorable creature, since you’ve been absent from the ton pursuing those damned Frenchies in the Peninsula for the past few years.’

‘Go on,’ William said, lifting his arrogant brows and waiting, his look both suspicious and intrigued. His curiosity was piqued, but he’d be damned if he let Charles see it. Well acquainted with Charles Grisham, who in spite of his affectations was one of the most intelligent and erudite of the Corinthians, William knew perfectly well that the man was one of the most influential members of the ton. At twenty-eight, fair haired, of a slender athletic build and fastidiously tailored, he was much envied for his ability to tie a neckcloth into perfect folds. He had an acid wit that accepted no boundaries and was able to shred a reputation in minutes, when he chose a human target. William deduced from his remarks about Miss Greenwood that he had made her just that.

After helping himself to a pinch of snuff, Charles went on to regale William with Miss Greenwood’s attributes and shortcomings, much to William’s irritation. If Charles were to be believed, the lady was as cold as an iceberg and set with wilful thorns—one of nature’s disagreeable blunders, in fact.

‘As a result she has been dubbed the Ice Maiden. And the unkind—though appropriate, some would say—sobriquet has stuck. It’s unfortunate since the filly has spirit. She should prove highly entertaining in a chase. Miss Greenwood is one of those rare eccentrics who attend society events and rarely dances except to please herself—which makes her something of a challenge to the likes of me. In fact, she doesn’t go out in society at all unless it’s to tout for funds for that wretched institute of hers—you know about that?’

William nodded, languidly listening, turning his sardonic gaze back to Miss Greenwood at the same moment as she bestowed a melting smile on a smitten elderly gentleman who was handing her a glass of champagne.

‘Lady Monkton—her aunt—takes an understanding view on the matter. Some might think it admirable—personally, I consider it a damn waste of both time and a beautiful woman. Her mama and Lady Monkton let her do exactly as she likes with relative impunity, the result being she has become an object of ridicule.’

William’s brows lifted imperturbably. ‘Which in your opinion she rightly deserves.’

‘Exactly.’

William looked at Miss Greenwood with renewed interest. ‘She is Lady Monkton’s niece, you say?’

‘Not quite. Her mother and Lady Monkton are cousins, but she has taken on the role of aunt to the two Misses Greenwood. The grand lady took both Cassandra and her sister under her wing when their father died. Intending to give both girls a Season, she was disappointed when the older girl declined—being of the unconventional type, if you see what I mean. It’s hard to believe that any man’s hands have ever touched that delectably soft skin of hers—and I doubt she knows what it feels like to be kissed.’

Though he would dearly like to silence Charles, from William’s own dealings with Miss Greenwood it was obvious that what he was saying was mostly true.

‘Any unattached bachelor who is foolish enough to show an interest in her, she sends packing.’

‘Including you, Charles, which is why you are so ready to point out her faults to me.’

Sir Charles Grisham lifted his arrogant brows, drawling, ‘Including me.’ He admitted, chuckling softly, ‘Indeed, I confess to having been afflicted with a touch of frostbite. Being a notorious rake, I naturally assumed I could seduce her—to initiate her into the art of love. It did nothing for my self-esteem when she added me to her string of rejections. Now you are back in town I can see that I and every other male smitten with the charming Miss Cassandra Greenwood will have to look to our laurels. With your breeding and looks—not to mention your wealth—your potent attraction to women has always been a topic of much scintillating feminine gossip. You do seem to have an extraordinary effect on them, William, but I very much doubt even you will melt that particular iceberg.’

Mild cynicism marred the lean handsomeness of William’s features as he refused to be drawn on what his thoughts might be concerning the young woman who had in all probability saved his life.

‘By the by,’ Grisham went on. ‘I saw Mark in town recently—upholding the family name while you’ve been chasing the Frenchies. I have to say he doesn’t improve with age—still the same old bore he was at Cambridge. With so much starch in his veins, it’s a miracle the man can sit down. It’s difficult to believe he’s your cousin. Is it true that he jumps to the tune of his wife?’

William smiled mildly, knowing of Grisham’s intense dislike of Mark—in fact, Mark’s austere, intolerant attitude did seem to put most people’s backs up. There were certain things about Mark that irritated even him—and the same could be said of his acerbic wife, Lydia. But being possessed of a fierceness to protect any member of his family, which had sadly dwindled to just Mark and Edward during the past five years, with the demise of both his parents and older brother in a riding accident, William would not therefore, speak against his cousin.

‘If he does, then it is entirely their own affair. I couldn’t have left my affairs in better hands, Charles. My cousin is a man of steadfast character and unimpeachable honour, and I would be grateful if you did not cast aspersions.’

‘I applaud your loyalty—though in my opinion he doesn’t deserve it. Loyalty is a rare virtue in either sex these days.’

‘Besides, Mark is next in line to the title and the estate—unless I marry and produce an heir.’

‘And is there a possibility of that on the horizon?’ Charles enquired, his eyes lighting with obvious interest, for with this devilishly handsome lord off the social scene, the likes of himself and his associates would stand in better favour with the ladies.

William’s eyes suddenly glinted with amusement. ‘Marriage is not high on my list of things to do just now. When I feel inclined to pledge my hand in order to produce an heir,’ he replied with grim humour, ‘I’m sure you will be one of the first to know.’

‘I shall be journeying to Hertfordshire tomorrow—I’m to stay with my aunt for a few days. I’ve neglected her disgracefully of late,’ Charles confessed. ‘I’m quite fond of the old dear.’

‘And her money,’ William uttered pointedly.

‘I admit it does hold some attraction,’ he said without shame. ‘I shall be close to Carlow Park and I’ve arranged to ride over to see Mark—though I intend the visit to be of short duration.’

‘Then, feeling as you do, why do you visit him at all?’

‘Two rather splendid horses you have in the stables—saw them on the hunting field in January and I was impressed. A chestnut full of quality took my fancy, although the grey was damned fine, too. I heard Mark’s selling them, so I approached him with an interest to buying one. He invited me to Carlow Park to look them over.’

William’s expression was bland when he turned and fixed him with a quizzical stare. ‘And these are Mark’s horses to sell?’

‘Damned if I know—although I don’t suppose they are, seeing as they’re stabled at Carlow Park.’

‘Their names?’

‘Monarch and Franciscan.’

William’s expression hardened. On learning of his brother’s death, from Spain he had asked Mark to keep an eye on the estate until his return. He hadn’t given him carte blanche to do as he pleased and he felt a faint stirring of antagonism over Mark’s having usurped his position by selling off his horses—in particular Franciscan, his brother’s horse. Although, on second thought, perhaps it had more to do with Lydia than Mark.

‘The horses are not for sale.’

Not to be outdone, Charles’s eyes narrowed and a calculating gleam shone in their depths as he moved close to William so that what he was about to say would not be overheard. ‘A wager I will make, William.’

Apart from one sleek dark brow cocked in question, William’s features remained impassive. ‘A wager? I wonder what you’re intending to propose, Charles. I’m listening.’

‘A wager that you fail to seduce the delectable Miss Greenwood before the Season ends in June.’

‘And why should I want to seduce her?’

Charles shrugged. ‘To prove that you can—that you haven’t lost your touch.’

The challenge was thrown lightly and William teetered on the brink of accepting when caution reared its head. Seducing virgins wasn’t his forte—never had been—but the lovely Miss Cassandra Greenwood had captured his attention and the challenge was intriguing. He was a man who must conquer, must win, whatever the odds stacked against him. Whenever he set his mind on having something, he was not easily dissuaded.

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then one or the other of those splendid beasts in your stable will be mine.’

‘And what’s in it for me—besides the delectable Miss Greenwood, of course?’

‘A thousand guineas if you succeed.’

William rose to the challenge with a confident smile. ‘That’s unfortunate for you. If there’s one thing I dislike, it’s seeing my opponent lose.’

‘So do I. Think on it, William. To seduce a woman famous for her strict morals—a virgin, I have no doubt, and as yet untouched by world’s cynicism—a lovely rose, just waiting to be plucked. What could be more prestigious?’

‘What more, indeed?’

‘A wager it is then. No need to put it in writing. A gentleman’s agreement will do.’

When a well-satisfied Sir Charles Grisham had moved on, William watched Miss Greenwood move about the room with renewed interest. So, she was untouchable. Suddenly she had become an exciting enigma, a mystery, which had multiplied tenfold. Gentlemen of the haut ton hesitated to go near her, to take liberties with her. Suddenly she had become a challenge he could not resist.

William watched her pause to speak to this person and that, careful to be as charming and polite as her nature allowed, for it did not do to antagonise. She was well versed in taking hold of a situation and bringing it round to her advantage, since the future of the institute might depend on people such as these. Sharp and witty, she sparkled, encompassing them all with her brilliant smiles and laughter—a light and joyous sound that caressed him, enticed him—and animated chatter, all serving to project the persona of a confident and capable young woman. These people were like children, thrilled and flattered to the core to be noticed by this gorgeous woman. It didn’t matter if she schemed to capture their attention. She had it.

Miss Greenwood was quite exquisite, William decided, with an air of fragility about her, but she reminded him of a rapier blade, a sliver of silver made of steel. He wanted to laugh out loud. So this was how she extracted donations for her precious institute.

Moving out of the shadows, completely impervious to the stir he was creating, since it was the first society event he’d attended since returning to London, William advanced towards her, the crowd parting as if he had ordered it.

Cassandra was in the process of deciding who to approach next when she saw him moving in her direction. He was tall, with an authoritative air of breeding and command and an unconscious swagger of arrogance, which spoke of generations of influence and superiority and advantage. With wide shoulders and a hard, stern face and iron jaw, his bright blue eyes beneath fine dark brows were disconcertingly amused as they gazed into hers. When he was close a strange, unfathomable smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he slowly inclined his head towards her.

‘Hello, Miss Greenwood,’ he said, in a deep, resonant and incredibly seductive voice.

His very nearness had her stiffening. The sensation unnerved her. His towering figure left her no avenue of escape. She wished she were nearly a foot taller so she could meet him eye to eye. He was too attractive and had too much charm for his own good. Some people were born like that. It was as if they had a magnet inside them.

‘Why, Captain Lampard. This is a surprise.’

A crooked smile accompanied his reply. ‘For me rather more than it is for you, Miss Greenwood. You look ravishing, by the way. That colour is far more flattering to your colouring than the diabolical grey dress you were wearing on the day we met.’

Resentment coursed through Cassandra’s veins. It dawned on her as his gaze dropped to her breasts in a leisurely perusal that he was far more interested in what was beneath the gown than the gown itself. He raised his eyes to her face where they captured hers and held them prisoner until she felt a warmth suffuse her cheeks.

‘What are you doing here, Captain Lampard?’ she asked, her smile deliberately cold and ungracious.

‘Your aunt invited me.’

‘So, you are aware that Lady Monkton is my aunt. Really she is my mother’s cousin, but she has always been known as aunt to me and my sister. How long have you known?’

‘About ten minutes.’ If she had suspected his presence at her aunt’s ball had been staged with her specifically in mind, then she was mistaken—disappointed, too, he hoped. ‘I grew bored watching the world go by in my town house so I came to see if the sights were any better here at Monkton House.’ He spoke with slow deliberation and the corners of his lips twitched with amusement. His eyes gleamed into hers as he added softly, ‘I am happy to report they far exceed my expectations and I’m glad I came.’

Cassandra turned aside, tossing him a cool glance askance. ‘Have you nothing better to do than ogle the ladies, Captain Lampard?’

‘It might look like that, but in truth I was watching just one.’

Cassandra ignored the remark, but she could not ignore the seductive lowering of his eyelids or the quickening of her heart. ‘The gaming tables seem to attract a good many gentlemen. Why don’t you try that?’

‘Because I find talking to you more enjoyable than anything else I could come up with.’

‘Your shoulder is healing well, I trust?’

‘Apart from the occasional twinge it is almost back to normal. Your Dr Brookes did a fine job. I am in your debt, Miss Greenwood.’

‘Yes, you are, Captain Lampard,’ she replied coldly, not having forgiven him for not having sent her the promised donation.

As though reading her mind, he said, ‘You received the bank draft I sent to the institute?’

‘I cannot recall having done so.’

William frowned, averting his eyes in angry disgust. He would have a few choice words to say to his secretary. Damn the man and his incompetence. ‘Then I can only assume there has been a mix up somewhere. I gave it to my secretary to deliver in person. I apologise most sincerely that you have not received it. Rest assured that I shall look into the matter first thing in the morning.’

‘Thank you. It will be appreciated,’ she said coolly. ‘Following that unfortunate experience, perhaps you will think twice before you fight a duel to settle a score—be it a difference of opinion, cheating at cards, or a case of adultery—which, if what I have heard about you is to be believed, was more than likely the reason that took you to Green Park that day.’

‘You are mistaken, and it is clear to me that you know nothing about the rules of duelling.’

‘I don’t?’

‘No. For one thing, the normal practice when a duel is arranged is for witnesses—seconds—to be in attendance, and possibly a physician. Do you recall seeing any?’

‘Why—I—no, I do not.’

‘And for another, I do not hold with the practice. Perhaps you would care to take a walk outside in Lady Monkton’s exquisite gardens and allow me to enlighten you on the finer points of the art of duelling.’

Cassandra drew back. ‘Certainly not. I refuse to go anywhere with you, sir.’

A mildly tolerant smile touched his handsome visage, but the glint in his blue eyes was as hard as steel. ‘Very well, Miss Greenwood, but I would appreciate a word with you in private.’ Placing his hand firmly on her elbow, he led her to a small recess and looked down at her, his expression hard. ‘You are under a misconception as to what occurred when you came upon me in the park. There was no duel. I was there to enjoy the exercise and solitude of an early morning ride, nothing more sinister than that. In short, someone tried to kill me.’

Oddly enough, Cassandra’s first fleeting thought was that he was joking, but, when she saw the firm set of his jaw, she was inclined to believe he was deadly serious. ‘To kill you,’ she repeated quietly, unable to entirely absorb such a macabre event taking place so close to herself, yet been unaware of it. ‘But why would anyone want to kill you?’

‘At the moment, the reason is unclear, but I will find out, that I promise you. Someone tried to bring my life to a premature end and I damned well intend finding out who and why. Did you happen to see anyone acting suspiciously that morning?’

‘Why, yes. Now I come to think of it, a man rode out of the trees close to where we found you. I didn’t see his face. He was wearing a hat pulled well down over his face, and a cloak.’

‘His horse? What colour was it—brown, black, grey?’ William demanded, sounding sharper than he intended, but he was impatient to discover any clue that would lead him to the culprit.

‘Dark brown—but on hearing the shot, I was more concerned about what had occurred than to take note of what the man and his horse looked like.’ She paused, becoming trapped in his blue gaze. ‘Do you think whoever it was will try again?’

Expression grim, William nodded. ‘When I’m in London, I frequently ride in the park at that time. He must have been waiting for me—he didn’t try to rob me, so I can only assume he had murder in mind. There was no warning. Nothing. If he was prepared to try once, he’ll not let it alone. The question is, when.’

‘Then you will have to look to your safety and take all due care.’

‘I intend to. I am not the sort who jumps at shadows, and nor do I run from threats. As a soldier on campaign I learned to watch my back—I didn’t realise I would have to continue doing so in London.’

‘It would seem you have an enemy, Captain Lampard, one who hates you enough to want you dead.’

‘It looks like it.’

‘So, you are the innocent party and didn’t provoke a fight.’

His eyes glowed in the warm light as he gave her a lazy smile, his mood reverting back to what it had been a moment before. ‘I cannot claim to be innocent, Miss Greenwood, but neither am I the black-hearted scoundrel I have been painted.’

‘I would hardly expect you to admit it if you were,’ Cassandra retorted crisply. ‘However, I’ve heard stories to convince me that you are.’

The tantalising smile grew wider in the face of her derisive stare. Folding his arms, William leaned his back nonchalantly against a pillar. ‘I am deeply curious about you, Miss Greenwood. Tell me, have you always rebelled against the fashionable world?’

‘I suppose I have. I attend these affairs not because I enjoy them particularly, but because they are a means to bring about that which is closest to my heart.’

‘I’m aware of that. When you told me how you collect donations for your cause, I was ready to question your methods, but now I can see that with a flash of your eyes and a few chosen words you have them reaching into their pockets.’

‘That is my intention.’

He gazed at her for a long moment, his devilish, sensual mouth turning upward in the faintest of cynical smiles. ‘You are an extremely forward, quite outrageous and outspoken young woman, Miss Greenwood.’

‘If you got to know me, you would have to become used to my manner and the way in which I deal with people.’ She met his gaze candidly. ‘You don’t approve of what I do, do you, Captain Lampard?’

‘It is not for me to approve or disapprove of what you do, Miss Greenwood.’

‘Nevertheless you’re quick to voice your opinion.’

‘That is in my nature—and my right.’

On a sigh and letting her expression slip to one of utter boredom. Cassandra looked around. ‘I do so hate these occasions. I find little interest in society’s entertainments. I wish I could leave right now. See all the mamas watching their offspring with eyes like hawks, Captain Lampard. Launched upon Society and made to parade for inspection like so many fillies at an auction. They will be sold to the highest bidder—to the largest title and the most wealthy.’

‘I confess I haven’t really thought about it,’ William remarked, not really interested. He preferred looking at her. Her blue-green eyes, attentive, observing, carried a brilliance that held him transfixed. ‘It must be horrendous for the young ladies.’

‘Don’t waste your pity. It’s all they want from life—pretty gowns, jewels. They have no notion of anything else. Their mamas are obsessed with etiquette, fiercely concerned with morals and the approval of their friends and acquaintances, determined that their daughters do and say the right thing—not to dance more than two dances with any one gentleman, and so on. How tedious and tiresome it all is.’

‘I have already decided that you are a very unconventional young woman, Miss Greenwood.’

‘I am concerned with none of that. I do so detest all the restrictions of the social system that enslaves women.’

‘Are you suggesting that you would care to redress the wrongs of our misguided society? Are you so uninhibited by the prejudice of class that you would break the mould of convention that has encased women for centuries?’

‘I despise convention; as you will have gathered, I live very much as I please, but without causing offence to those I love and those who love me.

‘And to add to all that, you rarely dance,’ William said, pushing his long frame away from the pillar and moving close to her, his gaze capturing hers. ‘Will you step out of your self-imposed restrictions and do me the honour of dancing with me?’

Cassandra stared up at him. Those glowing eyes burned into hers, suffusing her with a growing aura of warmth. ‘I—I do not care to dance.’

‘I insist. After all, this is a ball and that is what people do. You—do dance?’

Her smile was feral. ‘Of course I do. I prefer not to.’

‘You distress me, Miss Greenwood.’ His mouth twisted in a lightly mocking grin. ‘You give me no grounds to hope for better things.’

‘Nor should I,’ she returned pertly. ‘I’ve told you, I do not like these occasions.’

He laughed briefly. ‘You seem to take special delight in reminding me. But I am not convinced. There isn’t a woman alive who doesn’t like to dance—and I do not believe you are any different, Miss Greenwood.’ William peered at her closely and took note of her uneasiness. ‘I’m right, am I not?’

Cassandra tilted her slim nose upward as she turned it in profile to him. ‘I meant what I said.’

‘Tell me, Miss Greenwood. Why do you resent me? Can it be that it is because my secretary failed to deliver the donation—or is it more of a personal nature?’

Indignant colour stained Cassandra’s cheeks. ‘You’re right, of course. I do resent you, but not for the reasons you state.’

‘Then would you please enlighten me.’

She looked at him direct. ‘It is to do with my sister.’

‘Your sister?’

‘And your cousin.’

‘Edward?’

‘Yes.’ She turned towards the dance floor and observed Emma about to take to the floor in a lively country dance with Edward Lampard. Her annoyance was raised to new heights. ‘It may have escaped your notice, Captain Lampard, but your cousin and my sister have danced two dances together and are about to embark on a third. My sister is just eighteen years old and her reputation is about to be ruined before she has been launched into society.’

Totally unprepared for the turn the conversation had taken, William’s eyes sought out Edward, seeing him with the same young woman he had been dancing with earlier. ‘That young lady is your sister?’

‘Yes. Unfortunately, the two of them have developed a fondness for each other.’

‘A fondness?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Edward is a sensible, sensitive young man. Speaking as his older cousin, I can only applaud your sister’s taste.’

‘He is neither sensible nor sensitive if he cannot see that he is in danger of ruining her reputation,’ Cassandra argued. ‘Because of the time they spend together, I believe my sister is about to be compromised by your cousin. Everywhere we go we bump into him—be it in the park, at a soirée or the theatre. I am certain these meetings are not coincidence and are pre-arranged in some way known only to Emma and Edward.’

‘Pardon me, Miss Greenwood, but you are contradicting your own words. Did you not imply that you find the rules and restrictions that govern polite society utterly ridiculous? If you feel that way, then why should your sister’s reputation matter to you so much?’

Cassandra sent a cool glance skimming over him. Having her own words quoted back at her was disconcerting. ‘What I said applies to me, Captain Lampard, not my sister. She is a different matter entirely. When I said what I did, I was giving an honest opinion.’

William’s lips twitched with ill-suppressed amusement. ‘Do you have an aversion to my cousin, Miss Greenwood? If so, I find any preconceived ideas you might have about him being a scoundrel insulting and deeply offensive. Perhaps you’re afraid that scoundrels run in the Lampard family—and maybe you see him as some kind of threat?’

‘I do not consider him as much a threat as an inconvenience.’

Laughter twinkled in his eyes. ‘I can see how confused you must be. It is a wholly perplexing problem you have there.’

Cassandra’s cheeks became flushed with indignation. ‘Are you laughing at me, Captain Lampard?’

‘Heaven forbid, I wouldn’t dare. Now, shall we dance? I will even say please if that will persuade you.’

Cassandra did not want to be persuaded. She did not want to dance with him. She did not want to become better acquainted. Still, if it meant a large subscription to the institute, then she could at least be pleasant to him for a short while. Besides, if sufficiently provoked, he might be tempted to risk creating a fuss to gain what he sought.

When William saw her hesitate, he smiled. ‘Come, Miss Greenwood. People are beginning to stare. Your reticence only heightens my determination. I will have this dance, otherwise I might very well change my mind about the size of my donation. The amount will be considerably smaller than it would be if you were to partner me on the floor. Should your colleagues at the institute find out, they would never forgive you.’

Quite unexpectedly she smiled pleasantly and William almost reeled under the impact. Her eyes seemed to contain sparkles of light and a soft rose tinted her cheeks. Her lips parted over even, white teeth that shone, and a small dimple in her cheek caught his eye. Her smile deepened, and so did the dimple. He was momentarily transported and utterly speechless.

‘I suppose I could dance with you for the sake of civility.’

‘And a generous donation,’ he was quick to point out.

‘Of course—but this sounds very much like blackmail to me, Captain Lampard.’

‘You might say that,’ he murmured softly. ‘I would prefer to call it persuasion.’

‘Very well. I am persuaded. I surrender.’

Decorously presenting her with his arm, he laughed. ‘I was hoping you would,’ he said quietly. ‘If we continue in this fashion, Miss Greenwood, we might even become friends.’

Cassandra smiled thinly. ‘I would advise you not to place any wagers on that, Captain Lampard.’

‘I might be tempted,’ he said, with more meaning than she realised, leading her forward on his arm as the musicians played a waltz. ‘I am not averse to the odd gamble.’

A sudden hush settled over the guests as those present turned, anxious to appease their curiosity. What they saw amazed them. Cassandra Greenwood was taking to the floor with Lord Lampard—well, he always had been able to charm every female within sight—and it went to prove that the prim Miss Greenwood was no different from the rest after all. But the fact that she was to dance with Captain Lampard—his first dance since returning to London—caused other gentlemen she had declined to dance with in the past to consider their attraction. Aware of his reputation as a rake, they were admiringly speculative.

Taking Cassandra in his arms, William’s hand slid slowly, possessively, about her trim waist, drawing her close. ‘I sincerely hope you were telling the truth when you said you do know how to dance, Miss Greenwood, otherwise you will make a laughing stock of us both,’ he murmured, his wicked, sensual mouth turning upward in the faintest of cynical smiles.

‘Just because I don’t usually dance, doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to, so lead the way, Captain, and I will follow.’

‘My pleasure, Miss Greenwood. My pleasure. For this one dance, forget your institute, your children and your fund raising and be a young lady of the ton, intent on enjoying herself. Take it from me, it’s more fun than trying to extract money from society’s elite.’

So saying, William whirled her round the floor. His senses were alive with the elusive perfumed scent of her, to her supple young body. Getting to know Miss Greenwood could be very pleasurable indeed. Deliberately, he drew her closer so that his hips brushed hers and he felt a tremor pass down her spine. His imagination began to run riot and he dwelt on the thought of what it would be like to plunder those soft lips and make love to her. His blood stirred hotly and his body was beginning to react in such a way that he had to force the thoughts aside.

It would have surprised—and gratified—him to know that Cassandra’s thoughts were not so very different from his own. Beneath her fingertips, his beautifully tailored claret jacket was without a crease. Smelling pleasantly of sandalwood and brandy, he moved with elegance and grace, but, light as his arms were, she could feel the steel beneath.

Her eyes were level with his broad, muscular shoulders. Every inch of his tall frame positively radiated raw power and leashed sensuality, causing her to remember every scandalous story she’d ever heard about him. Handsome, sinful—strangely the thought excited her. How could she claim uninterest in the man when his mere presence could so effectually stir her senses? Lifting her gaze to his ruggedly hewn features, she met his knowing eyes, seeing something relentless and challenging.

‘You dance well, Captain Lampard.’

‘Suddenly you’re an expert?’

‘I know the difference between good and bad. Tell me, do you always get what you want?’ Cassandra asked.

‘Usually,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps because I’m totally selfish, arrogant, inconsiderate and a complete scoundrel—or so I’ve been told by those who know me. It’s the way I was raised, you see—having people pander to my smallest needs, to gratify my every whim.’

Cassandra slanted him an arched glance. ‘What you really mean is that you were a spoilt child. Still,’ she quipped, ‘you’re a male, so I would expect no less.’

The dance ended and he released her, but the warmth of his touch lingered. He escorted her to where Lady Monkton was seated beside other matrons who had gathered to gossip and nibble on sweets. A tall woman, with the family’s fairness and a majestic bearing, Lady Monkton looked up when they approached, pleasure lighting her features.

‘Cassandra, my dear, how nice it is to see you take to the floor at long last—and with Captain Lampard. I had almost given up on my niece,’ she said not unkindly, although she never stopped reiterating her disappointment that Cassandra refused to let her arrange her début. ‘You must excuse her. She has no social graces—only social causes.’

‘Which is to be admired, Lady Monkton.’

‘I’m happy you think so, Captain Lampard. You know, you are far too handsome for your own good. You are enjoying yourself, I hope?’

‘Indeed, Lady Monkton. Thank you for inviting me.’ William’s smile and the way he bowed over the elderly lady’s hand was the epitome of politeness and charm. ‘May I say that you are more beautiful than ever.’

Lady Monkton laughed lightly, and Cassandra was certain her cheeks flushed beneath her rouge.

‘Flatterer. I must say that I—and every lady present—are delighted by your reappearance in the ton. It’s long overdue. London will be a far more exciting place with you in it. Thank goodness you have Bonaparte beat.’

The musicians were beginning to play another refrain. Not to be let off lightly, William turned to Cassandra.

‘Miss Greenwood, may I have the pleasure of dancing one more waltz with you?’

Cassandra drew back, intending to decline. ‘Why—I—’

‘Of course you must, Cassandra,’ Lady Monkton was quick to interrupt, relieved to see her niece taking an interest in the frivolous things other young ladies seemed to delight in. ‘Two dances with the same partner is socially acceptable, so off you go now and enjoy yourself.’

Cassandra shot a look at her aunt, seeing the shrewd, uncannily knowing expression pass over her. Beaten, on a sigh she turned and moved away.

‘I’m only asking for another dance—one more dance, Miss Greenwood,’ William murmured, taking her arm and propelling her back towards the dance floor. ‘Nothing more intimate than that.’

‘It’s a good thing, too, Captain Lampard. No matter how generous your donation, anything more intimate than a dance is definitely out of the question. I don’t think I even like you.’

‘Who said anything about liking?’ he remarked, laughing lightly as he took her in his arms. ‘It’s the act that’s pleasurable.’

‘Captain Lampard,’ she chided, feeling her cheeks flush rose-red as he whirled her round, ‘you are embarrassing me. Kindly stop it or I shall be forced to leave you standing on the dance floor—which would never do.’ Observing the humour in his eyes, she scowled, struggling to prevent her lips from smiling. ‘Are you teasing me, by any chance?’

‘Most assuredly.’ He laughed, the sound low and so seductive that several people dancing close turned to look at them.

‘Then please don’t.’

His teeth flashed white in a lazy grin, but his gaze dipped lingeringly to her soft lips. ‘I enjoy teasing you. I find it—intriguing and pleasurable.’

‘And I don’t like being teased. If you think I do, then you’ve taken leave of a major portion of your senses.’ His smile widened and it was such a wonderful smile. Captain Lampard exuded provocative charm. He could probably charm the birds out of the trees, but this particular bird wasn’t about to tumble for that silky voice. But she was not nearly as immune as she thought—as she wanted to be. He was a magnificent male, and she was human—flesh and blood—and his sexual magnetism was overwhelming, dislike him though she might.

‘As soon as the dance ends I must circulate,’ she told him. ‘I must also have a stern word with my sister. In fact, I do believe your cousin is now escorting her into the buffet.’

William glanced across at Edward and the young woman, who was gazing up at him adoringly. Experiencing a sharp stab of unease, he frowned. ‘You sister looks sweet and very young.’

‘Don’t let her looks deceive you. She has a romantic mind and your charming cousin has somehow managed to captivate my dear, gullible sister. They do say that love is blind, and it seems Emma has no sight when it comes to Edward. However, I will not let him take advantage of her and cast her off—which will most certainly get her banished from polite society before she has the chance to make her début. She’s hellbent on holding on to him. I do expect Emma to behave with discretion and propriety, but unfortunately she is strong willed and the very opposite of biddable.’

William’s brow lifted in amusement. ‘Then perhaps she takes after her big sister.’

‘She most certainly does not. She does not respect my opinion and she never listens to any edicts from me or Mama.’

‘I can understand your anxiety, and, if it will put your mind at ease, I strongly disapprove of Edward forming any kind of liaison at this time.’

‘You do? Then if we don’t do something to discourage it at once, things could become complicated. Once Emma gets some maggot into her head, there’s no stopping her.’

‘What do you suggest I do?’

‘Can’t you order your cousin to avoid her, or failing that, send him away somewhere?’

‘Your anxieties and fears may soon be at an end. Edward is shortly to enter the Military Academy as a cadet, with the hope of purchasing a commission. In the current climate it’s inevitable that his regiment will see service overseas.’

Cassandra’s relief was enormous. ‘Oh—thank goodness. That would be the answer to everything. What you may do for me in the meantime is to speak to him, keep an eye on him. I don’t relish the idea of having a Lampard as kin.’

A pair of cool blue eyes regarded her dispassionately. ‘How extraordinary,’ William mocked. ‘All my life I have harboured the delusion that all young ladies yearn to snare wealthy husbands—and, despite having made his home with me on the demise of his parents, Edward is wealthy in his own right. I am amazed that you have objections to my family’s suitability, for their breeding is unexceptionable and they are better connected than most.’

Cassandra was so carried away with making sure that he understood her concern, and that her sister’s reputation must be protected at all costs, that she didn’t heed the muscle that was beginning to tick in his tightly clenched jaw.

‘I’m sure you’re right, Captain Lampard,’ she hurried on, her tone straightforward, not facetious, ‘and that your family’s credentials are impeccable, but wealth and an illustrious name does not give a man the right to do as he pleases and to do it with impunity. I am sorry to have to say this, but if Edward turns out to be anything like the hellion you are reputed to be—for I do understand that you have great experience in living—then he will make an exceedingly bad husband.’

William heard the insult in her smoothly worded statement, and any amusement that was left vanished from his expression. In one swift movement he whisked her off the dance floor and released her. He then looked down at her with hard, unforgiving eyes, a scowl drawing his brows together.

‘Miss Greenwood,’ he said in a voice dangerously low, ‘if you imagine for one minute that I would approve of Edward marrying your sister, then you are living under an illusion. However, there is a whole procession of society matrons who are eager to lure me into marrying their daughters and who are perfectly willing to overlook my excesses in “living,” as you so baldly put it. I’m beginning to realise that I do not rate highly in your estimation. As a rule I have never cared for anyone’s opinion, and I most certainly would never let them influence my actions—and this includes you.’

Stung at being manhandled from the dance floor and offended by the tone of superiority with which he delivered this lecture, Cassandra gave him a lofty look, but on searching his shuttered features and taking judicious note of the taut set of his jaw, she realised that she had gone too far in voicing her disapproval of his character and was unable to retreat from a predicament into which she should never have put herself in the first place.

Biting her lip, suddenly feeling very small and very foolish, she said, ‘I—apologise if I have offended you, but I only said what I thought out of concern for my sister.’

‘You have said quite enough, Miss Greenwood,’ he snapped, irrationally angry at her unprovoked attack on his character. ‘If it is your intention to humble me, then you can forget it. Rest assured that my donation to your institute will be with you in the morning, and let that be an end to the matter. And now I bid you good night.’

William turned on his heel and strode purposefully from the ballroom, leaving Cassandra staring in his wake. Mortified, shocked and bewildered by his sudden departure, these emotions were banished in a blinding flash of fury. How dare he walk away from her like that? The man was rude beyond bearing, too full of himself, affecting pompous poses and delighting in turning the head of every female in the room.

As the music died she became aware of being stared at and noticed the whispered conferences as people gathered in groups, having witnessed the altercation that had taken place between Cassandra Greenwood and Captain Lampard. With as much dignity as she could muster, she lifted her head and returned to Aunt Elizabeth, and it wasn’t long before she left the ball and went home without seeing anything more of the arrogant and pretentious Captain Lampard.

Then why, as she climbed into bed, did the thought of his smile and the remembered touch of his hand make her heart beat faster? Suddenly at a loss, she blew out the candle.

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