Join favourite author

Louise Allen

as she explores the tangled love-lives of

Those Scandalous Ravenhursts

First, you travelled across

war-torn Europe with

THE DANGEROUS MR RYDER

Then you accompanied Mr Ryder’s sister, THE OUTRAGEOUS LADY FELSHAM, on her quest for a hero.

You were scandalised by THE SHOCKING LORD STANDON

You shared dangerous,

sensual adventures with

THE DISGRACEFUL MR RAVENHURST

Now meet

THE NOTORIOUS MR HURST

Coming soon

THE PIRATICAL MISS RAVENHURST

Author Note

Lady Maude Templeton believes in love, as I discovered during the course of THE SHOCKING LORD STANDON, when she refused to marry the hero on the grounds that she just knew the right man was out there waiting for her somewhere.

And then she found him and fell in love instantly with Mr Eden Hurst, who is not only resoundingly ineligible for the daughter of an earl, but is a man who most definitely does not believe in love.

Maude sets out to convince Eden not only that love exists but that she is the woman he needs in his life. It seems a hopeless task, but Maude can be quite as shocking as any of her Ravenhurst friends when she puts her mind to it and Eden Hurst soon finds that doing the right thing is harder than he can ever have imagined. If only he can work out what the right thing is…

There is one more Ravenhurst cousin still without the love of her life—Clemence Ravenhurst, far away in Jamaica. Little does she know it yet, but respectable Clemence is going to find her life turned upside down as she becomes THE PIRATICAL MISS RAVENHURST in the final episode of Those Scandalous Ravenhursts. Coming soon.

THE NOTORIOUS MR HURST

Louise Allen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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 lives in Bedfordshire, and works as a property manager, but spends as much time as possible with her husband at the cottage they are renovating on the north Norfolk coast, or travelling abroad. Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite atmospheric destinations. Please visit Louise’s website—www.louiseallenregency.co.uk—for the latest news!

Recent novels by the same author:

THE BRIDE’S SEDUCTION

NOT QUITE A LADY

A MOST UNCONVENTIONAL COURTSHIP

NO PLACE FOR A LADY

DESERT RAKE

(in Hot Desert Nights) VIRGIN SLAVE, BARBARIAN KING THE DANGEROUS MR RYDER* THE OUTRAGEOUS LADY FELSHAM* THE SHOCKING LORD STANDON* THE DISGRACEFUL MR RAVENHURST*

*Those Scandalous Ravenhursts

Look for THE PIRATICAL MISS RAVENHURST

Coming September 2009

RAVENHURST FAMILY TREE

MILLS & BOON

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Chapter One

February 1817

‘And so, my false love—I die!’ The maiden sank to the ground, a dagger in her bosom, her white arm outflung.

The audience went wild. They applauded, whistled, stamped and, those members of it who were not weeping into their handkerchiefs, leapt to their feet with cries of ‘More! More!’

The dark-haired lady in the expensive box close to the stage gripped the velvet-upholstered rim and held her breath. For the audience who had flocked to see the final performance of The Sicilian Seducer, or Innocence Betrayed, the tension was over and they could relax into their appreciation of the melodrama. For Lady Maude Templeton, the climax of the evening was about to occur and, she was determined, it would change her life for ever.

‘You would never guess it, but she must be forty if she’s a day,’ Lady Standon remarked, lowering her opera glass from a careful study of the corpse who was just being helped to her feet by her leading man.

‘One is given to understand that La Belle Marguerite never mentions anything so sordid as age, Jessica.’ Her husband turned from making an observation to Lord Pangbourne.

‘Fine figure of a woman,’ the earl grunted. He was still applauding enthusiastically. ‘Not surprising that she was such a sensation on the Continent.’

‘And so much of that figure on display,’ Jessica murmured to Maude, who broke her concentration on the shadowy wings long enough to smile at her friend’s sly remark. The loss of focus lasted only a moment. Tonight was the night, she knew it. With the excitement that surrounded a last night at the Unicorn she had her best opportunity to slip backstage. And once she was there, to make what she could of the situation.

Then her breath caught in her throat and her heart beat harder, just as it always did when she glimpsed him. Eden Hurst, proprietor of the Unicorn theatre, strode on to the stage and held up both hands for silence. And by some miracle—or sheer charisma—he got it, the tumult subsiding enough that his powerful voice could be heard.

‘My lords, ladies, gentlemen. We thank you. On behalf of Madame Marguerite and the Company of the Unicorn, I thank you. Tonight was the last performance of The Sicilian Seducer for this, our first full Season.’ He paused while exaggerated groans and shouts of ‘shame!’ resounded through the stalls and up into the gods. ‘But we are already looking forward to Her Precious Honour to open in six weeks’time and I can assure her many admirers that Madame Marguerite will take the leading role in this dramatic tale of love triumphant over adversity. Good night to you all and I hope to welcome you next week for our revival of that old favourite, How to Tease and How to Please, with the celebrated Mrs Furlow in the leading role.’

‘Damn good comedy that,’ Lord Pangbourne pronounced, getting to his feet. ‘I recall it when it first came out. In ’09, was it? Or the year after?’

Maude did not hear her father. Down below in the glare of the new gas lights stood the man she desired, the man she knew she could love, the man she had wanted ever since she had first seen him a year before.

Since then she had existed on the glimpses she had caught of him. In his theatre she sat imprisoned, in a box so close she could have almost reached down and touched him. On the rare occasions he had attended a social function where she had been present he had been frustratingly aloof from the unmarried ladies, disappearing into the card rooms to talk to male acquaintances or flirting with the fast young widows and matrons. And even she, bold as she was, could not hunt down a man to whom she had not been introduced and accost him. Not in the midst of a society ball and not a man of shady origins who had arrived in England trailing a tantalising reputation for ruthless business dealing and shocking amours.

And last Season he had closed the Unicorn for renovations and returned to the Continent for a tour with his leading lady only months after they had arrived in England.

Standing there, he dominated the stage by sheer presence. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an intense masculine elegance in his dark coat and tight pantaloons, yet somehow flamboyant and dramatic. Maude caught the sharp glitter of diamonds at his throat and from the heavy ring on his left hand and recognised that his clothes had been cut with an edge of exaggeration that would be out of place in a polite drawing room. He was a showman, demanding and receiving attention just as much as the most histrionic actor.

‘Maude.’ Jessica nudged her. ‘One of these evenings your papa is going to notice that you dream through the performances and only wake up when Mr Hurst is on stage.’

‘I don’t dream,’ she contradicted, finally getting to her feet as Eden Hurst walked off stage to loud applause. ‘I am watching and I am listening. I have to learn how this place works.’

She had never managed to speak to him. The only words he had spoken in her presence had been to a shopkeeper while she, the bright, lively, witty Lady Maude had stood in Mr Todmorton’s perfume shop, struck dumb by the sheer beauty of the man. But three days ago, thanks to an overheard conversation at Lady Robert’s otherwise dull reception, she had discovered that Mr Hurst had been making discreet approaches to potential investors. And that, she realised, gave her the perfect excuse.

Now she must have her wits about her as she followed her father and the Standons down to the main lobby of the Unicorn. Parties were gathering and chattering beneath the famous clock that hung from the neck of the one-horned beast charging out of the wall like a ship’s figurehead. As she had hoped, Jessica stopped to speak to a friend. Gareth, her husband, waited patiently beside her while Maude slid through the crowd to her father’s side.

‘Papa, Jessica invited me to drive home with her and to spend the night,’ she said as he clicked his fingers at the attendant for their cloaks. It was quite true, Jessica had done just that and Maude had thanked her nicely and explained that she thought her papa would expect her home tonight.

Which was also true, so very gratifyingly she had told no actual untruths. And she was, after all, a lady o f resource with money in her reticule who was perfectly capable of finding herself a hackney carriage. Eventually.

‘Very well, my dear.’ Lord Pangbourne craned to see the Standons in the crush. ‘I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow. Say all that is right to Lady Standon for me, won’t you? I can’t fight my way through this like you slender young things.’

‘Yes, Papa.’ Maude watched until he was outside and then slipped through the door to one side of the entrance. She was not certain where it went, other than backstage. But that was enough for her purposes.

‘Can I help you, miss?’ She was in a passageway, as brown and dingy as the lobby was brilliant and gilded. Maude dragged in a deep breath compounded of oil and dust, gas fumes, overcrowded hot people and greasepaint, and smiled brilliantly at the youth who had paused in front of her. His arms were full of hothouse flowers, an incongruous contrast to his shirtsleeves and baize apron.

‘Mr Hurst’s office, if you please.’

‘The Guv’nor, miss?’

‘Yes,’ Maude said firmly. ‘The Guv’nor. I have a proposition for him.’

Eden Hurst tugged his neckcloth loose from amidst the heavy ruffles of his shirt, flung himself into his great carved chair and put his feet up on his desk. Ten minutes of peace and quiet, he promised himself. Then back down the corridor to Madame’s room to flatter and reassure in the midst of enough blooms to fill a conservatory.

Why she needed reassurance after a reception like tonight, Heaven only knew, but he had sensed a petulance that must be soothed. Ever since she had reluctantly agreed to return to England after years on the Continent she had been on edge, more demanding, more insecure, and the return tour while the renovations were carried out had only made things worse.

Perhaps the light of the new gas lamps was unkind when her dresser finally creamed away the greasepaint. He would have the oil lamps on their stands brought back into her dressing room. Anything to keep the star of the Unicorn happy.

Feet still on the desk, he leaned forward and reached for his notebook to add oil lamps to the never-ending list of things to be done. His groping fingers nudged a pile of stiff cards, sending them to the floor. They lay face up, yesterday’s social obligations.

Eden dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling, oblivious to the cracks that created fantasy maps over its grey surface. Was it worth it, allowing himself to be lionised by Corwin and his vulgar wife? He shut his eyes, annoyed with himself for revisiting a decision that had already been made. He needed an investor if he was to continue to make the improvements the Unicorn needed to keep it in the forefront of London’s smaller theatres, and he needed a damned sight more cash than the gas lights had cost him if he were to finally persuade the owner to sell it to him.

Through his agents he had bought several small theatres around the country over the past two years as investments, leaving them in the hands of managers while he continued to tour Europe with Madame. Then had come word of the kind of theatre he had been dreaming of ever since he had stepped on to a stage, and he sold them all to raise the money to restore the Unicorn. It had meant coming to England and it had meant risking everything on a building that was not his own, but Eden Hurst had learned to trust his gut instincts in business and was prepared to be ruthless with himself, and with Madame, if necessary.

He could stomach Corwin, even Mrs Corwin in her purple toque, at a pinch. What was tightening his gut was the thought of the simpering Misses Corwin: Miss Calliope, Miss Calenthe and Miss Coraline. One of them was the price Corwin was going to ask for his investment, Eden was sure. He’d marry a Corwin daughter over his dead body and he’d been certain of managing the thing tactfully in the end. Certain—until he’d heard the girls giggling and plotting together in the overheated conservatory.

No time to think about that now. He lowered his feet back to the threadbare Turkey carpet, twitched his neckcloth into order and ran his hands through his over-long hair. Outside his office the corridor was deserted, with all the noise and the activity coming from the stage where they were striking the sets in one direction, and the Green Room where the actors were entertaining their friends and admirers in the other.

Eden took a deep breath and stopped. Gardenia was not a familiar scent in the utilitarian passage outside his office door. Nor was the rustle of silk skirts from the shadows expected. As he realised it, he saw her, an indistinct form in the alcove opposite. Young, slender—he could tell that from the way she moved, the glimpse of white skin at neck and breast.

Those accursed girls. He had thought himself safe for a day or two while they perfected their scheme to ensure that one of them was comprehensively compromised by him. But, no, here was the first of them, it was irrelevant which. If he pretended not to have seen her and went to the Green Room, she would be into his office, probably prepared to strip off for maximum effect when he returned, with or without a witness. And he was damned if he was going to stand here and shout for help in his own theatre, which seemed the only other option.

Or was it? Perhaps he could scare the living daylights out of her. Eden smiled grimly, took a long step forward and caught the half-seen figure by the shoulders. She came easily, with a little gasp, like a maid into her lover’s arms, he thought with habitual cynicism, just before he took her mouth. Hard.

She had been kissed before. At the age of twenty-five, and after several Seasons energetically avoiding becoming betrothed, Maude had flirted with sufficient young gentlemen and had dallied in enough drawing rooms to have experienced everything from gauche wet ineptitude, to boldly snatched kisses, to shyly gentle caresses.

But she had never been kissed by a man who knew what he was doing and had no inhibitions about doing it thoroughly. How he managed it she had no idea, but one minute she was hiding in a dark alcove, poised to step forward and introduce herself, and the next she was moulded against the long hard body of a male who was quite frankly and obviously aroused, whose lips were crushed to hers and whose tongue was taking full possession of her mouth.

For a moment she froze, passive with shock in his grip. Then her mind began to work and caught up with her body, already pliant in his arms. It was Eden Hurst who was kissing her. She had dreamt of this for months and now it was happening. Hazily she acknowledged that he had no clue who she was and that he also appeared to be thoroughly out of temper, but just now that did not matter.

Maude found her fingers were laced in his hair, that romantic mane of black that gave him such an exotic appearance. Her breasts were pressed to his chest so that the swell of her bosom was chaffed by the brocade weave of his waistcoat and against hers his heart was beating, disconcertingly out of stroke with her pulse. But she was only peripherally aware of those tantalising discomforts. Her entire world was focused on what he was doing to her mouth and the devilish skill with which he was doing it.

Should a kiss make the soft flesh of her inner thighs quiver and ache? Should the insolent thrust of his tongue send shafts of desire deep into her belly, setting going an intimate pulse that made her want to twine her legs around his and press herself hard against him?

He growled, a warning she did not heed, was incapable of taking, then his hands slid to cup her buttocks and he pulled her up against him so that the ridge of his erection pressed into the delta of her thighs. Now she knew what her body was searching for. Roughly he pushed her back to the hard wall, letting the movement rock them intimately until she was moaning in total surrender against his mouth.

And then, just when she would have gone to the floor with him, done anything if only his mouth had stayed on hers, he released her, all but one hand, and stepped back. He reached behind him to fling open the office door and the light spilled out across her face when he tugged her into its path.

‘Now let that be a lesson—hell and damnation,’ Eden Hurst said quietly, loosing her wrist. ‘You aren’t one of the Corwin girls.’

‘No, I am not.’ Thank God, I can still articulate. She reached out one hand to the wall beside her, unsure whether her legs would be as obedient as her voice. ‘I am Lady Maude Templeton, Mr Hurst.’

‘Then why the hell did you let me kiss you?’ he demanded with what she could only characterise as a total lack of reasonableness.

‘One, you took me by surprise; two, you are somewhat stronger than I am; three, you are very good at it,’ she said coolly. This was not the moment to cast herself into his arms and declare her undying love. Besotted she might be, but she had her pride. One of these days he was going to tell her he loved her, but he needed to find that out for himself.

‘Well, I thank you for that last,’ he said on a disconcerting choke of laughter. ‘You are not inclined to slap my face?’

Maude very much doubted that her legs would allow her to take the two steps necessary to achieve that. ‘No, I do not think so.’ It was so long since she had been close to him that now it did not seem there was enough air to breathe. Or else that kiss had dragged the air from her lungs. ‘Perhaps I should explain why I am here?’

‘You want a job, my lady? I need a costume mistress and a scene painter. Oh, yes, and a couple of handmaidens for the farce.’

He kept his face so straight that she could not decide whether he was totally literal or had a nasty sense of humour. ‘I doubt whether I would be suitable for any of those positions,’ she responded, deliberately matching his tone. ‘My sewing is poor, my painting worse and I would make a thoroughly heedless handmaiden. I have come to congratulate Madame Marguerite on her performance and to broach a matter of business with you, sir.’

‘Business?’ He studied her, expressionless. Maude was used to male admiration; this indifference piqued her, not unpleasantly. Her Mr Hurst was not in the common run of men. ‘Well, shall we start with Madame and then we can agree a more suitable time for a meeting tomorrow?’

Maude would have thought him quite unmoved by what had just happened if it were not for the tension that seemed to flow from him, fretting her aroused nerves as though he had dragged a fingernail along her skin.

‘You are without an escort, Lady Maude?’

‘Yes,’ she said, daring him with her eyes to make something of it. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to find me a cab later, Mr Hurst?’

‘You are a practical woman it would appear, ma’am. And one with strong nerves as well as—’ He broke off. Maude turned her head to follow his gaze. From the direction she had come there were soft footsteps and the sound of nervous giggling. ‘Hell.’ He caught her hand again and pulled her into the office, closing the door behind them.

‘Mr Hurst, I declare you appear quite hunted.’ Now she could see him clearly. The golden skin that always seemed lightly tanned, the dark brown eyes, the sensuous, sensual, mouth and the elegant, straight nose. She had been correct—those were diamonds in the pin at his throat and one old-fashioned cabochon stone in the barbarically heavy ring on his hand. And as he turned to face her, she saw another glinting in the lobe of his right ear. It should have looked effeminate, but it simply gave him the air of a pirate and she guessed that was quite deliberate.

‘Truer than you know, Lady Maude. Perhaps you would care to sit? I fear you are about to be the audience for a private performance of a farce.’ He gestured to a chair on one side of the desk and went to take the other, a great carved monstrosity of a throne with eagles on the back and lions’ heads on the arms

The door inched open. More giggles, muffled, then a girl came in, her head turned to speak to someone outside. ‘Oh Calenthe, I am so nervous!’

‘But why should you be, Miss Corwin?’ Hurst enquired in a voice like sugar soaked in aloes. ‘You are amongst friends here.’

The girl gave a shriek and dragged at the door to reveal her companion just behind it. Maude blinked at the sight of two thoroughly overdressed young women clinging together on the threshold.

‘Lady Maude, may I introduce Miss Corwin and Miss Calenthe Corwin to your notice? Ladies, this is Lady Maude Templeton. I fear I cannot offer you refreshment as Lady Maude and I are discussing business.’

Maude, who was beginning to get some idea what was going on, enquired, ‘No doubt your mama is waiting for you close by?’ Their faces were so easy to read it was almost laughable. ‘No? Well, in that case I will take you home in my hackney, for you most certainly should not be out alone at this hour. Perhaps you would be so kind as to obtain one, Mr Hurst. I am afraid I must forgo the meeting with Madame this evening, but I do feel that seeing these misguided young ladies safe home must take priority. Shall we say eleven tomorrow to continue our discussion?’ She knew she sounded about fifty, but her tone was certainly having a dampening effect on the girls.

‘Certainly, ma’am.’ He might not be a professional actor, but the manager of the Unicorn could dissimulate like a master. His face showed nothing but a slightly obsequious attention to Maude and a faint irritation directed at the two younger women, as though at the antics of a pair of badly trained puppies.

Maude swept out into the corridor, amazed to find her legs steady again. Who these two girls were she had no idea, other than that they were certainly not of the ton, but she had no way of knowing if they would gossip about her. It was imperative that she kept them on the defensive, more worried about their own position than speculating about what the daughter of an earl was doing unchaperoned in Mr Hurst’s office at eleven in the evening.

He led them through a maze of corridors and out into the night. Maude drew her veil down over her face and raised the hood of her cloak to shield her face from the crowd of gentlemen who were milling around the stage door, inside and out, while the stage door-keeper produced a hackney with a blast on his whistle. She allowed Mr Hurst to seat her in the vehicle before he stood back to allow the Misses Corwin to scramble in unaided. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. Until eleven, then.’ He stopped to give the driver an address in the city, then turned away as the carriage rattled out into the late evening bustle of Long Acre.

Maude waited with interest to see what her two companions would say now they were alone with her. In the gloom of the carriage they fidgeted, whispered and eventually one of them blurted out, ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you, Lady Maude?’

‘What exactly do you not wish me to reveal?’ she enquired coolly, finding herself irrationally annoyed with the pair of them. Why she should feel so protective of Eden Hurst she had no idea. He was more than capable of looking after himself, if their encounter in the corridor was anything to go by. If he had pounced on one of these girls in that manner, she would have fled screaming, just as he intended, no doubt. They quite obviously had not got a tendre for him, either of them, so what on earth were they about, risking ruin like this?

‘That we were trying to…um, encourage Mr Hurst into making an offer,’ the shorter one ventured.

‘For which of you?’ Maude enquired, intrigued. Yes, he had known about this plot and had mistaken her in the gloom for one of these silly girls.

‘With any of us. Mama thinks he will, because he wants Papa to invest in his theatre, but we aren’t sure because he never takes any notice of us. We don’t understand it,’ she added naïvely, ‘because we are ever so well dowered.’

‘Perhaps Mr Hurst already has an attachment?’ Maude ventured, finding her irritation turning into something more like amusement until she realised that might very well be the case. She had no idea—Eden Hurst was a very private man.

‘Well, if he has, it isn’t anyone from amongst the merchant families. Papa would know,’ the taller sister offered confidently. ‘And he can’t marry anyone in society, because of being a bastard.’

That was a relief. Then Miss Corwin’s words sank in. ‘A…a what?’

‘Bastard. Although Mama says not to use that word and say love begotten, instead. But it doesn’t matter really, because his father was an Italian prince or something equally grand.’

That would explain his colouring, Maude thought hazily. Was Eden Hurst illegitimate? She had never heard a whisper, although it was not the sort of thing mentioned in front of unmarried ladies. Oh, Lord, if he was, that would be another obstacle to overcome. Trade was bad enough, the scandalous world of theatre even worse. Being the love child of an Italian prince was hardly going to make it any better. Papa was going to have palpitations, poor man, when he was finally presented with Eden Hurst as a son-in-law.

The hackney cab stopped. ‘We’re home.’

‘And how do you propose to get in?’ Maude enquired. They did not appear to be too worried by the prospect.

‘Through the service area.’ The girl hesitated on the carriage step. ‘Thank you, Lady Maude.’

‘Well, don’t do anything like this again. If I were you, I would not talk about this little adventure to anyone,’ she added repressively. ‘And please tell the driver to take me to Berkeley Square.’

Maude was deep in thought when the hackney came to a halt again. The door was stiff and the light from the flambeaux either side of the Standons’ house flickered wildly in the stiff breeze. She almost tripped getting down, then stood shivering while she fumbled in her reticule.

‘All right, m’lady, Mr Hurst paid,’ the man said, leaning round to slam the door shut.

‘Oh. How kind of him.’ Maude felt very tired all of a sudden. The shallow steps up to the front door seemed endless as she looked at them. Her hopes for the evening had been vague, beyond making contact with Eden Hurst, but she had not expected to be ruthlessly kissed and then find herself chaperoning two girls.

‘He’s come along to see you home,’ the man added over his shoulder as the horse moved off.

As she stared across the corner of the square she saw another hackney drawn up, a tall figure standing by its open door. He raised a hand in acknowledgement as he saw her looking at him, then climbed back in. Maude drew her cloak around her and ran up the steps to Jessica’s house, no longer tired.

Chapter Two

‘Lady Maude, your ladyship.’ Jordan, the Standon’s butler, managed not to appear shocked by her unannounced arrival on the doorstep at almost midnight without so much as a valise about her person.

‘Maude darling, I thought you said you couldn’t come tonight.’ Jessica put down her book, removed her stockinged feet from the fender and regarded her with mild surprise.

‘I was trying not to tell an untruth to anyone,’ Maude explained. ‘Thank you, Jordan, a cup of tea would be perfect. And one of the special ginger biscuits if Cook has made any,’ she added hopefully.

‘You intrigue me vastly.’ Jessica curled up in her chair and waved Maude towards the one opposite. ‘You have been exploring at the Unicorn, I surmise?’

‘How did you guess?’ Maude kicked off her slippers and tucked herself up in the depths of the chair.

‘Where else would you have slipped off to? Reveal all,’ she commanded, reminding Maude that her friend had once been a governess.

‘I told Papa that you had invited me and let him think I was coming back here with you directly after the performance. And I told you he was expecting me to go home with him, without actually saying that I did not intend to.’

‘There is a word for that sort of thing. Devious.’

‘I prefer to think of it as considerate. No one was worried.’

‘Go on—’ Jessica broke off as Jordan entered with a tray loaded with tea things, bread and butter, some tiny cakes and the famous ginger biscuits. ‘Thank you, Jordan, that will be all for tonight. His lordship will let himself in.’

Maude waited patiently while Jessica poured two cups of tea and then pounced on a biscuit. ‘I’m famished. Well, my intention was to visit Madame Marguerite in her dressing room and congratulate her upon her performance and while I was at it, just happen to encounter Mr Hurst and make an appointment to discuss a business matter.’

‘And?’ Jessica nibbled a triangle of bread and butter.

‘I, er…encountered Mr Hurst first.’

‘And he threw you out? You do look somewhat flustered.’

‘He kissed me. Ruthlessly, indecently. Without mercy. Until I almost lost the use of my legs. The man is a complete rake.’

‘Oh, my dear! How frightful, you must be devastated—’ Her face full of concern, Jessica put down her cup and began to scramble to her feet.

‘It was wonderful,’ Maude finished. It was beginning to feel unreal, like an incredible dream. Only, her mouth still felt swollen and all those alarmingly wonderful sensations kept rippling through her whenever she thought about Eden’s body pressed intimately to hers.

Jessica sat down again with a thump. ‘Is that all he did?’ she demanded. ‘Kiss you?’

‘Yes, although I don’t think all is quite the word. But he thought I was someone else. He was extremely courteous afterwards and sent me home in a hackney. He followed in another one to see I arrived safely,’ she added in an effort to reassure.

That a number of questions were fighting for priority in Jessica’s head was obvious from her expression. ‘Who did he think you were?’ she asked eventually.

‘One of the Misses Corwin, apparently. I’ve never heard of them, but their father is a merchant and he is about to invest in the Unicorn. The daughters are determined that one of them is going to marry Mr Hurst. Two of them arrived moments after he let me go, apparently hell-bent on getting the elder one compromised. I was able to foil that and escort them home, adding a warning about their behaviour while I was about it.’

‘The pot calling the kettle black?’ Jessica enquired.

‘Not at all.’ Maude frowned. She had been worrying about that as she drove back. ‘I have no intention of entrapping Eden Hurst,’ she reassured Jessica, and herself into the bargain. ‘Only of giving him every opportunity to fall in love with me.’

‘How can he resist?’ teased Jessica, relaxing somewhat.

‘Well, your darling Gareth could, very easily,’ Maude pointed out.

‘It was mutual, was it not? And I won’t lecture you, I promise. How can I, given what I got up to disentangling you and Gareth?’

‘You made a perfectly captivating loose woman,’ Maude said, deciding she could, after all her adventures, manage a third ginger biscuit. ‘Whereas I have no intention of doing anything more forward than making sure I am very much in Mr Hurst’s life from now on. Sooner or later he will come to realise he cannot exist without me.’

‘It did not strike him like a thunderbolt at your first encounter,’ Jessica pointed out. ‘I might have been heavily veiled at the time, but I could see quite clearly and I have never observed a less struck man in my life. I described him to Gareth as an icicle, but an iceberg would have been more accurate. And he appears to have survived kissing you without falling at your feet either,’ she added cruelly.

‘He is probably racked with desire, the more he thinks about it,’ Maude asserted. ‘Another cup of tea?’

They drank in silence, the plate of biscuits mysteriously diminishing until Jessica said, ‘You are sure, aren’t you, that it isn’t just his looks? I know I described him as an icicle, but he is also the most exotically beautiful man I have ever seen. It would not be at all surprising if you fell for that.’

‘You mean, am I being extremely superficial?’ Unoffended by the question, Maude brushed crumbs off her skirt and got up to place some more coals on the fire. ‘You forget, I have grown up surrounded by men of character. Dearest Papa, Gareth, to name but two. I could not possibly love or marry a man without intelligence, drive, fine qualities. Yes, I was attracted to Eden Hurst because of his looks. But it was also his presence, his strength.

‘And then the more I found out about him, the more I admired him. He has revived the Unicorn’s fortunes in mere months in the face of the Patent theatres’ opposition, created a vehicle in England for Madame Marguerite when she was known only by reputation. And everyone says he managed one of the most successful theatre companies on the Continent—and that cannot have been easy under the circumstances of the past years.’

‘How old is he?’ Jessica asked. ‘Thirty, at least, I would have thought.’

‘I do not know.’ Maude frowned into the hot centre of the fire. ‘I can’t find out anything like that about him, who his parents are, where he was born, when.’ She was not going to mention the rumour about his father. Time enough to cross that bridge when she had to.

‘You don’t think he and Madame are, er, involved…?’ Jessica asked tentatively.

‘Surely not?’ Maude stared back, aghast. That had never occurred to her. ‘She’s years older than he is, surely?’

‘Well, I have no doubt she’s a creature of unrestrained passions, if her acting is anything to go by, and he is a very handsome man. Tell me…’ Jessica leaned forward ‘…what was it like?’

Maude felt herself colouring up. ‘Amazing,’ she said finally. ‘I have been kissed before, but this was quite unlike anything else. Is it supposed to make you feel odd all over?’

‘The odder the better,’ her friend said with a grin, uncurling from the depths of the chair. ‘Time for bed, although I doubt you are going to get a wink of sleep after that.’

‘Don’t you think so?’ Maude took the proffered candle. ‘I was rather hoping I was going to dream.’

Eden waved the tired dresser out of the door and closed it behind him. ‘I have called your carriage, Madame.’

‘Call me Marguerite, darling. How many times do I have to ask you?’ The actress fluffed at her hair petulantly.

‘It does not feel right. Here, let me help you with your cloak.’ He settled it around her shoulders as she stood, enveloping them both in a cloud of Attar of Roses, drowning the faint remembered fragrance of gardenias in his nostrils.

‘Foolish boy.’ She twisted round, her head on one side, and smiled. Always the coquette, always practising her charms. ‘Are they all gone?’

She meant the swarm of admirers who had infested the Green Room and queued, petulant if they were not given instant admission, at the stage door. ‘All gone. I got rid of them at last.’

‘They adore me.’ It was a statement, but underneath he heard the need for reassurance. Always the need for reassurance.

‘They worship you,’ Eden agreed with a smile, his watchful dark eyes cataloguing the faint betraying lines beside her eyes, the slackening of the skin over the exquisite jaw line, the harshness of the dark hair tint. He knew he must begin to edge her towards the more mature roles. And how was that to be achieved without her throwing a tantrum to rival Mount Etna? He had witnessed the eruption in 1810, and the fiery image came to mind with increasing frequency whenever Madame was thwarted.

There had been a time, when she had first taken him from the palazzo, before he had learned to harness his emotions and not to entertain foolish fantasies about love, when he had hated her. Now, he thought he understood her, had come to accept her total lack of empathy for anyone else and to admire her talent, her sheer determination. But when he was tired it was still an act of conscious will to humour her.

‘You must be exhausted after that performance,’ he suggested, edging her towards the door. ‘So much emotion.’

She lifted a daintily manicured hand and patted his cheek. ‘Darling, you are cold.’

‘I have been out, a small matter of business to take care of.’ And if Lady Maude had not been there he would still have been dealing with it. The consequences of Corwin discovering that two of his daughters had been found, unchaperoned, in his office late at night would be the most almighty row and the loss of his most promising investor.

Eden smiled grimly, then caught sight of his saturnine expression in the big glass. Why the devil would a woman want to marry him in any case? Used to scrutinising the faces of actors at close quarters, all he could read in his own features was cold, hard ruthlessness wedded to the theatrical tricks of a mountebank—the earring, the hair. His profession and his birth made him ineligible to all but the merchant classes and below, and his character was surely something a woman would take on only in return for his money.

Which brought him back neatly to Corwin. ‘What are you scowling about, darling?’ Marguerite allowed herself to be guided out and towards the Green Room. The square chamber with its green velvet curtains, Turkey rug and motley collection of chairs, sofas and side tables was both the common room for the company and the reception salon after a performance.

Now, in the wake of Marguerite’s admirers’ departure, the room resembled the aftermath of a drunken party. Bottles were upended into ice buckets, flowers were strewn everywhere, empty glasses stood around and most of the company were sitting or reclining in various combinations of stage costume, street clothes and undress.

They struggled to their feet, or, in the case of George Peterson, the heavy who was already well in his cups, vaguely upright, as their leading lady swept through. ‘Good night, darlings,’ she trilled, blowing a kiss to the three walking gentlemen, the bit-part players, who swept her bows as she went.

Eden noted in passing that Miss Harriet Golding, the ingénue, was sitting almost on the lap of Will Merrick, the juvenile lead. That could spell trouble—Merrick was living with Miss Susan Poole, the lively soubrette who had apparently already left. He could well do without a love triangle in the middle of the cast, especially with a visiting leading lady next week. Madame would sail blithely through any amount of emotional turmoil provided it was not her own emotions at stake. Mrs Furlow could well find it most disagreeable. He dug out the notebook and added Merrick/Golding/Poole below the note on oil lamps. If this was serious, then Miss Golding would have to go; ingénues were two a penny.

‘I am utterly drained,’ Marguerite announced, draping herself across the gold plush of her carriage seats. ‘Drained. I have given my all for a month.’

‘Well, you have two weeks when you need only rest and get up your lines for the next part, then rehearsals,’ Eden soothed, the words forming themselves without any conscious work on his part. Then some demon prompted him to add, ‘And I have an idea for the piece after that.’

‘And what is that to be?’ she demanded.

Eden knew he had been hedging round breaking this to her, seeking the right moment. Oh well, now, with no audience of dresser and sycophants to fan her tantrums, might be as good a time as any. ‘Lady Macbeth.’

‘Lady Macbeth? Lady Macbeth?’ Her voice rose alarmingly. ‘That Scottish hag? A mad woman? A tragedy? Are you insane?’ She subsided. Eden braced himself; she was not finished yet. ‘In any case, we cannot perform it. The Patent theatres have the monopoly on legitimate drama.’ Her voice dripped scorn.

‘Not if we introduce music, have a ballet in the background in some of the scenes. I have been working on it and we can scrape past the licence issues.’

‘Why should we want to?’ she demanded. Even in the dim light he could see the alarming rise and fall of her bosom.

‘You do not want to do it?’ Eden injected amazement into his voice. ‘One of the great Shakespearian roles? The woman who is so seductive, so powerful that she can drive a great king to murder? Imagine the dagger scene. Every man in the theatre would take the knife from your hands and do the act if you commanded it. The sleepwalking scene—you, magnificent yet so feminine in your night rail…’ He fell silent. She was already rapt, eyes closed, lost in her imagination.

Eden offered up silent thanks to whichever minor deity looked after theatre managers and sat back against the soft squabs. Finally, he could contemplate those hectic few moments in the corridor with Maude Templeton in his arms.

Thinking about it had the inevitable physical effect. He crossed his legs and tried to pin down the nagging feeling he had seen her somewhere before. It would not come and concentrating was virtually impossible while the memory of the feel and the scent and the yielding of her filled his brain and agitated his body.

What business had she with him? he wondered. She was quick witted as well as beautiful, with a sense of humour that matched his own, he rather suspected, recalling her stated reasons for allowing him to kiss her. He did not believe for a moment that she had been subdued by his superior strength. Which left the flattering probability that she had enjoyed the experience.

And the not very flattering recollection that a second later she had been all business. Not that there was any legitimate business an unmarried lady, with the emphasis on lady, could possibly be transacting with him, which was puzzling. Eden found himself intrigued, aroused and curious, a combination of emotions that he could not recall experiencing before.

He indulged himself with the memory of her slender waist, spanned by his hands, of the slither of silk under his palms, the erotic hint of tight corseting as his thumbs had brushed the underside of her breast…

‘I need a new carriage.’

Back to reality. ‘This one is only eighteen months old, Madame. I bought it in Paris, you recall. I cannot afford a new one.’

‘Why not? You are a rich man, Eden.’

‘Yes. And very little of that is liquid just now. I invested heavily in the gas lights, as you know, to say nothing of all the rest of the renovations, the costumes, the props. Then the foreign tour while the work was being done was not all profit.’ And just maintaining Madame Marguerite in gowns and millinery was a serious drain. His investments stayed where they were until the time was ripe for each to be liquidated. The bedrock of his hard-won fortune was not to be frittered to sate Madame’s urge for novelty.

‘Oh, fiddle! Cash some gilts or whatever those things are called. Or sell out of those tiresome Funds or something.’ He could hear the pout in her voice. ‘My public image is important, darling. I need to cut a dash.’

‘You would do that from the back of a coal-heaver’s cart,’ he said drily. ‘I am not touching the investments until I can get the owner of the Unicorn to talk to me about selling it. I need to invest in the place, but I am not spending any more now until it is mine.’

‘Darling, I thought you were getting money from that vulgar little cit.’

‘Corwin? Yes, I hope to. I just have to be sure I can keep him from interfering in the running as part of the deal.’ Never mind the detail that Corwin would insist on making Eden his son-in-law.

‘You are so stuffy, Eden.’ She subsided into a sulk, leaving him once more free to contemplate Lady Maude and the inconvenient fact that, if he was going to have any hope of sleep tonight, a visit to Mrs Cornwallis’s hospitable establishment was probably the simplest way of achieving it. Surely all he needed was the scent of another woman’s skin, the heat of another smiling mouth under his, the skills of a professional, to rout the memory of innocently sensual beauty.

‘Are you coming in?’ They were already at the Henrietta Street house, pretty as a jewel box with the white porcelain flowers filling the window boxes and the shiny green front door flanked by clipped evergreens.

‘No, Madame.’ Despite the footman, he helped her down himself, up the steps to the front door, dropping a dutiful salute on her cheek. ‘Sleep well.’

‘Blackstone Mews,’ he said to the coachman, climbing back in. Mrs Cornwallis would have some new girls by now. It was six weeks since he had last called.

Two hours later Eden lay back on the purple silk covers, his eyes closed. If he kept them closed, the girl probably wouldn’t talk until he was ready to get up and go. He had already forgotten her name.

A fingertip trailed down his chest, circled his navel, drifted hopefully lower. His imagination made it Lady Maude’s finger, with predictable results.

‘Ooh!’ she said with admiration that was not all professional. ‘Why not stay all night?’

‘I never sleep here.’ Her voice chased away the image in his mind. Eyes open, Eden rolled off the bed and reached for his breeches.

‘Oh.’ Another woman who could manage an audible pout. ‘But you’ll ask for me next time?’

‘No. I never ask for the same girl twice.’ No entanglements, no expectations. No messy emotions on her part. Certainly no night spent with her in his arms, waking up off guard and vulnerable.

‘But I thought you liked me…’ And she had that wheedling tone off to perfection too. He kept his back to the bed as he fastened his shirt. Madame, cajoling over her millinery bill, actresses fluttering their eyelashes as they tried to persuade him to give them a role, those simpering Corwin girls in pursuit of a husband. Did every female in existence, he thought irritably, have to coax like that? It occurred to him that Lady Maude had been admirably direct. No simpering, pouting or wheedling from her. What, he wondered, did she want from him?

‘Good night.’ Eden did not look back as he went out of the door.

Chapter Three

Eden Hurst was pacing like one of the caged lions at the Tower. No, Maude silently corrected herself. Those animals were confined behind bars. However menacing they looked, with the muscles bunching under their sleek hides and the flash of white fangs, they were impotent.

This man was free. This man made things happen, just as she had sensed he would. He turned from checking a ledger someone had handed him and Maude moved back between the flats, stumbling slightly over the grooves they ran in. The paperwork dismissed, Hurst strode to the front of the stage and began a highly technical discussion with someone invisible in the pit about the placing of the instrumental players to achieve a certain required effect.

He had discarded his coat and rolled up his sleeves. There was no sign of last night’s exaggerated tailoring, unless one counted the very whiteness of the linen shirt that made his skin even more golden in contrast and the expensive cut of his pantaloons and waistcoat. There were no diamonds in his ear today, just the ring to give emphasis when he swept a hand down in a gesture to reinforce his orders.

Maude found her eyes fixed on the point where his waistcoat had been laced at the small of his back, emphasising the balance between broad shoulders and narrow waist, slim hips and long legs.

Now he put his fists on his hips and leaned back to stare up into the gods to where a hand was shouting a query. The line of his throat was that of a Greek statue, she thought.

‘Extraordinarily beautiful animal, isn’t he?’ a dispassionate male voice asked, just by her ear.

Maude felt herself colouring: she could hardly deny to herself how she had been looking at him. ‘Mr Hurst appears very fit,’ she said repressively, turning to find one of the walking gentlemen at her elbow.

‘I’m not interested in him that way, you understand,’ the man continued, still watching his employer through narrowed eyes. Maude tried to appear sophisticated and unshocked at the suggestion he might be interested. ‘I just wish I could move like that. I watch and watch, but I’m damned if I can get it. New, are you? Nice gown, by the way. My name’s Tom Gates, walking gentleman and hopeful juvenile lead if that clot Merrick upsets the apple cart.’

Maude regarded him with some interest. He looked about twenty-one, but from a distance, with make-up, she could see he could easily pass for a lad of seventeen. ‘Thank you, it is one of my favourite gowns. I’m sure you’d make a very good juvenile lead. Is Mr Merrick prone to trouble, then?’

‘He will be if he doesn’t stop lifting La Golding’s skirts,’ Tom confided frankly. ‘Either Susan Poole will run him through with a hat pin or the guv’nor will have his balls for making trouble in the cast. What’s your line, then? Too classy to be a walking lady, I’d have said.’

‘I am not an actress, I’m an investor,’ Maude explained, watching the blood drain from the young man’s face as he realised his faux pas. ‘I am early for a business meeting with Mr Hurst.’

‘Oh. My. God.’ He smote his forehead dramatically. ‘Should I go and pack my bags now, do you think? Let me see, have I remembered everything I said that you’ll be complaining about?’

‘Lady Maude. Gates? Be so good as to explain what will cause her ladyship to complain to me.’ Eden Hurst was standing right behind them, his expression one of polite interest. Maude thought that it was just how a shark would look before sampling one’s leg.

‘Good morning, Mr Hurst. There is absolutely nothing to be concerned over. I arrived somewhat early and Mr Gates has been so helpful in explaining things, but he seems conscience-stricken because he forgot to address me by my title. I do not regard it at all.’ She shared a sweet smile between both men. Gates shot her a look of adoring thanks, Mr Hurst merely raised one eyebrow in a manner calculated to infuriate anyone else who could not manage the same trick.

‘I’ll get your coat, Guv’nor.’ Gates shot across the stage like a retriever and returned with the garment, brushing it assiduously. His complexion had returned to normal.

‘Thank you. Have refreshments sent to my office.’ Hurst took her arm. ‘Alone again, Lady Maude?’

‘My maid is waiting in the Green Room.’ Maude had left Anna there, wide-eyed in anticipation of witnessing some of the scandalous behaviour she was convinced must go on in such a wicked place. So far, Maude imagined she had been seriously disappointed. The language might be colourful, but everyone was focused totally on their work. Mr Hurst ran a tight ship.

‘I will leave the door open, then.’ He showed her in, gesturing to the chair she had sat in the night before.

‘Why? Do you fear you may be unable to restrain your animal impulses again, Mr Hurst?’ Maude sat and placed a folder of papers on the desk.

Behind her the door shut with a sharp click. She pursed her lips to restrain the smile; it was part of her strategy to keep Eden Hurst on edge and she did appear to be undermining that control, just a little. ‘I was not failing, Lady Maude, and I was not acting upon impulse. I fully intended to do what I did. I always do.’

‘Excellent. So do I. And I prefer to keep my personal business confidential, so do, please, leave the door shut.’

She waited, hands folded demurely in her lap while he circled the desk and sat down on his sorcerer’s throne. He steepled his fingers, elbows on the carved arms, and regarded her in silence. The light from the window was behind him, no doubt intentionally. Maude, who had trained in the hard school of the Almack’s patronesses, waited, outwardly unruffled. Inwardly her stomach was executing acrobatics that would have impressed at Astley’s Amphitheatre.

‘In what way may I help you, Lady Maude?’

She felt she had scored a point by not babbling to fill the silence. She wanted to babble. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to climb into that big chair and curl up against him. ‘By moving my chair to the side of your desk, Mr Hurst. I dislike holding a conversation with someone whose face I cannot see.’

Without a word he got to his feet, came round the desk again, waited for her to rise and then moved the chair. ‘Here?’ How many people challenged him on his own ground? Would it impress him or merely irritate?

‘Excellent, thank you.’ Unasked, he moved her papers too, then shifted his chair so he could face her.

‘I wish to invest in the Unicorn, Mr Hurst.’

‘Indeed.’ Damn him, he might at least look faintly surprised. How many unmarried ladies did he have coming in offering him money? ‘And what makes you think I require investors, ma’am?’

‘I have heard some gossip to that effect and I should imagine all theatres need funds. And Miss Corwin tells me her father is thinking of investing with you.’ His mouth twisted wryly for a second, whether at the thought of Miss Corwin or of her father, Maude was not certain.

‘And what does your father think of this, might I ask?’

‘I have not discussed it with him as yet. Mr Hurst, I am five and twenty and I have had control of my own money for some time.’ An exaggeration—it was only since last year, in fact, when Papa had recognised that withholding control of it was not going to force her into the marriage with Gareth Morant, Lord Standon.

A gallant man would have exclaimed in surprise at her claiming such advanced years. It surprised Maude herself sometimes to realise how old she was and to acknowledge that most people would consider her almost on the shelf. Eden Hurst made no reference to her age at all. Now, was that galling or refreshing?

‘I have always been interested in the theatre, so this seemed an obvious thing to do. I am not intending to overcommit myself, I realise this is a risky business, however well run.’ That earned her an inclination of his head. Still no smile. The shark appeared to be circling, perhaps puzzled about what kind of prey had swum into its territory.

‘You have been a leading light in country-house amateur theatricals, no doubt, Lady Maude?’ The way he said her name made her swallow hard, every time. It was difficult to define just why. Something about the deep voice, perhaps, the touch of mockery she sensed behind the respectful address. Or was it just that she was so close and they were, at long last, talking?

‘I cannot act for toffee,’ she admitted with a smile. ‘As my family and friends always point out to me. No, my strengths lie in writing and producing dramas.’

‘Well, you are not writing or producing any in my theatre, let us be quite clear about that.’ So, the first sign of hackles rising. She was reminded of prints she had seen of Italian Renaissance princes, hard, handsome, elegant men staring out at the watcher in their pride and their power. Or perhaps, as those dark eyes narrowed and the sensual line of his mouth thinned, he was not an earthly prince, but one of the Devil’s henchmen.

Yes, the Unicorn was very much Eden Hurst’s theatre. ‘I do not wish to, not here—I am quite clear about the differences between amateur and professional theatre. I propose investing a sum of money. Our respective men of business can assess it as a percentage of the value of the business and I will thereafter take the appropriate share of the profits.’

‘Or losses.’

‘Or losses,’ she agreed equably. He had lowered his hands and now each curved over the lion masks at the end of the chair arms. He had big hands, she noticed, with long, elegant fingers. The well-kept nails contrasted with bruises and cuts on the backs of his hands, presumably from handling scenery. The contrast between strength and sensitivity was somehow arousing. Those were the fingers that had held her helpless with such negligent ease. Maude dragged her eyes away.

‘So you do allow a man of business to act for you?’

‘Of course. I believe in employing experts as I need them. Well? Does my proposal interest you?’

He did not answer her question directly. ‘And what involvement will you require?’

‘To see the books. To visit behind the scenes and watch rehearsals. To discuss policy and to put forward my ideas. But hardly to direct policy—you are the owner of the Unicorn, after all.’

There was a tap at the door and it swung open to reveal a large tea tray dwarfing the young woman who carried it. ‘I’ve raided Madame’s best tea, Guv’nor. Tom Gates said to make an effort.’

‘Thank you, Millie. I am sure you have.’ He waited until the door closed again. ‘Perhaps you would care to pour, Lady Maude.’

He waited while Maude busied herself with the tea things, then settled back, his cup unregarded on the desk. ‘How much, exactly, are you proposing to invest?’

She had given it a great deal of thought. Enough to make him take her seriously and to give her an entrée to the theatre and its management. Enough to give her every excuse to enter into his professional life on a regular basis. But not so much she would seem foolish or rash. Maude flipped open her folder and slid a paper across the table. ‘That much.’

There was silence for a long moment. Eden Hurst picked up the sheet and tapped it thoughtfully on the desk. ‘A not insignificant sum.’

‘I am a wealthy woman, Mr Hurst. That is the maximum that will be available. I do not regard this as a frivolous amusement to be pouring money into, you understand.’

‘I do. And you calculated your investment on your understanding of the value of a theatre I own.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I am afraid your research was not thorough enough, Lady Maude. I am not the owner of the Unicorn.’

‘You are not?’ He watched with interest the effect surprise had upon her. Those delicately arched brows shot up, a faint groove appeared between them. Then he saw her begin to think and speculate, the big brown eyes alive with intelligence. ‘It belongs to Madame Marguerite?’

‘No. I have to confess I have no idea who owns it. I deal with their agents, I pay the rent, I observe the lease conditions and I am met with a very polite refusal when I ask to meet their principal.’

‘How very mysterious.’ Another expression, one of lively curiosity, flitted across her face. That lovely visage was as easy to read as a book, but only, he suspected, when she wanted it to be. He was convinced that last night, after he had kissed her, her feelings were far from being reflected in her expression. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if she used that openness as a weapon to make him underestimate her.

Her dazzling smile took him by surprise. ‘Well, then, Mr Hurst, we must buy it.’

‘What? The Unicorn? We must?’

‘Can you afford it alone?’ This was frank speaking indeed. Eden contemplated snubbing her by loftily remarking that he had no intention of discussing his financial position with her, then caught himself. He was enjoying this meeting. There was no one he could discuss business with, not on equal terms. Madame merely wanted to know if there was sufficient money to maintain her lifestyle; his banker and his solicitor expected only to take orders and to offer advice when asked.

The small circle of men he admitted to anything approaching friendship were either too interested in his business for comfort if they were from the merchant class or completely uninterested if they were gentlemen. He had become used to taking all decisions alone, arguing problems out with himself.

And now here was, of all things, a young lady. Bright-eyed, confident, interested and quite unabashed at being alone with a man, speaking of things ladies were simply not expected to understand. And, miracle of miracles, she did not simper, she did not wheedle and she most certainly did not try to cajole.

Eden smiled. Lady Maude blushed, which was unexpected. Hastily he resumed a straight face. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was flirting with her. Not after last night. ‘No,’ he responded frankly. ‘I cannot afford to buy it alone just now. At least, not without committing myself more than is prudent.’

‘And are you always prudent, Mr Hurst?’ There was a laugh lurking in her eyes. Was she thinking about last night? He wished he was not, it was too damn uncomfortable.

‘With money, yes,’ he admitted and the answering smile made the corner of her eyes crinkle. Yes, she had been thinking about last night. So why had she blushed earlier?

Eden was used, without vanity, to women reacting strongly to his looks, although he saw to it that they never got close enough to him emotionally to react to the man behind that handsome face. His appearance was nothing to be proud of, in his opinion. He owed his looks to the father who had refused to have anything to do with him. As for the rest, he took care of his body, exercised hard and spent more than he needed on his clothes.

But Lady Maude was not flirting. She had reacted to his kiss with a mixture of innocence and appreciation that was arousing, yet her response afterwards had been that of an assured young matron and now… Now he had no idea how to read her. Which ought to be infuriating, not intriguing.

He realised that he must have been silent, thinking, for over a minute. Unperturbed, Lady Maude had opened her portfolio and was scribbling energetically. When she saw he was back with her she smiled, the uncomplicated smile of a friend. ‘I will need to rework these figures, for I am sure my banker will tell me I should not invest so much if you do not own the Unicorn. It is very vexing—you must press for information about the owner.’

‘I have tried; it is not going to be forthcoming.’

She sent him a look that said clearly that he had not exerted himself sufficiently in the matter. She was wrong. Ever since he was fourteen he had wanted his own theatre. Not a little provincial playhouse, but a significant, fashionable, demanding theatre to satisfy the longing that had entered him the first time he had set foot on a stage, the sense that he had come home. He had found the Unicorn and had known that this was love and that this was the only passion he could, or would, ever trust. But he could not speak of that to a near-stranger, or try and justify an emotion he only half-understood himself.

‘Lady Maude, have you considered what Lord Pangbourne is going to say when he knows what you are doing?’

‘Of course. He said I was old enough to make my own mistakes with my own money.’ She hesitated, her eyes sliding away from his. ‘Some time ago…he wanted me to marry someone; he had wanted it for years, in fact. Neither the gentleman nor I wished for it and things became—’ she broke off, searching for a word ‘—complicated, before Papa understood how things were. He has always been somewhat unconventional in his attitude to women’s education and freedoms. What happened has made him somewhat indulgent in many ways.’

So, not only was she intelligent, but she was also strong enough to stand up to parental pressure over her marriage. And now, at twenty-five, the Marriage Mart would consider her on the shelf, or almost so. Or was the daughter of an earl, wealthy in her own right, ever on the shelf? Perhaps she had grounds for her confidence.

‘He may be indulgent about how you invest your money, but he is not going to be so if he knows you are alone with me in my office, is he?’

That appeared to amuse her. ‘Do you imagine he will call you out, Mr Hurst?’

‘I imagine he will want to horsewhip me. I am not, after all, a gentleman, and therefore would not merit a challenge.’

Maude looked at him, her eyes wide and steady. ‘Yes, you are, in every way that counts. Or I would not be here.’

Her certainty knocked the breath out of him. He was accepted, to a point, in society as an intelligent, personable exotic. He could imagine the reaction if he so much as flirted with one of the young ladies on the Marriage Mart. And they, he was quite certain, would have had him pointed out by their mamas as completely ineligible, if not dangerous. Yet Lady Maude appeared to have no such scruples.

‘I will speak to my man of business tomorrow and amend my figures,’ she continued. ‘Would it be convenient to call in a few days’ time?’

‘I should not—’ He meant to say, I should not be doing business with you, but it came out differently. ‘I should not expect you to come here. Could I not meet you at his office? It would be safer, surely?’

‘For whom?’ she enquired, suddenly very much Lady Maude and not the unconventional young woman conducting her own negotiations. ‘I feel quite safe. Are you frightened of something?’

Eden drew in a deep breath, ignored the interestingly unsafe suggestions his body was making. ‘For myself, I fear nothing and nobody, Lady Maude.’ He let a chill harden his voice. He could not act, had never wanted to, but he had grown up surrounded by good actors and learned a trick or two. When he wanted to, he could intimidate and he found that useful.

Her lashes swept down to hide her thoughts, and he thought he had shaken her. Then she lifted her eyes and murmured, ‘Good. I will hold you to that.’ She closed her portfolio and got to her feet, smiling with ladylike composure as he rose to open the door. ‘I will send a note and come back here next week to discuss how to proceed.’

‘You will attend the first night of our new play?’

‘On Monday? I am looking forward to it. You will be putting on a ballet and a farce for the intervening nights, I assume?’

‘Yes. Trifling things, but I do not care to have the theatre dark.’ He looked down at her and knew he had to take control of this situation, whatever it was. ‘Lady Maude. Unless you tell Lord Pangbourne of your intentions, I must decline to discuss this matter further with you.’

For a moment he thought she would admit defeat and did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. ‘You make terms, Mr Hurst?’ she asked, her face unreadable.

‘That is what businessmen do.’

She stood there, one hand in its tight kid glove resting on the door frame, quite clearly thinking. ‘Mr Hurst, do you want me to take my money and go away?’

‘It would be safer for your reputation and it would certainly make life simpler,’ he said honestly.

‘That is not what I asked you,’ she said, managing to look down her nose at him, a considerable feat considering their respective heights.

‘No,’ Eden said, surprising himself. ‘No, I do not want you to go away. After all, I have so little in my life to worry about as it is. You will doubtless be the grit in my oyster.’ She glared in response to his sarcasm. To his horror he found himself thinking about kissing her face back into smiles. ‘But I mean it. Tell Lord Pangbourne before this goes any further. I want your word on it.’

‘My word, Mr Hurst?’ Her chin came up as she gathered her skirts in one hand. ‘You have it, sir. Good day to you.’

Chapter Four

Maude cupped her chin in her palm and regarded her father thoughtfully. For once they were both at the breakfast table at the same time, he having declared that he was not going to the House that day and she deciding it would be good tactics to forgo her usual early morning ride in Hyde Park in order to speak to him about the Unicorn.

She had spent an uncomfortable night fearing Eden’s scruples had overturned all her plans right at the outset.

‘Papa?’ He seemed to be in a good mood. His perusal of the Morning Post and The Times had provoked only half a dozen exclamations of wrath and he had not yet screwed up any of his morning correspondence and lobbed it at the fireplace.

‘Yes, my dear?’ He folded his paper and laid it beside the plate. ‘When your mother addressed me in that tone, she usually had some fixed purpose in mind.’

‘Well, and so I have. You recall saying I might have the control of my money unless I wanted to do something foolish with it and you would rely on Mr Benson to warn you if I did appear to be doing just that?’

‘I believe I said something of that nature,’ he responded, wary. ‘Rainbow, that will be all. I will ring if I need anything.’

The butler bowed, nodded at his subordinates to follow him and left them alone.

‘Tell me. I am braced for the worst.’ Lord Pangbourne folded his hands over his stomach.

‘You know the Unicorn theatre?’

‘I should do, since you rent a box there and we have visited regularly since it reopened.’

‘You will have noticed that it is one of the best of the non-Patent theatres and that the manager, Mr Hurst, has been improving it.’

‘The gas lighting, yes.’

‘I wish to invest in it.’ She sat back and tried to look calm, as though she had asked if she should buy government bonds, or some rental property in a good area. Her fingers hurt; she found they were knotted into her napkin. Maude frowned at them and made herself relax.

‘In gas lighting? I believe that could well be the coming thing.’ He lifted the newspaper. ‘There are some companies advertising here, in fact—’

‘In the Unicorn, Papa.’ Time for complete frankness. Almost. ‘I wish to invest a sum in the theatre and to take an interest in its overall policy. I find it most interesting.’

‘The theatre? But, Maude, that is not at all a respectable world, not on that side of the curtain. It is inhabited by the demi-monde and frequented by gentlemen who are not there because of their interest in the dramatic arts—I am sure I need not say more. For a woman to be connected with the stage is to court ruin. It is quite out of the question.’

‘I do not want to appear on the stage, Papa,’ Maude said. ‘That would be a scandal indeed—think how bad my acting is! And I most certainly do not want to be behind the scenes when the gentlemen come calling in the evening. I can quite see what a risk that would be.’

He was frowning at her, bless him. He did try so hard to let her be herself. Maude knew she was indulged, far beyond what most single young women of her background were. And she knew too that her position meant that what would be condemned as outrageously fast if done by, say, the daughter of an obscure baronet, could be carried off with dash by the daughter of an earl.

‘What about your charity work?’ Lord Pangbourne asked. ‘Are Lady Belinda’s wounded soldiers no longer absorbing your time?’

‘Of course, I have a committee meeting this afternoon. But it is hardly a full-time occupation, Papa.’

‘And the Season will soon be in full swing,’ he pointed out.

‘Yes. And neither is that all consuming, at least, not during the day. I like to be busy, Papa, and to use my brain.’

‘I would like it if you just stood still long enough for a nice young man to catch you,’ Lord Pangbourne said with a sigh. ‘I suppose you want me to say that Benson should call on this manager chap—Hurst, is it?—and suggest a basis for your investment.’

‘Yes, Mr Hurst. But I have already called upon him and proposed my scheme.’

His lordship choked on his coffee and put his cup down with enough force to rattle the saucer. ‘Called on him? My God, Maude, of all the shocking—’

‘I took my maid, Papa, and called at the theatre in the morning, not at his home, naturally.’ Maude knew she couldn’t act, but she felt fairly confident in her expression of outrage.

‘It is still most unwise. The man is not a gentleman. And the theatre of all places!’

‘Well, his behaviour was most gentleman-like,’ she asserted. ‘I felt quite comfortable. I was served tea and waited upon by a maid.’ That was doubtless stretching the description of the lass who was probably the general dogsbody. ‘And everyone there was behaving most decorously.’ If one disregarded Mr Gates’s indiscretions, of course. ‘Would you meet Mr Hurst and judge for yourself? I thought perhaps we could invite him to our box in the interval on Monday. You do want to see the revival of How to Tease and How to Please, don’t you, Papa?’

It would allow Papa to judge Eden face to face and it would reassure Eden that she had spoken to her father. He would not take kindly to being summoned to the house to be inspected, she was sure of that, but on his home ground he might be less prickly. She would order champagne with the refreshments and think carefully about who to invite to join the party for the evening. No one who would be shocked by a man wearing a diamond ear stud, that was for sure.

The committee for Lady Dereham’s Charity for the Employment of Soldiers Disabled by the Late War—or Bel’s Battalion, as her husband irreverently referred to it—was somewhat diminished in numbers that afternoon. Bel’s cousin Elinor was on the Continent with Theo Ravenhurst, her new husband; Elinor’s mother Lady James Ravenhurst was studying Romanesque churches and the Grand Duchess Eva de Maubourg, a cousin by marriage, was at home in Maubourg and not expected in London until early March.

Jessica had been welcomed into the committee on her marriage. It was a positive coven of Ravenhurst cousins, her husband Gareth Morant, Earl of Standon—himself a cousin—had joked. Maude would have become a Ravenhurst if her father’s intention to marry her to Gareth had come to pass and she had known most of the family since she was a child.

The Reverend Mr Make peace, Treasurer, was already seated in Bel’s dining room, fussily arranging his papers on the long mahogany table while assuring Lady Wallace, a lady of a certain age and indefatigable energies, that the money she had extracted from her long-suffering husband had been safely banked. Mr Climpson, Lady Wallace’s solicitor, and legal adviser to the charity, bowed punctiliously to Maude and pulled out a chair for her while Jessica waved gaily from the other side of the room where she was talking to Bel.

The minutes read, and matters arising dealt with, they sat through Mr Makepeace’s interminable report. Maude surfaced from a daydream involving Eden Hurst and herself alone in her box at the Unicorn to discover that the charity was in excellent financial health.

‘In fact, our only problem at the moment appears to be finding other sources of employment for the men on our books,’ Jessica remarked. ‘We have bought three inns now, which employ all those suited for the various roles those offer.’ She scanned the lists in front of her. ‘We have placed sixteen men with various craftsmen and a further twelve in domestic service or stables, but there are still fifteen unsuited and, as you know, more come to us every week, despite the war being over now for almost two years.’

‘What about theatres?’ Maude asked, the idea coming straight out of her daydream. ‘Stagehands, door-keepers, scene painters, carpenters—there must be many types of work the men would be suitable for.’

‘Excellent,’ Lady Wallace applauded, shushing Mr Makepeace, who started to say something about immorality. ‘What a clever idea, Lady Maude.’

‘But however will we find out what is available?’ Jessica asked, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘Who can we possibly ask?’

‘It just so happens,’ Maude said, attempting to kick her friend under the table and painfully finding the table leg instead, ‘I know someone who might be able to help.’

‘I was going to ask you and Gareth to join me in my box on Monday,’ she said to Jessica as the others departed. ‘And then you could have met Mr Hurst because he is taking champagne with Papa and me during the interval.’ At least, she hoped he was; she hadn’t written to him yet. ‘But if you are going to be so unkind as to tease me, I will ask Bel and Ashe instead.’

‘Ask us what?’ Bel came back into the room and eased herself down on a chair. ‘Oh, my feet! I have been playing with Annabelle all morning and I am quite worn out with that meeting on top of it.’

‘How exhausting can playing with a baby be?’ Maude demanded. ‘She’s tiny.’ A doting expression came over Bel’s face, so she added hastily, ‘Anyway, will you and Ashe be able to come to the theatre with us on Monday?’

‘We’d love to. Your box at the Unicorn? Do you mind if we bring another gentleman with us? Ashe has a navy friend coming to spend a few nights.’ She looked up, obviously making connections. ‘Is that where you think you may be able to find employment for some of the men?’

‘Possibly. I am intending to invest in the theatre and Papa wishes to meet the manager before he will support me.’

‘I should think he does.’ Bel narrowed her eyes. ‘You are up to something, Maude Templeton.’

‘As I said, investing. Of course, it is somewhat unconventional,’ Maude said airily.

‘And of course Mr Hurst of the Unicorn is very good looking,’ Jessica added slyly. ‘Gareth and I are definitely coming on Monday. I’m not missing this for anything.’

‘No!’ Bel sat up straighter, weariness forgotten. ‘Hurst? But surely I have heard of him.’ She bit the tip of her finger in thought. ‘Eden Hurst? But he is notorious for his affaires with married ladies! Ashe warned me about him, although I gather he is hardly predatory; he just stands around looking handsome and they throw themselves at him as they did at Byron. But Maude, even if he is a lay preacher in his spare time, he still has to be utterly ineligible, you wicked woman. Darling, I don’t think this is sensible; he’s received, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be ruined by associating with him.’

‘I wish to invest in his company,’ Maude protested, flustered that Bel had immediately leapt to the conclusion that she wanted Eden Hurst. As for his reputation—well, she refused to think about that just now.

But Bel had seen Jessica’s face and Jessica knew only too well what she wanted. ‘Oh, very well, Jessica will tease until you know it all anyway. I intend making Eden Hurst fall in love with me. He is intelligent, charismatic, dynamic and beautiful. When I talk to him it is not like any other conversation I have with anyone. I was right when I sensed he was meant for me; when I am with him I feel more alive than you can imagine. There is so much passion in him, so tightly controlled. Passion for the theatre, I mean,’ she clarified as Jessica rolled her eyes.

‘He just doesn’t know yet that I am the woman for him. I intend to give him every opportunity to realise it.’

‘Goodness,’ Bel said weakly. ‘And then what? You cannot possibly marry him. Think of his reputation.’

‘If he marries me, he will not be having affaires. And why should he not marry me?’ Maude demanded. ‘He is very well off. And his father, I believe, was an Italian prince.’

‘But was he married to Mr Hurst’s mother? That’s the point,’ Jessica queried. ‘Hurst is not exactly a Italian name, now is it?’

‘Er…no.’ She turned in a swirl of skirts and plumped down in a chair. ‘It is no use the pair of you looking at me like that. You don’t have to tell me it is going to be difficult. I want to marry an illegitimate, half-Italian theatre owner with a reputation. He is quite a rich illegitimate theatre owner,’ she added hopefully.

‘Maude,’ Bel said gently. ‘Money is not going to be the issue. Breeding is.’

‘I have enough breeding for both of us, and he is a gentleman, even if society won’t see it,’ Maude declared, beginning to be alarmed despite herself. She had expected Jessica and Bel to support her.

‘Yes, but what does he think about this?’

‘Nothing at all, as yet, other than I am very unconventionally intending to invest with him. I have been cool and businesslike. I intend to grow upon him.’

Jessica snorted inelegantly. ‘Maude, I am your friend, so I can say frankly that you are a very beautiful woman. The man has kissed you—passionately, by all accounts. And you are waiting to grow on him? I should imagine your financial assets are the last thing on his mind at the moment.’

‘He has done what?’ Bel’s face was a picture.

‘Kissed me. By accident. He thought I was someone else,’ Maude explained patiently. ‘It was wonderful, but he appears more than capable of restraining his animal passions when I am alone with him, believe me.’

‘Oh. That’s not very encouraging,’ Bel said, then caught herself. ‘I mean, what a good thing. To be fair, according to his reputation he does not appear to be dangerous to virgins.’

Maude determinedly ignored contemplating who else Eden Hurst might be dangerous to. ‘Well, I am not concerned. I want him to fall in love with me, gradually. Not lust after me. That, too, of course, in time, but I am sure desire clouds men’s brains. Love first, then lust.’

‘It doesn’t work that way round,’ Bel observed, smiling. Jessica nodded in agreement as she continued, ‘I’m afraid the poor weak things work on the basis that anything female between the ages of sixteen and sixty is looked at with the eye of lust. One’s finer features, such as your mind or your skill at the harp, or your lovely nature, have to grow upon them.’

‘Oh.’ Somewhat daunted, Maude regarded her two friends. ‘I wanted him to be so passionately in love with me that he would disregard the difference in our positions.’

‘Not if he has the gentlemanly instincts you say he has,’ Jessica pointed out with depressing logic. ‘If he loved you, then he would sacrifice himself by refusing to see you any more. As Bel said, he does seem to restrict himself to married women, so he has some scruples.’

‘And anyway,’ Bel added, ‘it isn’t what he thinks about your respective positions, it is what society thinks.’

Maude fell silent, wrestling with the conundrum. The only possible solution appeared to be to become his lover, then hope he fell in love and realised that, having hopelessly compromised her, he must marry her. But what if he did not fall in love and felt he had to offer anyway?

‘This is 1817,’ she said, raising her chin and meeting their sympathetic looks with determination. ‘Things are changing, men with wealth and intelligence are breaking into society.’

‘Merchant bankers and nabobs, maybe,’ Jessica said doubtfully. ‘But the theatre is simply not respectable. Not for marriage.’

‘In that case,’ Maude declared, getting to her feet, ‘the Unicorn is going to become the first respectable theatre in the country.’

‘The evening post, sir.’ Eden’s butler proffered the laden salver. ‘Dinner will be served in thirty minutes, sir.’

‘Thank you.’ Eden took the pile of letters and began to flick through them. He was dining at home, alone, for the first time in weeks and finding it hard to relax. His brain was still working on too many levels. There were the remaining issues with the staging for How to Tease, there were the tactics to persuade Madame to take the role of Lady Macbeth and, if she did, the problem of producing a version that would not bring down the wrath of the Patent theatres and the Lord Chamberlain for performing ‘legitimate’ drama without a licence.

Ways of improving the scene shifting were beginning to form at the back of his mind, there was the situation between Golding, Merrick and Poole to resolve and decisions about investments to make.

Investments. He tossed the letters down on to his desk unopened. They were not normally a problem. His instructions to his broker were straightforward enough, he simply had to decide on one or two points and send a letter to the man. No, it was Lady Maude Templeton and her harebrained desire to invest in the Unicorn that was baffling him. And Eden Hurst did not like being baffled. Challenged, yes—he enjoyed a good fight. But not baffled by a brown-eyed lady with a pointed chin, a cool manner and a staggering disregard for convention.

He wanted to make love to her. Oh, yes, he most definitely wanted that. His imagination had no trouble conjuring up the image of her naked on his big bed upstairs, that thick hair tumbling around her shoulders, her hands gripping his shoulders as he sank into the tight wet heat of her. But he also, oddly, wanted to get to know her. Understand her, not simply discover why she had come up with this madcap scheme. And why should he want to do that?

Eden gave himself a brisk mental shake and returned to his post. Bills, letters from aspiring players, the opening scenes of a play written in odd green ink… He really should get a secretary for all this.

One plain white wrapper of fine quality paper, sealed with a crest pressed into the dark blue wax; that looked more interesting. He cracked the seal and spread out the single sheet.

Lord Pangbourne requests the pleasure of Mr Hurst’s company for refreshments during the second interval at the Unicorn on Monday next.

‘My God, she has told him.’ Eden stared at the invitation, reluctant admiration stirring. No sign of a horsewhip, not yet at any rate. Perhaps the earl was as unconventional as his daughter, or perhaps he thought to show her just how unsuitable a person Eden was for her to associate with by putting him into a social situation.

That was the logical answer. And in order to remove the puzzle of Lady Maude from his life, all he had to do was to turn up and act as Lord Pangbourne would expect. Eden toyed with the combination of clothing and manner that would make him appear louche, dangerous and entirely impossible.

His on-stage style was already established; he just needed to develop that to the point of caricature. He had seen enough old-school actor-managers to be able to assemble the worst characteristics of all of them. And then even the most indulgent father would take fright and bundle his daughter off out of harm’s way, leaving Eden to manage his theatre in tranquillity.

He picked up the paper and as he did so the faint scent of gardenias wafted to his nostrils. So, this firm black hand was not that of the earl or his secretary. Lady Maude herself had penned it. Eden smiled thinly. Was her father even aware he was going to have a visitor to his box on Monday night?

Chapter Five

‘It is fortunate that the private boxes at the Unicorn are spacious, for this one seems very full of large men tonight,’ Jessica remarked to Maude on Monday evening as the Derehams entered with their guest. Lord Pangbourne, with Gareth at his side, was greeting them, giving the friends the opportunity to study As he’s naval acquaintance.

‘Why not fall for him?’ Jessica whispered. ‘He looks so distinguished in that uniform and he is very good looking and not too old either. Not more than thirty, do you think? A younger son, of course, but excellent connections. Your father would be delighted.’

‘I have no interest in other men, as you very well know,’ Maude hissed back, too tense to enjoy being teased. The officer was tall and rangy in his dark blue uniform, his hair close cropped, his eyes, as he turned to be introduced to the two young women, a deep and attractive blue against weather-tanned skin.

‘Lady Standon, Maude, this is Captain Warnham. My lord—Lady Standon, my daughter Lady Maude.’

Greetings exchanged, the captain settled his long frame between Maude and Jessica. ‘It is a long time since I have been inside an English theatre,’ he commented, looking around with interest. From the boxes opposite came the flash of light on lenses as opera glasses were raised to scrutinise comings and goings. It would be all round the ton before long that a handsome naval officer was newly in town.

‘You have been at sea for many months?’ Maude enquired, fanning herself. The theatre was crowded and the heat rising from the gas lamps added to that generated by the crowd and her own anxiety.

‘Three months in the South Atlantic, ma’am. I am back for some weeks before sailing for Jamaica on another mission.’

‘The West Indies? How fascinating, I have always wanted to go to those islands.’ Maude, her twitching nerves over Eden momentarily forgotten, leaned closer. ‘They always sound so romantic and exotic.’

Captain Warnham smiled. ‘They have their charms, I am sure, but they also have slavery, hurricanes, tropical disease and pirates.’

‘And sunshine and blue seas and parrots and waving palm trees,’ Maude said wistfully, thinking of the drizzle that affected London.

‘My husband and Lady Belinda have a cousin in Jamaica, do you not, Bel?’ Jessica raised her voice to catch Bel’s attention.

‘Jamaica? Yes, Clemence Ravenhurst. We are expecting her father to bring her over to England this summer to stay so she can have an English come-out next Season. I expect your ships will pass in mid-Atlantic, Captain.’

They began to chat, Bel and Gareth explaining what they knew about their youngest uncle, a highly successful West Indies merchant.

Now he is in trade, Maude thought resentfully. The youngest son of a duke and no one thinks the worse of him for it. But, of course, Lord Clement Ravenhurst was a very successful man and did not soil his own hands with the details of his luxury goods business. Presumably wealth and birth wiped out the stain of trade, if you had sufficient of both.

‘What a pity he will not be at home when you are there, Captain Warnham,’ Bel concluded. ‘We would have given you letters of introduction.’

The orchestra began to file into the pit and tune up, earning catcalls and jeers for the cacophony from the common folk up in the one-shilling gallery. The noise gradually subsided back to the usual hubbub and then the lights were dimmed and the curtain rose on the first piece of the evening, a short farcical item featuring the company heavy as a strict father, thwarted at every turn by the ingenious antics of his daughter’s suitors.

‘I have every sympathy with the fellow,’ Lord Pangbourne remarked as the furious father chased a young man over a balcony while, behind his back, another rake took advantage and snatched a kiss from the daughter. Maude recognised Tom Gates, the ambitious walking man, who whisked out of sight behind a convenient curtain in the nick of time.

‘It is an ingenious piece,’ Captain Warnham agreed, laughing at the business between the cast, the maid changing clothes with her mistress, while the two young men dressed as footmen and the baffled father searched frantically for his daughter. In a few minutes the happy couple escaped down a rope ladder, the remaining suitor consoled himself with the maid and the curtain came down on appreciative applause.

There was a short interval before the next piece, a ballet. Maude reviewed her preparations for the main interval: canapés, champagne, two small tables to be brought in and the seats rearranged. But who to place where?

She wanted her father to appreciate Eden’s strong points, not be distracted by long hair or diamond ear studs or over-emphatic tailoring. Perhaps best not to place him next to the clean-cut Lord Warnham in his dress uniform. Between Bel and Jessica then…

‘You are muttering,’ Jessica said.

‘I want you and Bel to sit either side of Mr Hurst,’ Maude whispered back. ‘I don’t want him sitting next to Captain Warnham and making Papa think of haircuts.’

‘I think the length of his hair is the least of your problems.’

One step at a time, Maude told herself, sitting through the ballet in such a state of abstraction that she would have been hard pressed to say whether there had been dancers or circus horses on stage if questioned afterwards.

Eden’s note in response to the invitation had arrived, punctiliously prompt and formal. But would he really come?

The waiter came in with the refreshments and, on his heels, a tall figure, dark against the brightness of the open doorway.

‘Standon, my dear fellow, would you—?’ Lord Pangbourne broke off in confusion, realising that the man he thought he was addressing was still seated to his left. The figure moved, the light fell across his face and Maude let out a long, inaudible sigh. Eden.

Her father got to his feet, ponderous and, for all his formal good manners, wary. ‘Mr Hurst?’

‘My lord.’ He came in, as the waiter closed the door behind him, and inclined his head to his host.

‘Allow me to make you known to Lady Dereham, Lady Standon, my daughter Lady Maude—’

Papa is pretending we have not met, Maude realised, returning the bow with slight curtsy, while her father completed the introductions and waved Eden to the chair by his side.

And then she realised what was different about him. Gone was the exotic theatre manager, gone too was the working man in his shirtsleeves, and in their place was a perfectly conventional gentleman in well-cut evening formality, a modest ruffle on his white shirt, the dull sheen of garnet satin on his waistcoat and just a hint of sparkle in the strange old ring, his only piece of jewellery. Even his hair had been ruthlessly pomaded and brushed into a fashionable style that distracted the eye from its length.

He is making an effort, she thought, astonished. It had never occurred to her that Eden Hurst might go out of his way to impress her father. Was it because he needed the money, or because he did not want to lose her as…as what? An investor? That was all she could be to him at the moment, surely?

Lord Pangbourne, nobody’s fool, even though he cultivated an appearance of bluff and bluster, had apparently realised that he could hardly explain to a boxful of guests, one of whom was a virtual stranger, that he had invited Mr Hurst there to interview him as a potential business partner for his daughter. He had also, while introductions had been made, managed things so that the men were all sitting to one side of the box and Maude was safely trapped between the other two ladies.

She realised, with sinking heart, that Bel and Jessica had not exaggerated the unconventionality of what she was doing. Gareth and Ashe were regarding Eden with expressions of politely neutrality, but she knew them both too well to be deceived. They were watchful and suspicious and, she feared, disapproving.

‘Good of you to join us,’ her father remarked, pouring champagne. ‘I’m very interested in this new gas lighting you have here. Thinking of installing it myself. What do you think?’

‘I would not put it in my own home, not just yet.’ Eden took the glass, but did not drink. Close to the naval officer’s tanned skin his colouring seemed less exotic. He looked and sounded just like the rest of them, yet he was the focus of more than polite attention. ‘There is an odour, and it is dangerous without proper ventilation. But, in a year or two, I think it will replace oil everywhere.’

Captain Warnham, for whom this was apparently the first sight of gas used inside, joined in the conversation with a remark about the gas lights installed on Westminster Bridge in 1813 and all four men were soon deep into the technicalities.

Maude rolled her eyes at her friends, but Bel smiled and nodded encouragement. And, yes, superficially it was a success. They could have been any group of gentlemen engrossed in discussion, but she sensed relief all round at such a neutral topic that could distance the men from the ladies.

Eden, she realised, had muted his forceful character. He deferred to the older man, held his own with the others, yet it was as though he had turned down the wick on the lamp of his personality.

Clever, Maude thought. He is adapting himself to his company, blending in. She met his eyes across the table. His expression hardly changed, yet she sensed rueful amusement. He knew exactly what he was doing, but he did not seem entirely happy that he was doing it. And he sensed the raised hackles of the other men.

‘We are neglecting the ladies,’ he remarked, bringing all eyes to where his gaze was resting, her face.

‘But I am fascinated by gas lighting,’ she said sweetly, all wide-eyed feminine attentiveness. His lips were definitely quirking now. It was infectious. She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself smiling back. ‘Still, we do not have that much time before the curtain rises again. Will you not tell us about the next piece? My father saw it the last time it was produced in London.’

‘In 1810 at Covent Garden, my lord? We have had to adapt it here, of course, because of the licence, add a short ballet, and some songs, hence our choice of Mrs Furlow in the lead; she has just the voice for it. Still, it is very much the same comedy you will recall from before.’ He uses his voice like an actor, Nell thought, listening to how he spoke, not what he said. It was a deep and flexible voice, shaded with colour. He seemed to have it as much under his control as his face, betraying only what he wanted to show.

Her father was relaxing now; she saw his shoulders shake as he recounted some piece of amusing business from the production he remembered.

The conversation moved on while she was brooding. Gareth must have asked Captain Warnham about his new ship. ‘Do you welcome another commission so far from home?’

‘I am a career officer, I go where I am ordered and may do most good, but in any case I could not turn down the opportunity to make war on pirates. They are everything I loathe.’

‘But are there any left?’ Maude asked. ‘Enough to be a problem?’

‘Not so many now, we have them under control in many areas. But those that remain are the worst of them. And like rats they know we almost have them cornered and that makes them the more vicious. They used to take prisoners for ransom; now they cut their throats and throw them overboard.’

The party fell silent, chilled, Maude sensed, not so much by the horror of what he was describing, but the controlled anger with which he said it.

Bel, the more experienced hostess, picked up the thread of the conversation after a heartbeat had passed and moved them on to safer ground. ‘I love to read the shipping news in the daily papers,’ she remarked. ‘It is so fascinating to see where they have come from to reach us, bearing our luxuries all that way.’

All those luxuries, Maude thought, unfurling her Chinese fan and looking at it with new eyes, brought over huge distances at such risk. She looked up and found Eden was still watching her and was visited by the odd idea that he knew what she was thinking. Then the imagined look of understanding was gone and he rose to his feet.

‘You will excuse me, my lords, ladies. The curtain rises soon.’ He bowed and was gone, his champagne untouched, leaving the crowded box feeling somehow empty.

‘What a pleasant man,’ Bel remarked, carefully not looking in Maude’s direction. ‘Not at all what I would have expected of a theatre proprietor.’

‘Indeed not,’ Jessica added. ‘One can only think that the theatre is becoming so much more respectable these days.’

‘Superficially, perhaps. But it is scarcely eight years since the riots over the changes at Covent Garden,’ Gareth countered. ‘Nor can one call that sort of thing respectable.’ He nodded towards the box opposite where a party of bucks were becoming very familiar indeed with three young women whose manners and clothing clearly proclaimed them to be of the demi-monde. Gareth appeared quite unconscious of the dagger-looks his wife was darting in his direction.

‘And matters will be laxer on the Continent, I have no doubt,’ Ashe added, his eyes resting on the door as though he could still see Eden.

‘Oh, look,’ said Maude with bright desperation, ‘Here come the string players.’ Across from her, Lord Pangbourne appeared sunk in thought.

‘What did you think, Papa?’ Maude ventured as the carriage clattered over the wet cobbles on its way back to Mount Street.

‘Excellent production. In my opinion, adding the songs helped it. It was a lot livelier than I remembered.’

‘Not the play, Papa, although I am pleased you enjoyed it. Mr Hurst.’

‘Surprising chap. Not what I expected.’ Lord Pangbourne fell silent.

‘And?’

‘And I need to sleep on it.’ He sighed gustily. ‘Confound it, Maude, I know I promised you more freedom, but I don’t know what your mother would say if she were here.’

‘Yes, probably,’ Maude ventured. ‘She was very unconventional, was she not, Papa?’

‘Very fast, you mean,’ he said, but she could hear he was smiling. ‘Your mama, my dear, was a handful. And so are you. I don’t like refusing you anything, Maude; I promised your mother I would never make you feel as she did as a girl—caged. But I don’t want to see you hurt too.’

‘Hurt?’ She swallowed hard. He realised her feelings were involved?

‘By any kind of scandal. You can ride out a lot in your position, but that’s an uncommon man you’d be dealing with.’ He certainly is… ‘I’ll sleep on it,’ he pronounced. And with that she knew she would have to be satisfied.

It was not until she was sitting up in bed an hour later that what he had said about her mother sank in. I don’t want to see you hurt too. Mama had been hurt? But by what? Or whom?

Breakfast was not a good time to ask questions about the past, Maude decided, pouring coffee and schooling herself to patience. It would take three cups and the first scan of The Times before she could expect anything from her father.

‘Well,’ he said, pushing back his chair at length and fixing her with a disconcertingly direct look. ‘I was impressed by that Hurst fellow, despite myself. You may invest in that theatre, to the limit that Benson advises, and not a penny more. You will not go backstage after four in the afternoon and you will always, always, go there with a chaperon. He might be a good imitation of a gentleman, but he’s young, he’s ruthless and he’s unconventional. A chaperon at all times—is that clear, Maude? I see no reason to be telling all and sundry about this involvement of yours either.’

‘Yes, Papa.’ Oh, yes, Papa! ‘Thank you. I do believe this will be a worthwhile investment.’

‘It will be if it makes you happy, my dear. Just be prudent, that is all I ask.’

Prudent. That was what Eden declared himself to be, with money at least. Men seemed to set great store by prudence. Maude’s lips curved. Now she had to teach him to be imprudent with his heart. This morning she would write and tell him she had her father’s approval, make an appointment to call with Mr Benson.