London, 1814

A season of secrets, scandal and seduction in high society!

A darkly dangerous stranger is out for revenge, delivering a silken rope as his calling card. Through him, a long-forgotten past is stirred to life. The notorious events of 1794 which saw one man murdered and another hanged for the crime are brought into question. Was the culprit brought to justice or is there still a treacherous murderer at large?

As the murky waters of the past are disturbed, so is the Ton! Milliners and servants find love with rakish lords and proper ladies fall for rebellious outcasts, until finally the true murderer and spy is revealed.

REGENCY Silk & Scandal

From glittering ballrooms to a smuggler’s cove in Cornwall, from the wilds of Scotland to a Romany camp and from the highest society to the lowest…

Don’t miss all eight books in this thrilling new series!

Paying the Virgin’s Price
Regency Silk & Scandal

by

Christine Merrill

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons and too many pets – all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

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REGENCY Silk & Scandal

COLLECT ALL EIGHT BOOKS IN THIS WONDERFUL NEW SERIES

The Lord and the Wayward Lady

Louise Allen

Paying the Virgin’s Price

Christine Merrill

The Smuggler and the Society Bride

Julia Justiss

Claiming the Forbidden Bride

Gayle Wilson

The Viscount and the Virgin

Annie Burrows

Unlacing the Innocent Miss

Margaret McPhee

The Officer and the Proper Lady

Louise Allen

Taken by the Wicked Rake

Christine Merrill

To Annie, Gayle, Julia, Louise and Margaret. It’s been amazing, working with you, and I love you all.

Chapter One
February, 1814. London

The air of the Fourth Circle gaming hell was thick with the usual miasma of tobacco smoke and whisky, blended with the tang of sweat that Nathan Wardale had come to associate with failure. Another’s failure, fortunately for him. Nate stared over the cards in his hand at the nervous man on the other side of the green baize table. He was hardly more than a boy. And he was about to learn the first of manhood’s lessons.

The manchild cleared his throat. ‘If you could see your way clear…’

‘I could not,’ Nate responded without emotion, shuffling the cards. ‘If your purse is empty, then you had best leave the table.’

His opponent bristled. ‘Are you implying that my word is not good?’

‘I am implying nothing of the kind. Experience has taught me never to accept an IOU. If you have nothing of value upon your person, then play is done.’

‘It is most unfair of you to stop when I am losing.’ Though he had just come of age, the young man was also a marquis. He was used to getting his own way, especially from one so obviously common as Nate.

Nate shrugged in response. ‘On the contrary. It is most unfair of you to expect me to treat a promise of payment as a stake in the game. While I do not doubt that you would make good, I have found that gentlemen behave rashly when their backs are to the wall. Later, they regret what they have promised in the heat of play.’

The boy sneered as though what other men might do meant nothing to him. ‘And what do you expect of me, then? Bet my signet against the next hand?’

‘If you wish.’

‘It is entailed.’

‘Then you are finished playing.’

The other’s chin jutted out in defiance. ‘I will say when I am finished.’He pulled the ring from his finger and tossed it onto the table. ‘This is easily worth all that you have in front of you. One more hand.’

‘Very well.’ Nate yawned and dealt the cards. And a short time later, when the play had gone the way he knew it would, he scooped the ring forward and into his purse, along with the rest of his winnings.

‘But, you cannot,’ the young noble stammered. ‘It is not mine.’

‘Then why did you bet it?’ Nate looked at him, unblinking.

‘I thought I could win.’

‘And I have proven to you that you could not. It is a good thing for both of us that you were willing to trade such a small thing. It is only a symbol of your family’s honour. Easily replaced, I am sure. I will add it to the collection of similar items that have come into my possession from people like you, who would not listen to reason.’

The boy watched the purse vanishing into Nate’s pocket as though he were watching his future disappear. ‘But what am I to tell my father?’

‘That is none of my concern. If it were me, I’d tell him that he has a fool for a son.’

The boy slammed his fist against the table so hard that Nate feared something must break, then he sprang to his feet, doing his feeble best to loom threateningly. Nate could see that his opponent was wavering on the edge of issuing a challenge, so he prepared to signal the toughs that the owner, Dante Jones, kept ready to eject angry losers. But as Nate stared up into the young man’s eyes, he watched the other’s expression change as he weighed the possibility that Nate might be as successful at duelling as he was at playing cards.

Then the boy stood down and walked away from the table without another word.

Nate let out his breath slowly, so as not to call attention to it. He could feel the weight of the signet in his pocket, but it would not do to examine the thing while here. It would appear that he was gloating over the fallen. And though the infamous gambler Nate Dale had many faults, he did not gloat.

He was quite sure that he had taken a similar ring from the boy’s father, not two years ago. The current ring was not a true part of the entail, but a duplicate, made to hide the loss of the original. The real ring was in a box on Nate’s bed chamber dresser. It was just one small part of a collection of grisly trophies to remind him what men might do when the gambling fever was upon them and they were convinced that their luck was about to turn.

He wondered what that feeling was like, for he had never had it. It had been years since there had been a doubt in his mind on the subject of table luck. There had been bad hands, of course. And even bad days. But things always came right again before he felt the sting of loss. He had but to remain calm and wait for the tide to turn. To all and sundry, he was known as the luckiest man in England.

So it was with cards or dice. And as for the rest of his life? He had learned to content himself with the fact that it was unlikely to get any worse.

He stared around the room at the typical night’s crowd assembled there. Winners and losers, noise and bustle. A few widows who enjoyed games more intimate than faro. One of them gave him a come-hither look, and he responded with a distant smile and a shake of his head. What must that say of his state of mind if he had become too jaded to value her considerable charms over an evening spent at home alone? But the energy in the room seemed to sap his strength rather than restore it, and it was wearying beyond words to think that tomorrow night would be just the same as tonight.

At least tonight was over. Nate started to push away from the table, then felt a shadow fall across it. When he glanced up, another player was moving into the chair that had been vacated by the previous owner of Nate’s new ring. The stranger was dark of hair, eye, skin and mood. Though he was smiling, the expression on his face was every bit as foreboding as a storm cloud on the horizon. Perhaps it was from the pain of a recent injury, for he bore his left arm in a sling.

Nate barely bothered to look at the man’s face, turning all his attention to the shuffling of the deck in his hands. ‘Fancy a game?’

The stranger nodded, and sat.

Damn. Nate kissed goodbye to his plan for a warm drink by his own fireplace, and a chance to sketch a bit with pen and ink, thinking of nothing at all. Whenever he tried to limit his play, the hours grew even longer. It was as though fate knew his intentions and laughed at them. Certainly it was not the location that drew the pigeons to him. Suffolk Street was a long way from the comfort of White’s. The clientele at the Fourth Circle was a curious mix of true lowlifes, habitual gamblers, members of the aristocracy who were fallen from honour because of their gaming, and the curiosity seekers of the Ton.

And Nate. He was the curiosity they sought, known for his preternatural luck at games. They brought with them the idea that it was skill, and that his would prove inferior to theirs: the conviction that it was possible to beat the unbeatable. The naïve hope that their reputation would be made with their success. Others sought him out as a rite of passage. It seemed everyone in London had, at one time or other, lost his purse to the infamous Nathan Dale.

Nate wondered what category this man fell into, and decided either habitual gambler or local tough. Perhaps he was an actor. Although he carried himself with an air of nobility, his clothes were an odd mix of fashion and cast off, flamboyant enough to be laughable in a drawing room, though they suited him well. His blue velvet coat was well tailored, but unfashionably loose, and he wore a striped silk scarf in place of a cravat. There was a glint of silver peaking out from under the lace at his wrist. It was a bracelet or cuff of some kind: most unusual jewellery for a gentleman. He wore a thick gold hoop in his left ear.

Nate could feel the subtle shifting of attention in the room as the heads turned to follow him with interest. Depending on their natures, the men touched purses or weapons, as though to reassure themselves of their security. But from the females present, the man’s striking good looks and exotic costume drew a murmur of approval. It was irritating to notice that the widow who, just moments before, had been overcome with disappointment from Nate’s rejection, had more than recovered at the sight of the handsome stranger.

Nate looked across the table at him with the dispassionate eye of one who made his living by correctly judging his opponents. Gypsy, he decided. But a Gypsy with money, judging by the jewellery. And so the man was welcome at Nate’s table. He dealt the cards.

His opponent took them in silence, speaking only when necessary, losing the contents of his fat purse quickly and without emotion over a few hands of vingt et un. Such disinterested play made the game even more boring than the continual whining of the last man. The Gypsy made no effort to remove his jewellery after the last hand. It was some comfort, for it proved that he was not too lost to know when to quit.

And it was with relief that Nate watched the man reach into his pocket, as though searching for one last bank note or perhaps a sovereign that had become lodged in the coat lining and left for emergencies. ‘If you are without funds,’ Nate drawled, ‘then it is best we not continue. I should have warned you when we began that I will not accept a marker.’

‘I have something better than that, I am sure.’ The man’s continual smile was most disquieting. In Nate’s experience, losers were not supposed to be quite so jolly. ‘One more hand. I have something you will accept from me, because you have no choice.’And then, the Gypsy reached into the pocket of his coat, and dropped the thing onto the table.

A scarlet silk rope lay there like a snake, coiled upon itself. The end was carefully tied in a hangman’s noose.

For a moment, it looked no different from the one Nate had seen so many years ago—on the day they’d hanged his father.

Nate pushed away from the table so quickly that it tipped, sending the rope, drinks and stakes into a heap on the floor. The man across from him took no notice of the mess, but continued to stare at him with the same fixed expression and knowing smile, as though satisfied with the reaction he had received.

Nate stared back into the dark face, noting the lines in it, the shape of the eyes, and even the cold quirk in the smile. He knew that face—although coldness had not been there when last they’d spoken, nor the sharpness of the features, nor the hard set of the man’s shoulders.

But if he could imagine this man as the boy he’d once been? Nate said in a voice made hoarse by shock, ‘Stephen?’ He looked again into the cold face across the table. ‘Stephen Hebden. It is you, isn’t it?’

The man gave a nod and his smile disappeared, as though to remind Nate that any meeting between them would not be a happy one, no matter how close they had been as children. ‘I am Stephano Beshaley, now. And you call yourself Nate Dale, even though we both know you are Nathan Wardale.’

‘Nathan Wardale died in Boston, several years ago.’

‘Just as Stephen Hebden died in a fire when he was a child.’ The man across the table held out his hands in an expansive gesture. ‘And yet, here we are.’

Dead in a fire? It shamed him that he had given so little thought to what had become of his best childhood friend, after their fathers both died. But circumstances between the families had made the break between them sudden and complete.

Nate pushed the past aside, as he had so many times before. ‘Very well, then. Mr Beshaley. What brings you here, after all this time? It has been almost twenty years since we last saw each other.’

‘At my father’s funeral,’ Stephen prompted. ‘Do you remember Christopher Hebden, Lord Framlingham? He was the man your father murdered.’

Nate pretended to consider. ‘The name is familiar. Of course, my family was so busy that year, what with the trial and the hanging. But I do remember the funeral. It is a pity you could not return the favour and come to my father’s funeral as well.’ He waited to see if there would be a response from the man opposite him. Perhaps a small acknowledgement that Nate had suffered a loss as well. But there was none.

So he continued. ‘When the hanging was done, we had to wait until he was cut down, and pay to retrieve the body. With the title attainted, using the family plot was out of the question. He is in a small, unmarked grave in a country church where the vicar did not know of our disgrace. I rarely visit.’ He locked eyes with the man across the table, willing him to show some sign of sympathy, or at least understanding. But still, there was nothing.

‘That burial was an intimate gathering, for all our friends had abandoned us. Although there was crowd enough to see him kicking on the gibbet. I thought the whole town had turned out to see the peer swing. And then your mad Gypsy mother screamed curses out of the window and hanged herself in full view of everyone. It made for quite a show.’

And that had done it. For a moment, Stephen tensed as though ready to strike him, the rage blazing hot in his eyes. And Nate welcomed the chance to strike back at someone, anyone, and to finally release the child’s fury he had felt that day.

But then, Stephen settled back in his seat and his face grew cold and hard again. Despite that brief flare of temper at the direct insult to his mother, there was nothing left in his dark face to prove that the words had any lasting effect. If they had still been playing cards, Nate might have found him a worthy opponent, for it was impossible to tell what he might do next.

At last, Nate mastered his own anger again and broke the silence. ‘Why are you here, Stephen?’

‘To remind you of the past.’

He let out a bitter laugh. ‘Remind me?’ He spread his arms wide. ‘Look at my surroundings, old friend, as I do whenever I feel a need to remember. Are they not low enough? Was I born to this? The title is gone, the house, the lands. My family scattered to the four winds. At least you found a people again. Do you know how long it has been since I have seen my own mother? My sisters? Do you know what it is like to stand helpless as your father hangs?’

‘No better than to have him murdered, I suppose. And to know that somewhere, the murderer’s line continues.’

Nate laughed. ‘After all this time, is that the problem? I am as good as dead, I assure you. I have nothing left, and yet you would take more.’

Stephen snorted. ‘You have money.’

‘And a nice house,’ Nate added. ‘Two houses, actually. And horses and carriages. Possessions enough for any man. I gained it all at the cost of my honour. We are not gaming at Boodle’s, as our fathers did, Stephen. Because we are not welcome amongst gentlemen. A Gypsy bastard and a murderer’s son. Society wants none of us. We are in the gutter, where we belong.’

His opponent tensed at the word—bastard—but it was no less than the truth.

‘I am sorry that I am not suffering enough to satisfy you. If you wish, we can go out in the alley, and I will let you remedy the fact. If you mean to frighten me into losing with this?’ He looked down at the rope at his feet, and kicked it until it lay in front of his former friend. ‘I have the real rope that did the job. My family bought it to keep it out of the hands of the ghouls gathered round the gallows. There is nothing left for you to do that will frighten me. Since irony is not likely to prove fatal, I suggest that you cease playing games. We are no longer children. If you truly want me dead? Then be man enough to shoot me.’

For a moment, he thought that the taunting had finally hit home. For Stephano the Gypsy nodded and smiled, as though there were nothing he would like better than to kill Nate and put an end to the meeting. But then, he said, ‘I am afraid it is not that easy, Nathan Wardale.’

Nate cringed for a moment, and felt the old fear that someone might hear the name, and know him for the child of a murdering traitor. He might be cast out as unworthy, even from the Fourth Circle. And then where would he go? He recovered his poise and demanded, ‘What is it to be, then?’

‘That is not for me to decide. I am but an avatar in this. I bring you the rope. And now, fate will decide the method of your punishment.’

‘My punishment?’ Nate almost laughed. ‘For what? When the murder happened, I was ten years old. Hardly a criminal mastermind, I assure you.’

‘You are the son of the murderer.’

‘Then your coming here serves no purpose, Stephen. My word is no good for anything but wagering. But if it were, I would swear to you on it that my family is not to blame for what happened.’

‘Your father…’

‘Was hung for something he did not do. He swore on the stand that Kit Hebden was dying when he found him. He did not strike the blow that killed him. He said the same to me, my mother and my sisters. By the end, there was no reason for him to lie to us. It would have gained him nothing, nor given us any comfort. He was sentenced to die, and we were quite beyond comforting.’

For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of emotion on the other man’s face that might indicate understanding, belief or some scrap of mercy. And then it was gone. ‘If it is true that you are blameless, then circumstances will prove that fact soon enough. And I will break the curse and set you free.’

He laughed. ‘It is a bit late to talk of freedom, Stephen. I have wealth, but no one to share it with. I have no friends. No one trusts me. No decent woman would want me. In the course of gaming, I have ruined many and caused men to do unspeakable things, convinced that one more hand will be all it takes to break me.

‘And now, you will set me free? Can you wipe out the memory of the things I have done? Will you go to the House of Lords and insist that they clear my family’s name? Can you get me my title? And my father, as well? Can you raise the dead, Gypsy? For I would like to see you try.’

Stephano the Gypsy spat upon the floor, and passed his hand before him as though warding off the suggestion. ‘Your father was a murderer who deserved what he got. And I mean to see that you accept your share of his punishment.’

Nate had learned to see his past as a single dark shadow that threw his empty life into sharper relief. But now that the shadow had become the foreground, the picture created was so ridiculous, he let out with the first honest laugh he’d had in ages. ‘My share of the punishment?’ He leaned forward and grinned into the face of the man who had once been Stephen Hebden, daring him to see the joke and laugh along. ‘Well I have news for you. You enriched me by a hundred pounds before you brought out the damned rope and began speaking nonsense. If this is a curse, then many would welcome it. But if you wish to see me punished? Then take my luck with you, and we will call it even.’

He pointed a finger at the rope on the floor. ‘But do not come here, pretending to make my life worse with vague threats and portents of doom. There is nothing coming that will make things worse than they already are.’

And then the Gypsy smiled with true satisfaction. ‘You think so, do you? We shall see, old friend. We shall see.’ And he rose from the chair and exited the room, leaving the silk noose on the floor behind him.

In his dreams, Nate was at Newgate, again, surrounded by angry giants. They laughed and the sound was hollow and cruel, seeming to echo off the stone walls around him. He pushed through the crowd. But it was difficult, for he was so small and they did not wish to part for him. They had arrived early, to get a good view.

And he had come late, for he’d had to sneak from home. Mother had said it was no place for the family. That father had not wished it. But was Nathan not the man of the family, now? It was his responsibility to be there, at the end. So he had forced his way through the mob to the front, and had seen his father, head bowed, being led to the gallows.

He called out to him, and William Wardale raised his head, searching for the origin of the cry. His eyes were so bleak, and Nathan was sure he must be lonely. There was no friend left who would stand by him at the end. He looked down at Nathan with such love, and such relief, and reached out a hand to him, as though it could be possible to gather him close, one last time. And then, his hand dropped to his side, and a shudder went through him, for he knew what Nathan did not. While he was glad that his last sight on earth would be his son, he had known what it would mean to a child.

The hangman bound his father’s hands, and the Ordinary led him through a farce of meaningless prayer. And all around Nathan, the people were shouting, jostling each other and swearing at those who would not remove their hats so that the men in the back could see. Vendors were hawking broadsides, but he did not have the penny to buy one. So he picked a wrinkled paper from the ground before him, to see the lurid cartoon of his father, and his supposed confession.

It was lies. Every word of it. Father would never have done the things he was accused of. And even if he had, he would not have told the rest of the world the truth on the final day, after lying to Nathan, over and over. But even if it was lies, there were tears of shame pricking behind his eyelids as he read.

The hangman was placing the hood now, and a woman began to scream. He hoped it was his mother, come to take him home before he saw any more. His coming had been a mistake: there was nothing he could do and he did not want to see what was about to happen.

But it was a strange, dark-skinned woman leaning out of a window above the gallows. She was screaming in triumph, not fear, and her face had the beauty of a vengeful goddess as she stared down at the bound man and the laughing crowd.

And at him. She had found Nathan in the crowd, and stared at him as though she knew him. And then, she had shouted, in a voice so clear that the rabble had hushed to catch her words.

I call guilt to eat you alive and poison your hearts’ blood. The children will pay for the sins of their fathers, till my justice destroys the wicked.

She pointed at him as she spoke of children. And smiled. The adult Nathan screamed to the child to look away. The woman was mad. He should not mind her. And he should run from this place. If he did not, it would be too late.

And then, there was a thump, and his father’s body dropped as the floor under him disappeared. As he fell, so did the woman in the window, dangling from the silk scarf that was wrapped about her neck.

In his child’s mind, Nathan thought that the worst was over. But since then, the adult Nathan had seen enough in the Navy to understand what happened to a hanged man if there was no one to pull on his legs and help him to an easier death.

The kicking had begun. His father, and the garish puppet of a woman hanging from the window above him.

It had seemed like hours before the bodies stilled, the crowds had begun to part, and his mother had come for him.

When Nate woke, the bedclothes were wet with sweat and tears. And there was the Gypsy’s silk rope on the dresser beside him. Why had he bothered to pick the thing up and bring it home with him? The gesture was macabre, and meant to upset him. He had been foolish to play along. And Stephen Hebden had managed to raise the old nightmare to plague him.

But Stephen was not Stephen any more. His old friend was long gone. The man who had visited him was an enemy. A stranger. A Gypsy who was as angry and full of tricks as his mother had been. He must never forget that fact, or Stephano Beshaley and his curse would taint his present, just as the man’s mother had marked his childhood.

He might not be able to prevent the dreams, but during the day he would keep his mind clear of emotion, just as he did when he was at the gaming tables. His waking life would be no different, because of the Gypsy’s visit. At one time or another, Nate had endured public disgrace, loss, starvation and physical hardship. There was little left that could move him to fear, anger or joy. He’d held a hangman’s noose when he was still a child. The colourful rope on the night-stand—and its accompanying nightmare—did not compare to the horror of that day.

But his mind wandered to the people Stephen might search out when his plans for Nate failed. His sisters, perhaps?

Even a Gypsy could not stoop so low as to hurt innocent girls. Beshaley’s mother had stared directly at Nate as she’d said her curse. And he’d felt marked by the words, as if touched by a brand. Surely he was meant to pay the whole debt. Helena and Rosalind would be safe.

They had to be. How would the Gypsy even find them? When last Nate had seen them, they were tending their failing mother, waiting for him to come home. But he had lost them in the throng of strangers that was working-class London and had searched for them without success. Mother must have died, never knowing what had become of him, for she had been very sick, even before he’d disappeared. Helena and Rosalind were as lost to him as if they had never been born. It made him ache to think on it. But he could take some consolation in the fact that it would leave them safe from harassment.

Then who else would the Gypsy turn to, once he had failed with the Wardales? Did Nate owe Lord Narborough and his family a word of warning?

His own sense of injustice argued that he owed them nothing at all. They had heard about the curse as well. But they viewed it as little more than a joke. It had not scarred their lives as it had his. There was no sign that Marcus Carlow had been touched by fear. Nate should think of him as the Viscount Stanegate now that he had grown into his title. From the occasional mention of him in The Times, he had become just the man his father had hoped. Upright, respectable and honest. The sort of man that all their fathers had expected their sons to be.

If there was fault to be found, it did not lie with Marc or his siblings. It was their father who should bear the blame. Lord Narborough had claimed to be a friend of his father, but shut his doors to the Wardale family when they had needed help.

And Narborough had been the one to pin the blame on Father, when the murder had occurred. He had wasted no time in seeing to his apprehension and imprisonment.

It had gone so quickly. Too quick, he suspected. It was almost as though Narborough had seen the need for a scapegoat, and chosen William Wardale. Nate was sure, with all his heart, that his father was not a murderer. But someone had done the crime. And if there was a man alive who knew the truth, then it was most likely to be George Carlow. The murder had been committed just outside his study, after all. And he had been the one who called the loudest for a hurried trial and a timely hanging. Suppose his father had blundered on to the scene just after George Carlow had struck the fatal blow?

Nathan tried to muster some glee that the Gypsy would visit them next. The Carlow family was due for a fall. But he could find no pleasure in it. While he was sure that the senior Carlow was a miserable old sinner, the Gypsy had called for the punishment of the next generation. Would it be fair to see the curse fall upon Marc or his good-natured brother Hal? And what of their sisters, Honoria and Verity?

Nate thought again of his own two sisters, hiding their identities from the shame of association with the Wardale name. Even if George Carlow had been the true murderer, did the Carlow girls deserve to be treated as his sisters had? If Stephano Beshaley removed the protection of the older brothers, then brought about the downfall of the family, what would become of them?

Even if justice for Lord Narborough was deserved and forthcoming, could it not be delayed awhile? The girls were infants when he’d seen them last. They must be near old enough to make matches for themselves. If it was possible to stall the Gypsy, even for a month or two, then they would be safely out of the house and with families of their own, when retribution came.

It went against his grain, but Marc Carlow deserved some warning of what was coming, so that he could watch out for his sisters. They had all played together as children, and been good friends—until after the trial, when their prig of a father had forbidden further association.

Stephen had been there as well, of course. Once, they had been as alike as brothers. He forced the thoughts out of his head. With nostalgia would come sympathy and regret. And after that:weakness and fear. He could not afford to feel for the man who wished his destruction. Stephen Hebden had died in a foundling-home fire. And Stephano Beshaley was a bastard Gypsy changeling, who had turned on them the minute he had a chance.

And the man who had once been Nathan Wardale would not let himself be ruled by curses and grudges and superstitious nonsense any more than he had already. The Carlows would be no more happy to see him than he would be to go to them. But he did not wish them a visit from the Gypsy, now that Stephano had taken it into his head to resurrect the past and deliver vengeance where none was deserved.

Nate dressed carefully, as anyone might when visiting the heir to an earldom, and tucked the length of silk rope and its accusing knot into the pocket of his coat.

Chapter Two

Diana Price resisted the urge to place her head in her hands and weep in frustration. The Carlow daughters were pleasant, and she viewed them more as friends than a responsibility. But some days her job as their companion was not an easy one. ‘You will have to choose someone, Verity. The whole point of the Season is to find an appropriate match. It makes no sense to reject the entire field of suitors, before the rush is truly underway.’

She would have called the look on Verity’s face a pout, had the girl been prone to such. ‘I know what the point of coming to London was, Diana. But I had hoped that if Honoria would take care of the obligation and find herself a husband, then you would all leave off bothering me. Do you think Marc will force me to marry this year, even when I can see already that none of the available suitors are likely to suit?’

‘Your brother will do nothing of the kind, Verity. But if you claim that none of the gentlemen in London suit you, then you are far too selective.’

‘Only yesterday, Diana, you were criticizing Honoria for not being selective enough.’

‘Because she was not. It does not pay to encourage the advances of every man who shows an interest, Particularly not when you are as lovely as Honoria.’

Verity gave her an arch look. ‘And since I am not, I will be forced to marry a man who I do not love, just because he has offered?’

Diana reached out to hug the girl, who was quite as lovely as her sister, even though she lacked the older girl’s confidence. ‘That is not what I mean at all, dear one. It is simply that I do not wish you to discount gentlemen without giving them a fair hearing. You are young, yet. Though you might think that infatuation is the most important thing, it is not.’

‘And you, Diana, are not so old that you should confuse the words love and infatuation. They sound nothing alike.’

‘In tone, perhaps not. But when they are felt in a young heart, they can be easily confused. I am sure if you are given time, you will discover that there are much more important factors to consider when accepting an offer.’

Verity sighed. ‘Like money, I suppose.’

‘While it is nice, I doubt you will need to concern yourself with the wealth of your suitors.’ Any fortune hunters would have a hard time getting close, as long as Diana watched carefully. ‘I am thinking more of kindness, stability, common sense…’

Verity rolled her eyes. ‘All characteristics that can be gained with advanced age, I am sure.’

‘It is not necessary, or even advisable, for a husband to be quite so young as his wife. In some cases, it might be better for a wiser man to—’

‘Ugh.’Verity put her hands over her ears. ‘Do not talk to me further about the need to find a sensible old man to offset my youth and inexperience.’

‘Not old certainly, but—’

And now, Verity was shaking her head. ‘If that is the sort of man you wish for, then you had best find him for yourself. But as for me, I will choose in my own good time. Even if he is rash or foolish, if he loves me, I will accept him. We will learn moderation together.’

Diana sighed. The conversation was ending as it had several times before, with Verity stubbornly convinced that when it came for her, love would conquer all. In Diana’s experience, love was rarely a successful combatant against an uneven temper or an irregular income. ‘In any case, it is not something we need worry about today. If you find someone this Season who interests you—’

‘Which I shall not.’

‘—we will discuss his qualities before you make a decision. For now, it will please your father to hear that you are dancing and laughing, even if he is too ill to watch you.’

Verity sighed. ‘And there you have me, Diana. You know I will not refuse, if it is so important to the family. As long as I do not have to tie myself to that odious Alexander Veryan, just to make you all content. I swear, he is the biggest bore alive. The last time we danced, he trod on my toes half the night, while making sheep’s eyes.’

Diana smiled in sympathy, thinking of the rather awkward young man and his pitiful attempts to capture Verity’s affection. ‘Your father would welcome a connection to the Veryan family, but respectability is not the only quality to seek in a husband. I am sure, if we put our heads together, we will find you a more suitable beau than young Alex.’

There was a quiet knock upon the door of the dressing room, and a maid entered. ‘Miss Verity, there is a gentleman here. He wishes to speak with your brothers. But neither is home, nor expected. And Miss Honoria is…’ The servant paused respectfully.

‘Indisposed.’Verity looked helplessly in Diana’s direction. They both knew that Honoria, who had none of Verity’s reticence on the subject of marriage, had been up most of the night at a rout, dancing until nearly dawn. It would be quite beyond her to greet a visitor until noon, if then. ‘I am hardly dressed to entertain. But I will come as soon as I am able. In the meantime, Diana, could you?’

Stall, while the girl finished her morning chocolate? It was full on ten o’clock, and Diana Price had been up for hours. She could hardly blame the Carlow girls for sleeping late. But she still found it vaguely annoying when the girls’ suitors chose to arrive before lunch. With the men from the house, it left Diana in the awkward position of disappointing them. Until the girls had shown an attachment to any of the young men they had met, it would do the gentlemen little good to appeal to their older brothers on the subject.

She straightened her rather severe dress and put on her best chaperone’s frown. ‘I will see what it is about, Verity. If it is urgent, I will call for you. But if I do not, you may come down in your own good time. It serves the man right for arriving at this hour.’

Her friend gave her a relieved smile. ‘Thank you, Diana. I don’t know what I would do without you.’

She turned and walked out of the room and down the stairs to the salon. But the man waiting there came as a surprise to her, for he was a stranger. Her first impression was that he was far too old to be the usual post-ball suitor. His hair had not a touch of youthful colour left; It was a striking silver-grey. But on closer inspection, she could see that his back was straight, his skin tanned but smooth, and his green eyes had the clarity, if not of youth, then of a reasonable adulthood.

Physically, he was not much beyond her own twenty-seven years. But there was a quality in those eyes that spoke to her. They had seen much, and not all of it had been pleasant. But whatever hardship he had seen did not seem to have broken him. There was a solidness about him, as though he were made of stronger stuff than most men. With his striking appearance, it seemed to her as though an ordinarily handsome man had been cast as a statue, with burnished metal for hair and skin, and glittering gems for eyes.

Here was the sort of man she had wished for Verity: someone who could inspire confidence and trust as well as make the heart flutter. And apparently, even she was not immune from him, for she could not help smiling a trifle too warmly in greeting. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you. Lord Stanegate is from home. As is his brother. May I enquire as to the reason for your visit, Mister…?’ She left the sentence open, to remind him that he had not bothered to introduce himself.

He tilted his head and stared closely into her face, as though searching his memory, ‘Verity? Or is it Honoria? I cannot tell. It has been so long…’ He used the same puzzled tone that she had used, and there was a pause as he looked at her, a faint smile forming at his mouth. It was as though he had not expected her, any more than she had expected him. But the surprise had been a pleasant one. He was taking her in, just as she had him, forming opinions, searching for her past in her eyes.

Without thinking, she reached up to touch her hair, ready to push a loose curl out of the way, even though there was none. And then stilled her hands, and kept them demurely at her sides. ‘No, sir. I am companion and chaperone to the Carlow daughters. My name is Diana Price.’

She must have misjudged his stability after all. Her introduction seemed to stagger him, and for a moment, he tottered as though he were a feeble old man. He reached for the arm of the nearest chair, and unable to control the rudeness of his behaviour, dropped unsteadily into it, taking a deep gasp of air.

‘Sir?’ She stepped closer, ready to offer assistance. ‘Are you ill?’

‘No. Really. It is nothing.’

‘A glass of wine perhaps? Or a brandy?’ It was far too early. But the man needed a restorative.

He gave her the strangest smile she had ever seen. ‘Water, only. Please. The heat…’

‘Water, then. I will fetch it,’ she said, pretending to ignore his condition. It was barely past winter. There was no heat to speak of, nor was it particularly cold. But if the man wished to make excuses for an odd spell, it would do no harm to allow it.

She went to the carafe on a nearby table, poured out a tumbler, and brought it to him. As he took the glass from her hand, she felt the faintest tremble in his, as though the touch of her fingers had shocked him. He drank eagerly. When he set the glass down on the table beside him, a little of the colour had returned to his tanned face.

She sat in a chair opposite him so as not to call attention to his breach of etiquette.

He looked over and gave a weak smile of gratitude. ‘Thank you for your kindness. Forgive me…Miss Price.’ He took a breath. ‘My name is…Dale.’ His voice steadied again. ‘I am an old friend of the family, but it has been a long while since I have had reason to visit this house. When I was last here, Miss Verity was but an infant and Honoria not much older. And seeing you, knowing that they are out…I was overcome with how long it had been. Are the girls well?’

‘Yes, sir. Both are well-mannered and accomplished young ladies.’

‘And lovely, I am sure. Just as I am sure that their good behaviour is a testament to your steady influence.’ He fidgeted in his seat as though the burden of polite conversation was one that he was unaccustomed to. Then he stilled, as though gathering himself to the task at hand. ‘But my business today is with their brothers. You say they are from home. Will they be returning soon?’

‘Lord Stanegate is travelling with his new bride in Northumberland.’

‘Marc married, eh?’ Mr Dale got a distant look and he muttered, ‘Felicitations. And Hal?’

‘Somewhere on the Peninsula, I believe. He is a lieutenant in the Dragoons.’

The man nodded. ‘It would suit him, I am sure, the life and the uniform.’ And then he muttered, more to himself than to her, ‘Very well, then. They are both safely out of the way, and I will not worry about them.’

It was good to hear that he seemed concerned, although why he should feel the need to worry over Marc or Hal, or think that it was safer to face Napoleon than be in London, she was not sure.

And now, he was looking at her again, as though he had forgotten that she was in the room with him and could not think what to do next. Then he said, ‘If you could provide me with paper and pen, I would write a message to Marcus.’

‘If the matter is important, I can give you the address at which he can be reached,’ she offered.

Mr Dale waved a dismissive hand. ‘If he is happy and away from town, I would not dream of bothering him.’

‘Perhaps Honoria…’

‘No,’ he said a little too quickly. ‘Do not trouble the girls with this. I doubt it will involve them. This is a matter to be settled amongst gentlemen. And I would hate to think I’d been a source of worry to them. A brief note to Marcus will suffice. If you could relay it when he returns, I would be most grateful.’ He favoured her with another bright smile. And this time, she was sure that he was deliberately attempting to charm her. Most likely, he wished to make her forget his strange behaviour.

And it annoyed her that he had succeeded. He had a nice smile, friendly and unthreatening, yet a little knowing. There was something about the way that he sat in the chair, now he had recovered himself, that made her think he was usually an adventurous man. Wherever he belonged, it was somewhere much more exciting than a drawing room. As she got up and went to prepare the desk in the corner for writing, she could feel herself colouring at the thought that he was behind her and might be watching her move.

Had it been necessary of him to give flattering attention to a paid companion, just to get writing materials? She would have given him what he asked, even if he’d frowned at her, Diana thought. But his charming behaviour only stood to remind her how hopeless her fantasies might be. In a short time, he would be gone and she would be here, delivering the note like the servant she was. He would have forgotten all about her.

And she would be left with the memory of that smile.

Mr Dale came and sat at the place she prepared for him, at the tiny desk by the window. He thought for a moment, then scrawled a few words on the paper, blotted it, and stared at the sealing wax for a moment. Here he would show how little he trusted her with the contents.

Then he put the wax away, and looked directly into her eyes—the green light in his sparkled like emeralds—and his smile changed to a thoughtful frown. ‘Miss Price. I do not wish to trouble the girls with the reason for my visit. My fears for the Carlow family might be for naught. But you are their companion, are you not? A watchdog for their honour and reputation?’

Diana nodded.

‘Then should they receive the attention of a dark gentleman who calls himself Stephano Beshaley, know that he is a danger to them. Watch him carefully. And watch the girls as well, for he is just the sort to try and turn their heads. Should he appear, you must find Marc or Hal immediately and tell them. Can you do that for me?’

She nodded again, more puzzled than she had been before.

‘Very good.’ He handed her the folded sheet of paper. ‘You can give this note to either Stanegate or Lieutenant Carlow, when next they are home. Marcus preferably, since he is eldest and most responsible. But either will understand its meaning. Thank you for your time, Miss Price.’ He gave a short bow, and turned to leave.

‘Wait.’She held up a hand to stop him before realizing that she had no reason to call him back to her, other than an irrational desire not to let him go.

He turned back, an expectant look on his face.

‘If they wish to reply, where shall I direct the message? Or will you be returning?’

He gave the barest shake of his head. ‘Do not concern yourself. They will not wish to reply to me, any more than they wish a visit from Beshaley. But now, my conscience is as clear as I can make it. On this subject, at least.’ He gave her another strange look, as though he were apologizing for something, even though he had done her no wrong. ‘Good day, Miss Price.’And he was gone.

She walked slowly back up the stairs to Verity, with the note in her hand, wondering what she was supposed to do with the thing. She could forward it on to Marc on his honeymoon, she supposed. But he and Nell were not due back from Northumberland for weeks, and she hated to bother them. The time before their marriage had been stressful enough. Surely they deserved a few weeks of peace.

The paper before her was not sealed. Mr Dale had left it to her discretion. And although she would never peruse Marc’s mail under normal circumstances, perhaps this one time it would be better to read the message to see if the matter was urgent.

There was only one line, scrawled hurriedly in the centre of the paper.

Marc,

The Gypsy has returned.

Nathan.

Her breath caught a little in her throat. The words were ominous: black and spidery against the white of the paper. But it was nothing that she did not already know. Nor would Marc be surprised. He had explained to her what happened, before he left, the harrowing fight, the single shot, and the evil Gypsy who had been calling himself Salterton falling to his death in the icy water. Marc had cautioned her to be on her guard and watch the girls closely, in case he had been wrong. If the man lived, he might return to bother them.

She bit her lip. If only there were some way to draw Mr Dale back and ask him if this information was recent or some time in coming. It was possible that he’d met the Gypsy before his demise on the ice some weeks ago. Marc had warned her before he’d left to be on guard against all strangers, particularly one with dark hair and skin. She was to summon him immediately if anything or anyone unusual appeared.

This morning’s visit had certainly been unusual. But Nathan Dale was not dark, nor was he threatening. He had been trying to help, and had brought a scrap of information that was already known to the family. If a specific threat had been imminent, surely he would have said more, or seemed more worried. And he had been smiling just now. How serious could the situation be?

She would adopt a wait-and-see attitude, doing just as Marc had asked. She would watch the girls more closely than usual. And if Mr Dale returned, she would try to find a way to draw him out and gain more information—without revealing that she had opened his note.

On thinking of it, she very much hoped Mr Dale would return. She suspected he was a most interesting gentleman and it intrigued her to know more about him. It was as though hard weather had rubbed away at a softer, less substantial person, until the core of vitality could shine through to the surface. There was an air of confidence about him, as though he had already seen and survived hardship and knew better than to be rattled by anything less than the gravest circumstances.

Perhaps he had already dealt with the Gypsy’s threat and was only tying up the loose ends of the contact, making sure that the man could do no damage elsewhere. If she needed his help during Marc’s absence, there might be some way…

Of course not. She reminded herself firmly of her first suspicions regarding the man: that he might be a suitor of Honoria or Verity. If he was a friend of Marc’s and sought the company of any of the women in the house, there was no reason to think that he would seek the friendship of their companion nor that he wished to be bothered with her concerns over the girls.

It was just that she had found the sight of him to be rather dashing, and now she was spinning fancies that they would have more time to talk.

She glanced down at the note, and Nathan written at the bottom. And she shivered. It was good that she had conversed with the man before seeing it, for past experience had taught her to dread that name, and all who carried it. If she had known he was a Nathan, she might have let an unreasonable prejudice colour her opinions of him. And then she would have been deprived of that marvellous smile. She smiled back, even though he was not there to see it.

Verity looked up as she entered the dressing room. ‘Who was it?’

Diana tucked the note into the pocket of her dress. ‘It was the most extraordinary man.’ Without meaning to, she gave a little sigh of pleasure. She had nothing to fear from this Nathan. He looked nothing like the man her father had warned her of, ten years ago. Mr Dale was not cold, or emotionless or the least bit cruel. Her spontaneous attraction to him came from the openness of his countenance, his easy nature and his selfless concern for others. He had a robust physique and the healthy colouring of a man who enjoyed nature, not the stooped frame, pinched face and anaemic pallor of a habitual gambler.

In short, he was the diametric opposite of Nathan Wardale.

Chapter Three

Nate hurried out of the Carlow town house and down the street, feeling the cold sweat beading on his brow. Of all the people, in all the places, why had he been greeted by Diana Price? He had been nervous enough, going to the house at all. But once he had arrived on Albemarle Street, the feelings of his youth returned. As a boy, he had run across the chequered floor of the front hall, chasing and being chased, laughing and playing. It had been as a second home to him. And to feel that moment of pleasure, as the young woman had entered the room. The Carlow daughters grown to beauty? But no. A stranger. A very attractive stranger. Delight, curiosity, an awakening of old feelings in him, long suppressed.

She was a lovely thing, with shining dark hair, and a small pursed mouth, ready to be kissed. Her large brown eyes were intelligent, but full of an innocence he never saw in the female denizens of the Fourth Circle.

She had looked at him without judgment or expectation, and a hint of responding interest that proved she was not wife to Marcus or Hal. Nate had felt quite like the man he once hoped to be. For a few moments, he was an ordinary gentleman meeting a pretty girl in a nice parlour, with none of the stink of the gaming hell on his clothes or in his mind.

And then he had discovered her identity, and it had all come crashing down. Thank God he had not decided to use his true name, for if she’d realized…

He hailed a cab in Piccadilly to Covent Garden and Suffolk Street, to the low haunts inhabited by Nate Dale the gambler. If the man he sought was anywhere, he would be here, waiting in the spot that he’d last been seen.

Nate went from the dim street, into the dim tavern connected by a tunnel to the Fourth Circle. ‘Mr Dale, returning so soon? And in daylight.’ Dante Jones saw him less as a friend than as a way to bring more people to the tables. ‘To what do we owe this honour?’

‘Mr Jones,’ he responded, with barely a nod, resenting the grimy way he felt when the man looked at him as though he was nothing more than a meal ticket. ‘Where is the damned Gypsy?’

‘The man who you beat last night? In the same spot as when you left him. And I am glad to have him, for his play draws quite a crowd. He is very nearly as lucky as you.’

‘Not any more.’ Nate stalked past Dante and into the gaming room to find Stephano Beshaley, or whoever he chose to be called today, seated in Nate’s regular chair, as though he owned it. He seemed impervious to the action around him, nursing his drink, long slender legs outstretched, as though he had been waiting for Nate’s return.

Nate pulled the silk rope from his pocket, and threw it down on the table in front of the Gypsy. ‘Take it back.’

Stephano only smiled and sipped his drink. ‘Once it is given, there is no returning it.’

‘Take it back. You have had your fun.’

‘Fun?’ Nate’s former friend greeted this with a bitter twist of his mouth and an arched eye-brow. ‘Is that what you think this is for me?’

‘I think you take pleasure in tormenting me. But you have done enough.’

And there was the ironic smile again. ‘You have changed much, in a few short hours. Last night, you said that there was nothing left to hurt you.’

‘And I was wrong. I freely admit it. You have found the one thing.’

Beshaley laughed. ‘I? I found nothing. But apparently you have. And I wish you to get what you deserve from it.’

‘You knew where I would go, when you returned. And you knew that Diana Price would be there, waiting for me.’

‘Who?’The Gypsy seemed honestly puzzled.

Nate reached into his pocket, and removed the tattered piece of paper that he had carried with him for ten years, like Coleridge’s albatross. He set it on the table before his old friend, who read aloud.

Should I lose the next hand, I pledge in payment my last thing of value. The maidenhead of my daughter, Diana. Edgar Price June 3rd 1804

Beshaley sneered back at him. ‘Just for a moment yesterday, I almost believed you. If you are innocent of any crime, then to carry vengeance to the second generation is to damn myself. But a man who would take such a thing in trade for a gambling debt deserves to suffer all that fate wishes to bring him.’

Nate glanced around, afraid that the people nearby might hear what he had done in that moment of madness. ‘I was young. And foolish. And in my cups. Edgar Price was my first big score, and I was too full of myself and my own success to think of what I might do to others. When I suggested this bet, it was intended as a cruel jest. I’d taken the man’s money. And his house, as well. I live there still. He’d bankrupted himself at my table to the point where his only options were debtor’s prison or a bullet. And yet, he would not stop playing. Like every gambler, he thought that his luck would change if he played just one more hand. I thought to shock him. To embarrass him. That if I pushed him far enough, he would slink from the table. Instead, he signed this to me.’

Nate took the paper back and stuffed it into his purse so he would not have to see it any more. It still pained him to read those words. ‘He cried when he lost. He begged me for mercy. And I told him that if I ever saw him again, or heard of him frequenting the tables anywhere in London, I would find him and the girl and collect what was owed me. And to his credit, I never saw or heard from him, after that day. I keep the paper to remind me what can happen when a man is pushed too far at the tables. And I have not taken a single marker, since.’

‘How noble of you.’ The Gypsy looked ready to spit in disgust. ‘You are lower than I thought you, Nathan. And after seeing this, I feel considerably less guilty about delivering the rope.’ He pushed it back across the table toward Nate.

Nate stared down at the symbol of disgrace, and in his heart, he agreed. He deserved punishment. But his mouth continued to try to justify the unjustifiable. ‘I thought the girl long married, by now. It has been years. She must know that I am no threat to her. But I went to warn the Carlows of you. And she was there. She is chaperone to Honoria and little Verity. You knew, you bastard. You knew it all along.’

The Gypsy smiled in satisfaction. ‘I knew nothing, other than that I would bring the rope to you, and see what resulted from it. Normally fate is not so swift. By your actions, you have made your own hell. Do not blame me, if today is the day that the devil has come to claim you.’

‘Whether or not you have staged this meeting with the girl, it will be the last one between us. I mean to leave Diana Price alone, just as I have always done. Now take this back.’ He slapped the rope upon the table.

Stephen arched his eyebrows. ‘And what will happen, if I do? Will she vanish in a cloud of smoke? You created the problem, Wardale. You must be the one to solve it.’

‘I can hardly be held to blame for what happened to her father, Stephen. He came to me, and he would not leave. He wanted to gamble. I am a gambler. I never set out to be what I have become. It is all the fault of your mother and your people.’

‘You won someone’s daughter at faro, and it is all my mother’s fault, is it?’

That sounded even more foolish than the rest of it. God knew how mad the rest of his defence would sound. ‘Did you know me for a gamester, before the curse?’

The Gypsy snorted. ‘You were ten years old.’

‘Yet I’d ruined my first man before I could shave. And that is the way it has been, from the very first wager. I am lucky. And it is all because of the curse your mother placed upon me.’

The Gypsy laughed. ‘You believe in luck?’

‘What gambler does not? I cannot claim that skill has brought me all that I have gained. I win far too often to think that it is always by my own abilities.’ He waved a hand in the direction of the faro tables. ‘These tables? All gaffed. Dante cheats. Only a fool would play here. But if you like, I will beat them for you. No matter how much Dante might cheat, he can never beat me.’ He stared at the tables in remorse. ‘No one has ever been this lucky. No one save me. It is not natural. And if I cannot lose? Then to play against others is little better than robbery.’

‘Then stop playing. Or tell them to.’

‘I cannot.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Every night, I swear I am through. But the next night falls and I come back to the tables. I mean to play until I lose. Not just a hand or a single pass of the dice. When I lose all of it, every last thing I have won, then maybe I will understand how the others have felt. Only then can I stop.’

The Gypsy’s snorts continued, combining into a gale of laughter. ‘First you thought I conjured the Price girl. And now you wish to blame me for your excessive good luck. That is the maddest thing I have heard yet.’

‘You do not believe in your own magic?’

‘I do not have to. Not if you do. I come here with a reminder of your family’s villainy. And you proceed to fill in the rest. In less than a day, you are near to prostrate with guilt. If you want freedom, Nathan, use this rope for the purpose it is intended.’ He held the noose at eye level, until he was sure the meaning was clear, and then tossed it back on the table. ‘Then my doings with your family will be over and you will no longer be able to concern yourself with the families of your victims.’

His self-control was a distant memory, as Nathan felt the long-buried rage burning in him again at the old accusation. ‘My father was hanged for a crime he did not commit. My family has paid more than enough, with that. Take back the curse, Beshaley.’

‘No.’

‘You dirty Gypsy. Take back the curse.’In fury, he reached out and grabbed his former friend by his bad arm, squeezing the bicep.

He had found the injury. Stephano Beshaley went as white as his dark skin would allow, and the pain of the contact brought him out of his chair and to his knees.

Nate was overcome with a shameful glee to see his enemy humbled before him, and he remembered why it was so important to keep one’s emotions out of the game. When one always had the upper hand, it was too easy to take pleasure from the suffering he inflicted. He pushed the anger from his mind, and squeezed again with clinical precision, watching the other’s face contort with pain. ‘Take back the rope. Let me go, and I will release your arm. You have my word.’

The Gypsy took a deep breath, as though he were trying to drive back the pain with the force of his will. Then he raised his shaking white face in defiance. ‘Your father was a coward and a murderer. And you are the sort who would gamble for a girl’s honour. Your word means nothing to me.’

Though the first statement angered him, the last was so true that his grip slackened on his old friend’s arm, and he watched as the colour returned to the man’s face. And in the place of the nothingness inside him, there was now a deep bone-aching remorse. ‘Please. I am sorry. For all of it, Stephen. Let me go.’

And for a moment, the man on his knees before Nathan was plain Stephen Hebden, as hurt and bewildered as Nathan was. ‘I cannot. I am as much a slave to the curse as you are, for I was the one left to administer it. If your father was innocent, then you are already free and what you think is a curse is all your own doing. But if not?’ He shrugged with his one free arm. ‘I can do nothing for you.’

Chapter Four

‘Well, this was a most satisfying afternoon,’ Honoria announced, as they neared the end of their shopping trip to Bond Street. ‘And perhaps next time, we will persuade Diana to buy something for herself.’

‘There is nothing I really need,’ Diana said, as much to persuade herself as the girls. It was always tempting, on these forays, to make a purchase of some sort. But even a small one was an unnecessary indulgence.

‘Then perhaps what you need is to sit down and have an ice. It would be very refreshing, after such a long walk.’ Honoria was looking longingly in the direction of confectionary.

‘The walk was not very long at all, Honoria, and should hardly exhaust you. Exercise, when taken in moderate amounts, is beneficial to health. And I am sure that tea at home will be refreshing

enough.’

‘Sometimes, Diana, you are far too sensible.’

Diana smiled at the accusation. ‘I need to be. Or you would indulge every whim, and grow too plump for your new gown.’

‘Is that the gentleman who called yesterday, Diana?’Verity Carlow was staring in the opposite direction, and making an unladylike effort to point over the stack of parcels she was carrying, at a man on the end of the block. ‘Oh, do say it is him. For he is every bit as striking as you described him.’

Diana prepared a reprimand, and then glanced in the direction her friend was looking, and saw the sun glinting off the silver hair of the man she had seen in the parlour. In the last twenty-four hours, she had spent so much time thinking of him that it felt almost as if she had conjured his image to appear on the street. It was hard to believe she was truly going to see him again after such a short time. But he must be real, for he looked very different than he had when she had seen him in the house. Today he seemed carefree. He was without a hat. And with the wind ruffling his hair, and his green eyes squinting into the sun, he looked almost as though he belonged on the deck of a ship, staring out at the sea.

She wondered if that was his true job. Sea captain. Or perhaps privateer. Surely something very romantic and commanding. He stood on the sidewalk as though he had conquered half of London. And here she was, spinning more romantic fancies around the poor man. But she had to admit, the effect that the sight of him had on her was sudden and difficult to control. It brought with it a faint breathlessness that increased as she realized that he was coming in their direction. ‘Yes,’ Diana said, trying to keep the excess of emotion from showing in her voice. ‘That is Mr Dale. Whatever can he be doing here?’

‘Shopping, I am sure,’ Honoria said. ‘Just as everyone else is doing. Perhaps he is visiting the tobacconist or the bank.’Apparently, the man’s imposing nature was lost upon her. She was looking at Diana in a most searching way. ‘While you made his behaviour yesterday sound very mysterious, you noticed nothing about him that would prevent him from mixing in society, did you?’

‘Well, no.’ It was just that she did not ever remember seeing him here before. And she was sure, had he shared the street with them in the past, she would have noticed.

Diana doubted Marc’s apparent friendship with the man would require his sister’s association with him. If it did, Marc would introduce them properly, in his own good time. For safety’s sake, she prepared to steer Verity and Honoria to the other side of the street. ‘You are probably right. He is shopping, or running errands of some sort. But I doubt he means to mix with us. He seemed most uncomfortable when visiting yesterday, and was in a hurry to leave.’

Verity gave her a round-eyed look. ‘He did not seem to hold us any ill will, did he?’

‘Of course not. But neither did I have any reason to think he might wish our company today.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Honoria. ‘We do not mean him any harm. We are only being friendly. It is not as if Verity and I are angling after him, no matter how flattering your description might have been.’

Verity shaded her eyes with her hand for a better look. ‘Flattering as well as accurate. He is most handsome, is he not?’ She grinned at Diana. ‘And it would show an amazing lack of Christian charity to appear to shun our brother’s old friend, if we meet him on the street.’

Although she was sure that Verity’s heart was at least partly in the right place, Honoria must know that an act of Christian charity by a marriageable young lady towards an attractive, eligible man was liable to be misinterpreted. But it was too late to explain this, for Honoria was waving her handkerchief at the gentleman in question. ‘Here, Mr Dale! Over here!’ She set out at a quick pace towards the man, who was momentarily curious as to the identity of the person greeting him. But then he recognized Diana, trailing in Honoria’s wake. And his eyes took on a distinctly hunted expression.

‘Honoria!’ she said sharply, hurrying after the girl. ‘You have not been properly introduced to the man.’

Honoria ignored the tone of warning. ‘Nonsense. He told you he had seen us as children, did he not? Then surely we need not be so formal. But if it bothers you, then you must remedy the fact immediately, and present us to him.

‘Mr Dale? I understand that you are an old friend of our family. I was most disappointed to be indisposed when you visited yesterday.’ She favoured Mr Dale with her most brilliant smile and then cast a significant glance in Diana’s direction.

Diana gave up, and said, with a resigned tone, ‘Mr Dale, may I present Lady Honoria and Lady Verity Carlow.’

He gave a somewhat stiff bow, and answered, ‘You are correct, ladies. We are already acquainted. Although you were both much too small to remember me, and I was but a boy when I last saw you.’

Verity said, ‘Miss Price and I were speculating on your appearance in Bond Street. I do not remember seeing you here before.’

Diana coloured and gave a small shake of her head to indicate that they had been doing nothing of the kind, for the last thing she wanted was to reveal the true nature of her speculations. She was sure that her head-shake looked nothing like the saucy toss Verity was giving her golden curls, to make them catch the sunlight.

Nathan Dale was wearing the same poleaxed expression that men often got when the Carlow sisters turned their considerable charms upon them. He muttered, ‘Tailor,’ as though he could barely remember what had brought him out to shop.

‘So you frequent the area?’Verity gave Diana a triumphant look. ‘I suppose we have seen you in the past. But the renewed acquaintance of our families puts a fresh face on the experience. Now that we know you again, we shall be running into each other all the time.’

Diana was sure that this was not the case. She was convinced that she would have been drawn to the man’s striking appearance, had she seen it before.

For his part, Mr Dale looked positively horrified at the notion that he would be seeing them again and again.

But Verity ignored this as well, and said, ‘Now that we have found you, may I ask you to be of assistance? We are overburdened by packages. If you could help us regain our carriage?’

No gentleman could refuse, although this one looked like he wished to. He glanced around for a moment, almost as if he was embarrassed to be seen with them. But then he bowed again and took the packages anyway, then turned to help them find their transport. Once that was achieved, it seemed Verity would not be satisfied with the aid of servants, but required Mr Dale to escort them all the way back to the house.

Diana could see him struggling to come up with a polite refusal, his eyes finding hers and holding them with a mute appeal for aid. But then, Honoria linked her arm through his, and all but dragged him into the carriage to sit beside her. ‘There,’she said, giving a sigh of satisfaction. ‘This is much better, is it not?’

Mr Dale gave a nod of polite agreement. Although since she was seated opposite him, Diana could see from his miserable expression that this was the last place on earth he wished to be. He remained in strained silence as the normally quiet Verity prattled on in a most annoying way about the price of ribbons and the challenge of finding a sufficiently fluffy coq feather in exactly the right shade of blue.

Diana had no idea what had gotten into the girl, although she suspected it had something to do with silver hair and green eyes. But she was well on the way to giving her a megrim. Mr Dale seemed of a similar mind, squirming in his seat as though he wished to fling open the door and dart from the coach, willing to risk a fall beneath the horse’s hooves, over slow death by millinery.

Honoria was no better, clinging to Mr Dale’s arm as though she sensed his desire and was trying to prevent the escape. If the girl truly wished to gain the man’s attentions, she would need to choose another approach entirely. And much to Diana’s dismay, she could find no desire to help either of them. If the man took a sudden and violent distaste to the Carlow sisters, it would forestall the risk that she might have to chaperone any of them, enduring painful evenings of lingering glances, staring intently into her needlework while ignoring their whispered endearments.

Was it only yesterday that she had been eagerly awaiting the appearance of Verity’s first real suitor? She loved the girl, and wished her well as she struggled in the shadow of her older sister. If Verity finally made a choice, then Diana should be relieved, not annoyed. Unless it was this particular man.

And while she was sure of Honoria’s ability to captivate any man, she could not warm to the idea that the object of her affection was the enigmatic Mr Dale. No matter that she thought he was exactly the sort of man she could put forward as a steadying influence on either of them. To be forced to sit in the corner and watch as Nathan Dale grew increasingly besotted over either of the Carlow daughters would be the most difficult thing in the world.

Perhaps Mr Dale thought the same, for he was squirming again. He stretched his long legs out before him, and they brushed against Diana’s skirts.

She gave a surprised jump as his calf touched hers.

He straightened suddenly, mumbling apologies.

Honoria nudged Verity with her toe from the opposite seat, and there were a few muffled giggles from the two girls until Diana gave a disapproving cough.

Mr Dale seemed to fold in upon himself, trying to take as little space as possible and cause no further incidents.

At last, the carriage arrived in front of the Carlow town house, and before it could come to a full stop, Nathan Dale had the door open and the step down. He offered a hand to Verity and then to Honoria. Once he had seen them both safely to the ground, he turned back for Diana. He wiped his palm upon his coat-tail and gave an embarrassed bob of his head, as though he did not wish to look into her eyes. But at the last moment, he looked up, his amazing green eyes catching hers and holding them. And then, his hand touched hers.

Her feet were on the ground, and he was turning away. But she had the strangest sensation that an important moment had passed, though she had no recollection of it. And it was a shame, for if the time had been spent with her hand in his, she thought that she would very much have liked to have a clear memory of it.

She came back to herself offering a silent prayer of relief that the trip was over, only to hear Verity insisting that Mr Dale simply must stay for tea, and her sister heartily agreeing. Honoria had reached out to catch the man by the arm again, before he could escape into the street. And now, she was reminding him that it was teatime, after all.

After dragging him so far out of his way, it was only logical that the girls offer him refreshment. Diana should commend them for their hospitality. But the events so far had left Diana’s nerves frayed to the point where she was sure her cup would be rattling on the saucer loud enough to block out the sound of conversation.

And Mr Dale, damn him, could not seem to find voice enough to refuse the girls. If he did not wish to be with them, then why could he not say so—and end her torment? Instead, he allowed himself to be led as meek as a lamb into the sitting room for tea and cakes.

They were barely seated, before Verity sprang to her feet. ‘I wonder what is taking so long? Cook is normally much more prompt than this. Perhaps someone should go and check.’

Diana was weighing in her mind the possibilities. It would not do to leave the girls alone in the room with a stranger, while she went to talk to the help. If that was what Verity was attempting to orchestrate, she underestimated her chaperone. She would tell the girl to ring for Wellow, the butler, and lecture them both later about the need to sit patiently when one had guests.

But before she could take action, Honoria announced, ‘I will just go and see after things.’And she was up, out of her chair and out the door. She turned back. ‘And Verity, you must come with me.’

Her sister rose. ‘Can you not find your own way to the kitchen?’

‘Of course. But I suspect I shall eat all the sandwiches before they are even brought here, for I am famished. If you do not come to watch over me, I swear, I will not leave a thing for Mr Dale.’

‘Really, I…do not require anything,’ he finished to the closed door.

And Diana found herself alone again, with Nathan Dale.

There was a moment of very awkward silence. And then, he spoke. ‘Miss Verity did not talk nearly so much when last I saw her. Of course, she was an infant at the time.’

‘She did not talk so much when last I saw her either, and it has been barely an hour. I do not know what has got into her.’ Diana hoped it did not sound like an indictment of her friend.

Apparently, he feared the same. For he said, ‘I mean no disrespect. For all her chatter, she is a pleasant girl, as is her sister. Have you known them long?’

‘I came into the household when Verity was almost fifteen. She is still nineteen and barely out.’

‘And Honoria twenty. The family must be very proud of them.’ For a moment, his gaze grew distant, as if remembering the past. And then he focused on her again. ‘And before coming here, did you have another position?’

‘As companion to an elderly lady in Kent.’

He leaned forward as though he found her rather uninteresting life to be riveting. ‘And did you prefer that job to this one?’

She smiled, surprised at his questions. ‘One position is much like another, I expect. But on the whole, I find it more enjoyable to watch the young. It was difficult to see the person in one’s care wither and die, knowing there was nothing to be done. Much more pleasant to see them blossom, as young Verity has.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘Soon, they will have no need of a chaperone here. The girls shall be fine married ladies, with husbands and houses of their own.’

‘And you will be out on the street.’He looked as though the prospect alarmed him.

She gave a little laugh of reassurance to soften the blunt way he had described her pending unemployment. ‘Hardly, I am sure. Lord and Lady Narborough have been most kind to me. They will see to it that I am properly placed somewhere. I trust them to help me, when I am no longer needed here.’

‘You might be surprised.’ He muttered the words under his breath, and for a moment, she suspected that his fondness for the family was not as great as it had at first appeared.

‘Well, in any case, I am not too worried,’ she lied. ‘When this job is finished, I will find another family who needs me. There are always openings for sensible women of a certain age.’ Although they might not be as enjoyable as her current place.

‘A sensible woman of a certain age. I see.’ Perhaps he found her good sense to be a disappointment. Or perhaps it was her age that bothered him. He was frowning at her. ‘But should you not find a place to your liking, do you have family to return to?’ He was on the edge of his chair now, as though her answer were deeply important to him.

She shook her head. ‘It has been just me for almost five years. But my situation is hardly unique. And in some ways it was easier for me than it has been for others. My mother died when I was young. And I was well-settled in employment before my father died. There was no period of sudden turmoil, as I found myself homeless and alone with no plan for the future.’ In fact, the turmoil was several years past, and her anger with her father had cooled by the time she’d lost him for good.

‘But you have no one else? I mean: no prospects, other than employment?’

She looked at him sharply. Was he enquiring if there was a gentleman in her life? ‘Certainly not.’

And now he’d realized how that question had sounded, for he fell into pensive silence, before beginning again. ‘I am sorry if my curiosity was inappropriate. But if you should find yourself in constrained circumstances and there is anything I can do to help…’

And now it sounded as though he were about to offer a carte blanche. ‘No, Mr Dale,’ she said firmly, so there could be no question of her meaning. ‘I can assure you, that whatever my circumstances might be, I will not be needing help with them.’

A short time later, Verity and Honoria returned followed by a footman with tea things. Apparently, the time away had calmed Verity’s nerves, although Honoria had the same enigmatic smile on her face as before. They set about arranging the table for Mr Dale, like consummate hostesses. They were solicitous of his needs without clinging, and they conversed without the annoying chatter that had bothered her in the carriage.

It gave Diana the chance to retreat to a corner with her cup and stay well out of the flow of talk, allowing the girls to get to know the gentleman better. If he could be called a gentleman, for his behaviour to her had been most forward and more than a little strange. She wondered if she had given him too much credit the first time they had met, swayed by his charm and his physical appearance.

And if her silence now permitted time to observe the fine features of Mr Dale? Then she doubted he would notice, and she could hardly be blamed for it. She did find him to be a very handsome man. And she sincerely hoped she had misunderstood his intent toward her. He spoke easily enough with the girls, now that she was out of the way. There was nothing improper about his speech or manner. And he’d lost that curious sense of agitation he had brought to even the most mundane of his questions to her. When he rose to go, he thanked Verity and Honoria in turn, then paused as he looked in her direction, seeming to swallow his nerves before giving her the same polite words of thanks and a short stiff bow. And then, he was gone.

There was a moment of silence, as though Verity wished to be sure that the man was totally out of earshot, before she spoke, as though he could hear their opinions of him through the brick walls and on the street. Then she turned and smiled at Honoria. ‘Well?’

Honoria smiled and nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I think most definitely.’

And then she turned to Diana. ‘And what do you think of the gentleman, Miss Price?’

Apparently, she was to render the final verdict, and she did not wish to, for her own opinion was most decidedly mixed. She took care to discount her own strong reactions, and did her best to view him as she would any other prospective suitor. ‘I am glad that you are both so definite on the subject of Mr Dale. He seems a fine person, and was most courteous in his behaviour. Your inviting him into the house was not inappropriate, although it was somewhat unplanned. If there is a past history between your families it cannot be too terribly improper. But despite what you might think, we do not know him very well at all. I doubt your father or brothers would approve, should things progress to the point where he might make either of you an offer before they can be consulted.’

‘Us?’ Verity sat down, laughing heartily. ‘Oh, Diana. If you do not see the truth of what has been happening, you must be blind. However are we to trust you with advising us on our futures, if you cannot manage your own?’

‘What has my future to do with it?’

Honoria grinned. ‘We heard the way you spoke of him, after his visit here yesterday. The vividness of your physical description was enough for Verity to pick him out of the crowd on Bond Street. And apparently, you did not see the way he looked at you when we met him.

His eyes followed you as though you were the only woman present. So we waylaid the poor fellow and made ourselves as tiresome as possible. Then we left you alone together, as soon as we were able. You did not expect us to play chaperone, did you? For that would be more than a little ironic.’

‘Me?’ Her voice cracked on the word.

‘Yes, you, you goose,’ said Verity. ‘I wondered what would become of you, once I was wed. It would be so much better for me, were you to be a proper married lady as well, and not a companion to another. For then we could all remain friends and see each other as often as we liked.’

‘Me? Married?’

‘To Mr Dale,’ Honoria completed the thought. ‘You are right, Verity. It is the most perfect idea in the world.’

‘Me.’ And now that they had placed it there, the thought was stuck in her head and would not be dislodged. ‘Married.’ It had been so long since she had even thought of the word as it pertained to herself, that she could not manage to form a sentence around it. ‘To Mr Dale.’ If it had been one of the girls displaying an interest in the man, she would have given a lecture at this point about the importance of knowing a gentleman better before using such a word in connection with him. Horses should be put before carts. There should be frequent meetings between the interested parties. Affection and love were things that should be nurtured before a more permanent arrangement could be considered.

But suddenly, she felt as foolish as either young girl. Her head was flooded with visions of a home of her own, a husband of her own, and her own children, all with the sparkling green eyes of Nathan Dale.

If she were thinking clearly, then she would have told the girls that, if a gentlemen were as rushed into making an offer as they wished for Mr Dale to be, the offer he might make would be one that no proper woman could accept. What must he think of her? He must suspect that she had arranged their private conversation by manipulating the girls, all in an attempt to court him for herself. How would she be able to speak to the man, when next they met, if her head was full of romantic nonsense and his ideas were much more worldly?

She forced her fears into the background and looked at the girls with her most prim and sensible gaze. ‘No. I am sorry. The idea does not appeal to me in the least. If this visit with him was arranged for my benefit, then while I thank you for the concern, I can assure you that no further such plans are necessary.’She swallowed hard, and lied. ‘I am quite content to remain as I am.’