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Lydia stood up abruptly, tired of the gentleman’s posturing. ‘My lord, you’ve done your duty, and believe me I enjoyed it no more than you.’
He blanched and ran his finger around the edge of his perfectly, but boringly tied cravat. ‘I, er, no you have it…’
‘Correct,’ Lydia said with a sympathetic note in her tone. After all, it wasn’t his fault he’d been forced to escort her to supper and act as if it were his pleasure to do so. Something he hadn’t quite achieved. ‘You are absolved from dancing attendance on me any longer. Go and enjoy the rest of the evening. Mary Sutton is looking at you longingly.’ She had almost said making sheep’s eyes before she remembered herself. Sometimes, acting the lady was not at all easy. Very daring, she patted his cheek and bit the inside of her mouth so she didn’t laugh at his startled deer impression, as he flinched. ‘If you will excuse me.’ She didn’t give the hapless and unfortunate lord time to more than begin to stutter his apologies and thanks before she curtsied to the exact depth due to his status, made her way out of the supper room and headed towards the ladies’ withdrawing room. A little cold water and a stern talking to were needed.
Luckily, apart from the attendant, the room was empty and Lydia was able to use the commode, wash her hands and then, a glass of water in hand, sink into a large, overstuffed armchair and cool herself down without interruption. She hated confrontation, and wished to Hades her mama could understand where her daughter was coming from. A quiet life, a chance to do what she was good at, and with no interference from husbands, parents, or anyone else who thought they knew what she wanted and needed better than she. Surely it wasn’t too much to ask for?
Lydia drank the water and stood up again. With luck she could leave in an hour or so, and then, her duty done, have that well-earned day to herself on the morrow. For the umpteenth time she mentally counted how long she would have to endure the life of the ton before her mama would give in and accept her daughter was a lost cause. That time couldn’t come too soon.
After one last glance in the mirror to check her appearance – mundane but neat and tidy – just right to blend into the wallpaper, she decided – Lydia thanked the attendant, gave her a tip and walked out into the corridor. A group of men approached from the direction of the card room, laughing and chatting to each other, and she took a step backwards until her shoulders brushed the wall. She would stand quietly to one side to let them past. After all, it was highly unlikely any of them would pay her any attention, let alone give her a second glance, but she didn’t want to get in their way so they were forced to notice her. Luckily, Lydia reasoned, she had long perfected the art of fading into her surroundings. As she had thought, the first few males took no notice of her, but one exquisitely turned-out gentleman, arms gesticulating wildly to his companion, clipped her cheek as he walked by. To be fair, she thought – or tried to – as her head snapped back, he probably couldn’t turn his head far enough to see her. His cravat was so high he looked as if it supported his head.
Lydia saw stars as the man’s companion swore. ‘Donkin, you ass, you’ve hurt the lady. Apologise at once.’ Someone propelled her to a nearby seat. ‘Go and get some water and a maid.’ Presumably the man spoke to Donkin and not her.
To her chagrin, Lydia felt herself moved backwards and forcibly made to sit down. ‘I’m fine – there is no need to fuss,’ she said faintly as she glanced at her rescuer and blinked.
Oh, good grief, no. Of all the people it could have been, it had to be Lord Birnham. Known with irony to others in the same situation as herself – those females who were older, wiser and not likely to be taken in by a handsome face and pretty manners – as the deb’s delight. Or Handsome Harry, or the luscious lord. Whichever sobriquet she chose, he annoyed and intrigued her in equal amounts. Not that she knew a lot about him. He was not in her small circle of friends or even smaller group of admirers. Rakes weren’t interested in wallflowers. But she knew enough about him to be honest to herself, and wonder, what if? Lydia admitted she had some curiosity about men in general and Lord Birnham in particular.
Not that ‘what if’ was ever likely to become anything else. She bet he’d be hard pressed to even know who she was, let alone realise they frequented the same entertainments. Now he frowned at her response to him and Lydia smiled at his concerned expression. It sat well on his aristocratic face. One could almost imagine it was real. With deep-grey eyes, dark, wavy, immaculately styled hair, and a body honed to perfection hidden under his immaculate dress, it was no wonder impressionable debs swore they swooned if he favoured them with a smile, or even better, a bow or a word. She, however, was made of sterner stuff – she hoped.
‘I am fine, my lord,’ Lydia said earnestly and cursed the husky tone of her voice. ‘Really. There is no need to concern yourself.’ She coughed, somewhat unconvincingly, and ignored the quirk to his lips.
Damn his eyes. ‘Mr Donkin only caught me a glancing blow,’ she explained in a way she hoped showed her determination to be a quiet, unassuming person who caused no trouble. It wasn’t easy as she was more than a little disconcerted by his close scrutiny. ‘If I had been more alert I would have ducked.’
‘He needs ducking,’ his lordship said irritably, ‘preferably his head in the pond. He’s an idiot.’
She couldn’t disagree, but this attention embarrassed her. Lord, if her mama appeared she’d crow and push them together. How mortifying would that be? Lydia got a grip on herself and attempted to stand up. His lordship’s hand, warm and, to her annoyance, comforting on her shoulder, forestalled her. She didn’t need to be comforted, just ignored.
‘Lady Lydia, you should let me call him to accounts.’
He knew who she was? Lydia hadn’t expected that. ‘No need, my lord. It truly was an accident.’ She did not want all eyes on her.
‘Hmm. Stay there until you get a compress on your cheek,’ he commanded in a voice that told her he didn’t expect her to argue. That was enough for Lydia to become riled. ‘You do not…’ she began emphatically, and saw the surprised look in his eyes.
Damn, damn and double damn. Her carefully cultivated boring and wilting attitude was not in keeping with that sentence. Lydia made haste to rectify that, and modify her tone. ‘Do not need to worry, my lord. I’ll be fine and I’ll call my mama and she will escort me home,’ she said in a voice which held no emotion. ‘I’m so thankful for your help, but really there is no necessity.’
His eyes narrowed and Lydia held her breath. Would he challenge her? For a few long and fraught seconds the outcome could have gone either way.
Finally, as she was about to scream – or pretend to faint – he nodded.
‘If you insist.’ The look on his face showed he thought it was a temporary reprieve. ‘I will send a footman to find her. I’ll be back.’ He turned on his heels, presumably to find a footman. The minute he disappeared from view she made a move towards the front door. He obviously intended her to wait where she was.
Lydia intended to do no such thing.
Chapter One (#u96749984-dd9a-57c3-9da1-34f94e0e8359)
‘You see, my lord, it was imperative I told you what has been brought to my notice. Your heir has some very unsavoury acquaintances.’ The neat-suited, tall, unassuming man, with his grey hair plastered to his skull and his brown eyes unfathomable, dipped his head apologetically. ‘I had the information checked out as best I could before I presented the facts to you.’ He shifted uneasily on the ladder-back chair he had been invited to sit on. ‘I didn’t press too far as I assumed you wouldn’t want any more rumours to abound, especially if they were without foundation.’
Harry, who had a few other names – including Lord Birnham – but was known as Harry to his friends, nodded as his mind raced furiously. Jeremy was involved in what? ‘Are they?’ he asked quietly, determined to show none of the trepidation and fury he held back with difficulty. ‘Without foundation?’
‘It seems there is perhaps a germ of truth in it all, somewhere,’ Pugh, his agent for all his business interests, continued apologetically, ‘Several germs. I have also been given to understand he has been, shall we say, boasting in the hells that he is due to come into money. A lot of money. He dipped deeply at Mrs O’Connor’s last week, to the tune of several thousand, and she’s pressing him. That in itself is unusual; she is generally more accommodating.’
Harry nodded and smiled to himself. ‘Indeed.’ He knew how accommodating the lady could be if she liked you.
‘Hence, I assume, the announcement with regards to money,’ Pugh said. ‘Now, unless he’s about to kill you, and I don’t think he has the stomach to come to that yet, he’s either involved in something illegal or about to be married.’
Harry had heard nothing to indicate either state, but, he ruminated, he had been out of town for a few weeks on other concerns. Firstly to his estate, to sort out extra barns for the harvest, then to speak to his agent in Devon concerning a new ship he had commissioned, and after that on to Wales. For business of the ‘end of a romance’ kind. That was now well over and, really, Lady Shelbourne should have been forgotten long before. However, an earnest plea for his attention had sent him hotfoot to Wales. It hadn’t turned out as the lady expected. Harry told her in no uncertain terms that, now she was betrothed once more, their brief sojourn was over. As a widow he would dally with her, as a wife he would not. Harry’s morals might not conform to rakish rules but they were his and he abided by them. Virgins and wives – or even wives-to-be – were not on his agenda. The lady had not been best pleased and the resultant altercation had spoiled any agreeable memories regarding what had been a rather pleasant dalliance.
‘See what you can find to indicate either state, if you would, Pugh,’ Harry said calmly. Damn Helen Shelbourne. If I had been around, we might have been able to scotch this earlier. ‘Report back to me on Friday, please. I, meanwhile, will keep my ears open in my circles.’
He remembered something Merryworth, his Devon agent, had said. The totals for the cargoes on his last three ships that had berthed in Teignmouth seemed to be down. ‘Check with Merryworth as well,’ he added as Pugh took his leave. As he also would.
He waited until Pugh had left and swore long and hard. Why couldn’t Helen have accepted it when he told her enough was enough and not concocted the story that he was needed to solve a problem? For that matter, why had he been so stupid as to believe her? He was usually too up to snuff to fall for such a ruse. It had been a long drive to Wales, involving several changes of cattle, some of which weren’t fit to pull a dogcart, let alone a curricle. Then an uncomfortable few hours of confrontation, tears and pleading from Helen, and in his mind an even longer drive back to town. Plus the unpleasant thought that, for a brief moment, he had been tempted to take what was on offer for one last time.
Logically, Helen should have accepted what she knew instead of assuming she would be the one to change his morals. Then they could have remained friends as she faded into marital bliss and left him alone. Instead of that, now they were not on the best of terms. Harry had prided himself that he and his ex-lovers always stayed friendly. This was a first. Ah, well. He turned his thoughts away from his ex-mistress and to the situation he now found himself in. To wit, that he was at a disadvantage over a situation he assumed was about to become incredibly important, not to say time-consuming.
Harry tossed off a glass of brandy, and stared moodily at the coal-less grate. Damn, he’d better start sooner rather than later.
White’s and Watier’s first. Then see what followed.
He stood up, stretched, and paused with his arms above his head. ‘Hell.’ What a time to remember he had a prior engagement – one he couldn’t miss. His godmother’s ball. Harry sighed and headed upstairs to change. Debs and mothers, traps and trappings. Inane conversations and inferior wine. What a way to pass several hours that could never be regained. Actually, he mused, fairly, as he took the stairs two at a time with his long-legged stride, the inferior wine wasn’t true. His godmother would never be so crass as to not have the finest food and drink served. Even so, the rest was a certainty. Sadly, the clubs would have to wait. Purgatory came first.
He better not let his godmother know he thought of her balls in such a way.
****
If only life were simple, he would now be on his second or even third glass of wine and ready to escape to the card tables. Instead, Harry stared at the glowering man in front of him, and wished he’d instructed Hill, his major domo, to tell this unwanted visitor he was not at home. Of course, Hill, on seeing Harry’s heir, would have thought nothing of admitting him, and now Harry’s head ached.
‘Get on with it, I have a ball to attend,’ he said to Jeremy sharply. Not that Harry was enamoured with the idea of the ball, but he was even less enamoured with his heir, especially in light of the recent revelations.
The hapless Jeremy Mumford had a harridan for a mother who, along with Harry, was Jeremy’s trustee, and jointly held the purse strings. With this in mind, Jeremy had just begged Harry to add weight to his plea that he be allowed to offer for a lady Harry now knew to be the stunning beauty he had aided at the recent ball. A lady several years older than Jeremy, who Jeremy declared was the only woman he would ever want.
Want, not love. Harry hadn’t thought that a stumbling block until suddenly Jeremy changed his tune and declared it was love. Love at first sight, not to be denied. Something was more than fishy, especially as Jeremy became more taciturn, as Harry pressed for answers.
‘Love, want, need?’
There was no reply. ‘Jeremy, you came to talk, to beg, so bloody well talk to me. Tell me what this is all about.’
‘I am going to marry her. She will marry me. Love cannot be denied.’
‘It can if I deny it.’ Grief, he would rather Jeremy try to emulate him, Harry decided grimly, and become a rake, than this.
If it were not so serious, it would be amusing. ‘Your life reads like one of those nasty romances women read,’ Harry said to the disgruntled young buck slouched in the chair next to him. In some people the stance would look elegant; in Jeremy it looked gauche. ‘Lost loves, unrequited love, languishing, tears and tantrums. And that’s just the males. Lord, Jeremy, you’re only one and twenty, well set up and, not to put too fine a point on it, a bloody idiot. How on earth do you have to marry this woman? Is she a harpy who entrapped you? Have you given her a slip on the shoulder? Is that it? Do you even know what love is?’
‘No, how dare you?’ Jeremy said indignantly. ‘It’s because…’ he scowled, his face turning the colour of the hall runner he’d so recently walked over, and mumbled something Harry didn’t catch.
‘You want your inheritance. To squander as you do your allowance? Gambling debts? Make arrangements like everyone else. Or do not gamble over your head.’
‘It’s not that, they are paltry.’
‘Is that why Mrs O’Connor is pressing you?’ Harry asked and sighed. ‘You’d best come clean.’
‘I’ve paid them, and it’s got nothing to do with you,’ Jeremy said. ‘I want to marry, that is all there is to it. I’ve chosen her. There are no debts. None.’
‘Make sure it stays that way,’ Harry advised. He ignored the marrying bit. He needed to think more about that before he made any further comments. Sadly, Jeremy was like a dog with a bone with regards to his future state.
‘Well, once I marry, nothing will have anything to do with you, so I will marry, and then you can… can go hang.’
‘Grow up.’ Harry sighed as he went over in his mind the rambling tale he’d just been given. It all smelled mighty fishy and far-fetched, especially with regards to the information he’d received earlier. ‘Then, when you have shown me you are indeed mature enough to manage it all, ask me once more.’ He didn’t mention Mrs O’Connor again. Some things were best left for a later date – after he’d spoken to her perhaps? To have ammunition was always useful.
‘It’s mine and I need it. Well, if I marry, you have to give it to me.’ So there, Jeremy’s tone indicated.
‘Not necessarily,’ Harry said pleasantly, albeit with a hint of menace in his tone. ‘I can stall, and unless you give me a clear and concise reason why this lady is the one for you, and she agrees, stall I will.’
Jeremy pouted. ‘You can’t,’ he said in an unsure voice. ‘I can make sure I have her. I need the money and her. She will be the…’ His voice faltered to a stop. ‘You can’t.’
‘Watch me,’ Harry advised, as he absorbed Jeremy’s somewhat ominous words. He’d definitely need to look into them. ‘Now is there anything else?’ His heir was spoiled by a doting mother and grandmother, but deep down, up until then, Harry had always been certain a decent and sensible young man lurked, so why on earth had he pitched the story of need, greed and must do? Harry was at a loss. Who, or what, on earth could send his heir into such a deep and imploring mood? Surely young men were supposed to sow their wild oats and not be thinking of marriage. He, of course, should be the opposite.
He wasn’t. Harry went over all the conversation in his mind. As much as he needed to get on, something in the tenor of it all worried him. He’d have to challenge Jeremy, and see how he wriggled out of explaining.
‘Hold on a minute. If my ears do not deceive me, and they never have before, I think you said you wanted her and changed that to love.’ Harry stared at Jeremy long and hard. ‘Which is it? And why? How do you think you can make sure you will have the lady? That strikes me as ominous.’
Jeremy mumbled something Harry didn’t catch. He thought it was ‘how do I know anything about how a woman’s mind works but I need to marry soon’; however, he couldn’t be certain. Harry reined in his ire. ‘What does the lady say?’ Harry asked mildly. Losing his temper at that moment wouldn’t help. ‘Where did you meet her?’
‘I saw her at Lady Finlay’s,’ Jeremy muttered. ‘She is almost on the shelf and needs to marry. Why not me?’
‘Saw her? That is not a very satisfactory reply. And then?’ Harry pressed on and ignored the negative attitude of his heir. Jeremy had the look on his face that intimated he was uncomfortable with the route the questions were taking. The one which, if his mama were around, she would immediately make haste to dispel. Not so Harry.
Jeremy looked mulish. ‘One look was all it took. Once I knew who she was, I knew she was the only one for me. I danced with her and knew. She would do.’
Harry raised his eyebrow. Do? What was behind all this? ‘One look across a crowded room, one twirl around the dance floor, and you decided that how?’ he asked sardonically. ‘What else comes into it?’
‘Nothing and I just did. We’re not all like you, you know. I love her and that is enough. If you persuade mama.’
Harry now understood for certain that his nephew and heir was a fool. Not that he believed Jeremy was in love for one second, but who on earth married for love, anyway? Such a fleeting sensation, soon lost and buried in the annals of time. Was she ill and about to die in the near future? Did Jeremy know how much she was worth? Harry knew to the last pound, for he kept his ear close to the ground where money was concerned, but he didn’t think Jeremy so wise. Over the years the information about Lady Lydia Field’s wealth had, to his mind, been severely downplayed. Most people now thought she had a comfortable fortune, no more. He thought different, but did Jeremy?
‘Do not mistake lust for love,’ he advised Jeremy. ‘And do not think to slake your lust with a lady. There are others more suited for that.’
I bet my fortune, that love has nothing to do with it. Now, to discover why Jeremy needs her.
Chapter Two (#u96749984-dd9a-57c3-9da1-34f94e0e8359)
Harry stood in the shadows and watched as Lady Lydia Field glanced around the ballroom and limped in a roundabout route towards an anteroom he knew would be empty. Her usual slow and apologetic gait was purposeful, albeit uneven. Had she injured herself somehow? That apart, she seemed… he hesitated in his thoughts. All he could pinpoint was that somehow her persona had changed.
What had he stumbled upon? Harry decided he’d been sadly misled by his peers and deceived by his own eyes, and that flash of something fiery he thought he had spotted a few nights before was real. Once you looked past her unassuming, disappear-into-the-background attitude and usually lacklustre response to anyone’s comments, Lydia Field was stunning. He could well imagine his heir in lust with her; he was halfway towards that condition himself. Nevertheless, she did not conform to his criteria for a lover – widowed or someone who knew the score – and although she was said to be biddable and make that sort of wife, he wasn’t on the lookout for one of them at that moment in time, either. However, he could still look and admire, surely.
Her skin was clear and a soft shade of pearly pink, her blue eyes sparkled and her blonde hair shone like spun silk. He mentally rolled his eyes at his silly, poetic words. Since when had he thought of a woman’s attributes in such a way? Or noticed how this particular woman curved in all the right places. What had he been missing? Obviously he’d walked around with his eyes shut, or his mind on other things. This lady had no need to be ignored. Why had no one seen what he now saw? Then, to his amusement, she blinked, swallowed and almost faded into the background before him. Lady Lydia Field was a conundrum he was now determined to solve.
Or maybe, he pondered, as he remembered that recent, impassioned plea from Jeremy Mumford, it seemed Lady Lydia Field was clever and only showed a certain part of her personality. And figure. But why? And how, therefore, had she come to Jeremy’s attention? Harry remembered a half-listened-to conversation from earlier in the evening. Something about a fortune if you overlooked her banality? Was it Lydia his peers had been talking about and her wealth known? Damn, now he wished he had paid more attention but, as trivia bored him, he’d ignored it, and concentrated on his cards. Two threes and a five wasn’t going to win the pot.
Now he stood transfixed as the lady hesitated by the antechamber door, glanced around furtively and then swiftly went inside. Intrigued, he followed her. Was she meeting someone? Was he about to break up a romantic tryst? Maybe even with Jeremy, who he hadn’t as yet spied at the ball. So be it. Harry opened the door and stepped inside the tiny chamber. It was empty apart from the lady he followed.
Lydia looked up from the chair she occupied. As he closed the door behind him, she closed her eyes and sighed. ‘My lord? You should not be here, and please not with a closed door. You will ruin us both.’
Harry leant back on the door and surveyed her thoroughly as she lifted her lashes and stared at him with her deep-blue orbs. ‘Not me, I am already ruined in many eyes, and care nothing about the rest.’
Her luscious breasts heaved under her low-cut dress and a pretty, rosy hue began to spread upwards from them. ‘I, however, am not nor wish to be. Go away and leave me alone. I reiterate you should not be here.’
‘Why not? You are.’
‘That is why.’ Again the flash of something other than docility showed briefly in her eyes, before she blinked and the illusion, if that was what it was, disappeared. Harry studied her absently. What the hell had Jeremy got himself into? Who was this woman, or more to the point, what was this woman?
‘My lord?’ a hesitant voice said. ‘Are you well? You seem troubled.’ Good God, he’d forgotten the woman sat before him. Never mind him, she was obviously in pain; he’d noticed the wince and the way she had trouble formulating her thoughts. Heavens, she’d sounded almost animated for a split second.
Nevertheless, fine blonde hair twisted into a complicated knot, with delicate wispy tendrils loose around her creamy cheeks, blue eyes and an hourglass figure made his body and his mind sit up and notice. He had a weakness for those attributes in a female. That half-formulated plan of earlier began to niggle him again.
Jeremy must be saved from his own impetuousness. After all, hadn’t he finished his diatribe by saying sullenly that, whatever happened, he would have his own way? And admitted love didn’t come into it, even though he had refused to explain why he was so intent on marriage to Lydia and flounced out with the threat that he would get what he wanted come what may. To say Harry was concerned was an understatement. The sooner they got to the bottom of it all, the better for everyone. Even, he supposed, Jeremy.
What had happened to his intention never to get involved with anyone who might have marriage in mind? Until it was the shy, biddable wife he intended many years hence. Disappeared, it seemed. He still had no intention of marriage, but a little dalliance, without breaking his own rules of no virgins, no innocents and no one who wasn’t up to snuff, would remain in place. For if it solved the problem of Jeremy he would pay attention to Lydia and see what happened.
‘I wondered how you have hurt yourself,’ Harry said slowly as a plan began to simmer in the back of his mind. ‘You were limping.’
‘Oh.’ She bit her lip and the rosy crescents increased in colour. ‘I turned my ankle as I stepped over the lintel. So silly of me. I thought to rest if for a few minutes.’ Alone, her tone implied.
‘And get a respite from the rabble?’ Harry said teasingly.
She chuckled and broke it off abruptly. ‘I would not be so rude, my lord. But yes, it is pleasant to sit quietly for a while.’ She studied him for a moment. ‘Alone.’
‘Alone, I cannot allow. And do not say it is not up to me, for we both know it is.’ To his secret amusement she shut her mouth with a decided snap. So the lady had been going to argue.
‘Will you give me the pleasure of your company on the terrace for a short while?’ Harry asked his companion, urbanely. ‘If your ankle will stand it. We can be alone but not alone there, if you understand me. Perfectly acceptable, whereas here…’ He let his voice quieten.
Lydia jumped. ‘Oh, my goodness. Yes, I understand.’ She looked up at him from under impossibly long, honey-gold lashes. ‘But why?’
Two words full of suspicion. He couldn’t blame her; he’d never, ever indicated by so much as a wink or a nod that he had even a flicker of interest in her. Now it seemed Lady Lydia Field had more to her than those limpid pools of blue, otherwise known as her eyes, the hair of spun silk and a figure to hold and caress indicated. Good God, now he sounded like one of those awful books he’d heard women loved to read and accused Jeremy of behaving like a character from. Why had nobody brought the lady’s delicious attributes to his attention before?
Probably no one looked closely enough to see them. Including me.
‘The cooler air might help your pain. Plus, it had been remiss of me to neglect you,’ he said smoothly, every inch a gentleman of the ton. ‘I feel behove.’
‘Why? You have never shown the need before,’ she said bluntly, and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, my lord, I do apologise at my rudeness.’
Harry laughed. ‘No, don’t go and spoil it. I like this side of you.’
Did she really say ‘I was afraid of that’?
Lydia shook her head. ‘My mama would be aghast at my lack of respect. Perhaps I best return to her side before I totally blot my copybook. If you would excuse me, my lord.’ She curtsied and began to turn.
Harry stopped her by dint of taking hold of one wrist. ‘To my certain knowledge, you, my dear, when you forget yourself, show you have spirit,’ he replied amiably. ‘It intrigues me. Perhaps we should further our acquaintance. Here, where so many other people are milling around, will attract attention. The terrace is within view and will cause less interest than anywhere else.’
