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She suddenly noticed a movement from the man near the window, a flutter of colour that caught her attention. A man in a red uniform coat stepped forward, into a buttery blade of sunlight, and Mary faltered at the sight of him.
He was quite, quite beautiful, almost unreal, like something in a book suddenly sprung into vivid life. A chivalric knight of old, only in a red coat instead of gleaming armour. On him, that uniform seemed—different. Exotic. Alluring.
He was taller than most of the men she met in London, with enticingly broad shoulders and lean hips, long hips encased in pale breeches set off with tall, glossy black boots.
His hair was a gold-tinged brown, almost tawny, shimmering as if he spent much time in the sun. It gave him such an enticing glow, a warmth, she feared she wanted to get closer and closer to, as if he could melt every tiny sliver of ice around her. Of the loneliness that had seemed to close in around her since her mother died. That hair fell in unruly waves over his brow and the high, gild-trimmed collar of his coat, enticingly soft-looking.
He didn’t seem as if he really quite belonged in the gilded, brocaded drawing room, despite his immaculate uniform and a noble bearing. Mary imagined him on the deck of a pirate ship, riding through a stormy sea, or racing a wild horse madly across an open field.
Or maybe grabbing a sighing, melting lady up into his arms, kissing her passionately until she swooned.
Mary almost laughed aloud at her romantic fantasies. Obviously she was mistaken when she told Lady Alnworth that she hadn’t read so widely; she had been consuming too many poems lately. It was very unlike her. If this was the famous Lord Sebastian Barrett, his reputation was more than justified. He was quite perfectly handsome.
She thought of Lord Henry Barrett, the man everyone seemed to think she should marry, who was perfectly amiable and good-looking, and felt a bit sorry for him.
‘Lady Louisa, Miss Manning!’ the duchess cried. ‘I am so glad to see you both. Come, sit with us. You can assist us in this quarrel between Lord James and Mr Warren. But what we really want to do is get Lord Sebastian to tell us of his many adventures. Perhaps you shall have more luck.’
‘Oh, yes, you must tell us more, Lord Sebastian!’ Louisa cried. ‘How heroic of you to defend us all like that.’
‘Lady Louisa, I know you once met Lord Sebastian. Miss Manning, have you met the great hero of the day?’ Lady Alnworth said. ‘He has so long been away from London, sadly for us all. Much like yourself. Lord Sebastian Barrett, may I present Miss Mary Manning?’
He turned to smile at Mary and it took all her long years of careful diplomatic training to keep her own polite smile in place, to make him the regulation demure curtsy. Up close, his eyes were very, very green. As green as her mother’s treasured emerald earrings, deep and dark, set in a lean, sculpted face touched with the gold of the sun. Even in all her family’s travels, she had never met a man quite like this one before. So very vital, burning with raw, energetic life.
Yes, she thought wryly. No wonder all the young ladies of London were quite in love with him. If she wasn’t careful, she would soon be one of them.
But one thing Mary had learned above all was to be careful.
‘How do you do, Miss Manning,’ he said, bowing over her hand. His breath felt so warm through her glove, but somehow it made her shiver. ‘I believe I have heard of your father. Sir William Manning, the diplomat who was lately in St Petersburg?’
‘Oh, yes, he is my father,’ Mary said, feeling quite pleased he had heard of her family in some way. ‘We’ve only been back in London for a few months. He is waiting for his next post.’
Lord Sebastian’s handsome face looked very solemn suddenly, like a grey cloud sliding over the sun. ‘My friend Mr Denny says he and his wife could never have escaped from France last year without Sir William’s help. He could not say enough fine things about your father.’
Mary couldn’t help but smile at hearing her father’s praises. She well remembered the long nights he had gone sleepless while trying to help every British citizen he could. ‘He would be pleased to hear that your friend is well now, but I know he would claim he only did his duty for England. As you do, Lord Sebastian. We do hear such talk of your heroics.’
An embarrassed look flashed across his handsome face and he glanced away. He laughed and it was as smooth and warm as his fine looks. ‘I did nothing but laze around in the Spanish sun, I promise, Miss Manning. It’s people like you and your father who are the heroes of our country, digging your way through Russian ice and snow to win friends for England.’
Mary had to laugh, too, charmed by how he seemed to want to run away from his heroic reputation rather than revel in it, as any other man surely would. ‘It was indeed—interesting in Russia, Lord Sebastian. I am glad to be back in London now.’
‘I should very much like to hear more about your experiences there, Miss Manning.’
‘Would you truly?’ Mary said, surprised. ‘I promise it was really quite dull.’
‘I always love hearing about other lands. My favourite book as child was Thousand and One Nights. Do you know it?’
‘Of course! It was my favourite, too,’ Mary said. Lord Sebastian, despite his fine looks and great popularity, was not so frightening after all. It felt as though she already knew him, that she could tell him of some of her secret hopes. Her thirst for adventure. ‘I fear I made my nanny read it to me over and over until she was quite sick of it.’
‘What are you two talking of so intently?’ Lady Alnworth called. ‘You must share it with all of us, I insist!’
Mary glanced at their hostess, suddenly startled to realise she and Lord Sebastian had been standing beside the half-open window, talking quietly together for too long. It was most unlike her to lose sight of even a second of impropriety. She felt her cheeks turn warm and quickly smiled to cover her blushes.
Lady Alnworth and Louisa sat with two of the other men, Mr Warren and Lord Paul Gilesworth, two of the most well-known rakes in town. They all looked at her with eyes wide with interest.
‘I fear I was the one monopolising Miss Manning,’ Lord Sebastian said with a charming smile. ‘I was asking about her time in Russia.’
‘Oh, it must have been horrid, all that dreadful snow!’ the duchess cried, with a quick agreement from Lady Alnworth. ‘Surely there are far more amusing things going on right here in London.’
‘Perhaps we could speak more about your travels later, Miss Manning?’ Lord Sebastian whispered in her ear before she could move away.
He wanted to talk more to her? Mary could only nod, frozen with something terribly like excitement and—and pleasure. It was most frightening. He led her back to the group, and soon they were all deep in a conversation about the newest play at Covent Garden. But Mary was always much too aware of Lord Sebastian sitting across from her, of his warm laughter and emerald-green eyes. The way the duchess kept sliding her hand over his arm.
Mary knew she was going to have to be very careful indeed. One careless step and her cautious, contented life could come tumbling down—right into those strong arms.
Chapter Two (#ulink_8272f3ba-ac47-5cf9-9cb7-c4864735d2d2)
‘That Lady Louisa Smythe is a rare beauty,’ Lord Paul Gilesworth said with a laugh. He gestured to the footman for a bottle of port as they settled into armchairs by the fireplace of their club in St James’s, after leaving Lady Alnworth’s tea. ‘Also a rare flirt, it seems. What do you all think?’
Nicholas Warren laughed. ‘I think her father guards her like a chest of gold. You’d have far better luck with Lady Alnworth herself, Gilesworth.’
‘Do you think so?’ Gilesworth said, his expression turning speculative. ‘Depends on what you want the fillies for, I suppose. Brood mare or racehorse? And what of the Duchess of Thwaite? She would be a bit of a challenge.’
Sebastian watched as the servants poured out the blood-red wine into fine cut-crystal goblets, half-listening as his friends debated the merits of various ladies in London. He felt as he had ever since he returned to England—distant from everything that went on around him, as if it was happening in a dream.
The concerns of London society, the concerns that had once been his as well, seemed as insubstantial and inconsequential as the bubbles in a glass of champagne. The beauties of various débutantes, who had lost what in which card games, who took which famous actress as his mistress—it all meant nothing at all after what he had seen. What he had done in battle.
He took a long drink of the fine, satin-smooth wine, and studied the faces of his old friends, as detached as if he looked at paintings in a gallery. Nicholas Warren was all right; a kind-hearted, harmless sort of chap, headed for the diplomatic service like Sebastian’s brother Henry. But Gilesworth and Lord James, who had seemed like such fun companions when they were at school, now had concerns that seemed no deeper than the cut of their coats and the legs of the dancing girls at Covent Garden. It was rather wearying.
Sebastian couldn’t help but remember the men he had seen fall in battle. Good, brave men, who lived to the fullest, yet died fearlessly for their country. He had drunk with them, too, sat up late into the night joking and laughing, gone searching for beautiful women to seek comfort in their arms for a few moments. Faced the deepest instants of life and death with them.
Yet somehow, it had felt so very different with his fellow officers. Life had taken on a rare, shining edge there on the eve of battle. A height of feeling he had never known.
And now those friends were gone, and Sebastian felt as if he had plunged into a dark tunnel where there was no point of light to guide him. Much to his shock, he was hailed as a hero here in London. Welcomed warmly into every drawing room, begged for his ‘stories’. Even his father, who had long bemoaned how ‘useless’ his youngest son was, such a wastrel, seemed proud.
It made Sebastian feel the greatest fraud and he was puzzled that no one else seemed to see it. He was alive and all those good men were dead in the gore of the battlefield.
Surely there was nothing right about that?
But no one here seemed to understand anything. They went on blithely with their lives as if nothing else mattered. As if the world outside their little island wasn’t exploding into pieces.
Sebastian no longer felt he belonged in London. No longer belonged in his own skin. Lord Sebastian Barrett—who was that? With his fellow officers, he had felt he found himself, his true self, at last. For so long, his whole life really, he had felt the tug between what he felt inside and what his family thought. Once he was in the Army, he could just—be. Here, there was only a cold numbness, that terrible distance. He found he would do anything, try anything, to be warm again.
The only time he had felt anything since he came home was when Miss Mary Manning had smiled up at him today in Lady Alnworth’s drawing room. Miss Manning wasn’t flashing and flirtatious like her friend Lady Louisa, to be sure, but there was such a quiet, dignified beauty to her. A solemn, deep perception in her grey eyes that he hadn’t found in anyone else in London. They all swirled on with their merriment, never stopping to look.
Yet Mary Manning seemed to look. Her very stillness seemed to be a refuge, no matter how brief. He had wanted to sit with her, talk to her more. Maybe even tell her something of what had happened to him.
But he remembered all too well that his father had declared Miss Manning would be a suitable bride for Sebastian’s brother Henry. The perfect, intellectual son, destined to carry on the Barretts’ great tradition in the diplomatic service. Sebastian had thought nothing of it when he heard his father and Henry talking about Mary Manning. After all, he did not know her and his thoughts and nightmares were still all of the battlefield. He didn’t care who his brother married. Surely they would be the perfect, dignified couple, a credit to the Barretts and to England.
It was obvious Henry cared little for Miss Manning beyond who her father was, the famous and well-respected Sir William Manning. That was how all their family’s marriages were conducted.
Yet now Sebastian had met Mary Manning. And she was most unexpected.
He took a deep drink of his wine, draining the glass. The footmen quickly refilled it. So, the brief moment of quiet Sebastian had found in Mary’s pale grey eyes had been all too brief. The desperate search for distraction went on.
He studied the faces of his friends again, sweet Nicholas Warren and Lord James who would always follow him anywhere. But Paul Gilesworth—he always knew where the most trouble was to be found. He revelled in it. He would surely know of something that would make Sebastian forget the great waste of his life for a time.
‘So, no Lady Louisa Smythe,’ Gilesworth was saying with a laugh. It seemed Sebastian had missed more of the listing of various ladies’ attributes. ‘She would surely be easy enough to lead astray, but the trouble with her father afterward wouldn’t be worth it. I for one have no intention of ending in parson’s mousetrap before I’m forty.’
‘But that’s the trouble with every young lady in London,’ Lord James said with a sigh. ‘Their papas are most vigilant.’
Gilesworth gave a sly laugh. ‘Not all of them, surely.’
‘For respectable young ladies, it must be,’ Nicholas said earnestly. ‘That is how it should be. But demi-reps...’
‘Where is the challenge in that? Or even in flirtatious young misses like Lady Louisa,’ Gilesworth said, his lips twisting.
A challenge. Surely that was what Sebastian needed now. He gestured for more wine as he turned that intriguing thought over in his head. Every day in the Army was a challenge. In London, there was only ever that numbness.
‘What do you mean, Gilesworth?’ Sebastian said. The others turned to him with startled looks on their faces, as if they had rather forgotten he was there. ‘What of a challenge could there be in London?’
Gilesworth’s eyes narrowed. He looked as if he had some scheme going in his mind, sharpening his features, and it roused Sebastian’s own instincts for trouble. ‘You talked rather quietly with Miss Mary Manning today, Barrett.’
Sebastian saw again Mary Manning in his mind, her sweet smile, the gentle touch of her hand on his arm. ‘So I did. She was rather unusually intelligent. What of it?’
‘A lady like her would probably be something of a challenge.’
‘What do you mean?’ Nicholas said. He was beginning to look rather alarmed, which Sebastian was sure must be an interesting sign.
‘Miss Manning is no flirt, despite her friendship with Lady Louisa,’ Gilesworth said. ‘She has not been long back in London, due to her father’s work, but no one ever has a word of criticism for her. She is pretty, polite, calm, a fine hostess for her father. She couldn’t put a dainty slipper wrong.’
Sebastian saw where Gilesworth was going and it made him scowl. He drank down the last of his wine, letting the hazy distance of the alcohol add to his own cold numbness. ‘So, in other words, she is exactly what she should be?’
Lord James gave a snort. ‘Are any of us what we should be?’
‘Exactly,’ Gilesworth said. ‘Surely no one is perfect inside—even a quiet lady like Miss Manning. She must have a few wild thoughts running through that pretty head.’
Sebastian stared down into the ruby dregs of his glass, but he didn’t see the wine. He saw Mary Manning’s face, the way she smiled at him, so shy and trusting.
Wild thoughts in her head? Oh, how he would like to know what those were! Sebastian almost laughed to imagine Mary Manning going wild, her skirts frothing around her slender legs, her laughter ringing out like music.
And then suddenly he wasn’t laughing any longer. The thought of her breaking free, taking him by the hand and drawing him with her into the sunshine, made him feel sad—and also, strangely, hopeful.
‘All the ladies seem to talk of nothing but your heroics of late, Barrett,’ Gilesworth said. ‘Even Miss Manning seemed most fascinated by you today. If anyone could break through such cool perfection, surely it would be you.’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘My brother is the one who is interested in Miss Manning.’
Gilesworth and Lord James laughed, as Nicholas watched them, wide-eyed. ‘Your brother Lord Henry is surely not interested in anything besides his own career. He is as cool-headed as Miss Manning herself. No, I would wager if anyone could break through to the perfect Miss Manning, it would be you.’
‘A wager?’ Lord James cried. ‘Oh, marvellous. I haven’t heard an interesting wager in ages.’
Sebastian studied Gilesworth carefully. He didn’t quite trust his friend’s smile, but he found himself intrigued rather against his will. ‘I may be wickedly bored, but I do not wager on a lady’s reputation.’
Gilesworth waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘No one is suggesting we ruin a lady’s fair name! Only that we provide her—and ourselves—with a bit of fun. It has been a most dull Season. Surely even Miss Manning deserves a laugh before she retreats into a blameless life as Lady Henry? If she does become Lady Henry in the end, which I doubt.’
‘Then what are you suggesting?’ Sebastian said in a hard voice.
Gilesworth leaned over the table. ‘Just this—fifty guineas says you won’t be able to steal a kiss from Miss Manning at the Duchess of Thwaite’s ball.’
‘Fifty guineas?’ Nicholas gasped.
Sebastian did not look away from Gilesworth. ‘I told you. I won’t ruin a lady’s reputation.’ Not even to break that terrible coldness around him.
Not even if he was tempted by the thought of kissing Miss Manning. And he was tempted. Far more than he cared to admit. Surely the touch of her lips, so sweet and innocent, could make him feel alive again?
‘No one would know but us, Barrett,’ Gilesworth said. ‘And Miss Manning, of course. Give her a thrilling memory. If indeed there is something of fire under her pretty ice, which I am not at all sure of.’
Sebastian sat back in his chair, turning his empty glass around in his hand. There was such a stew of feelings seething inside of him: boredom, desire, intrigue. It was the first spark of warm life he had felt in too long. And yet surely it could not be right.
Maybe he was the rake London society had proclaimed him to be after all.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I shall endeavour to kiss the lady just once at the duchess’s ball.’
Yet even as he shook hands with Gilesworth to make their devil’s bargain, he knew something momentous was going to happen.
Whether for good or ill, he could not say. He only knew Mary Manning had suddenly made him feel alive again.
Chapter Three (#ulink_8902209b-4da4-59e9-81a6-f1408887c49d)
Mary watched her reflection in the mirror as her maid put the last touches on her coiffure for the Duchess of Thwaite’s ball. Usually, she saw none of the elaborate process of braiding and pinning. There were too many other things to go over in her mind. The people her father wanted her to talk to at the party; remembering everyone’s names; organising their own dinner parties and who would require return calls and invitations later.
She knew the maids knew their jobs and trusted them to make her look presentable. She knew that she herself could always be called ‘presentable’. Pretty enough, always suitably dressed, knowledgeable enough of fashion. She had always been taught to be appropriate.
But she was certainly no stylish beauty like Lady Louisa, or like her own mother. Maria Manning, with her dark Portuguese eyes and musical laugh, had always dazzled everyone. Mary knew she didn’t have it in her power to be like that, so she did all she could otherwise. Studied, watched her manners, tried to be helpful.
But tonight she found herself peering into the looking glass as the maid twined a wreath of pink-and-white rosebuds through the braids of her glossy brown hair. She felt so unaccountably nervous tonight, almost unable to sit still. Her thoughts wouldn’t stay put on her duties for the duchess’s ball, but kept darting all around like shimmering summer butterflies. And she knew exactly why she felt so flighty tonight.
Lord Sebastian Barrett.
Just thinking his name made her want to laugh aloud. Mary found she couldn’t quite quell her confusion, that feeling of warm, bubbling anticipation mixed with the twinge of fear. Would he be there that night? She knew Lady Alnworth had said he would. The duchess’s ball was the event of the Season, and Lord Sebastian was the hero of London at the moment. Surely she would see him there.
Yet if he were there, what would she do? What if he talked to her—or didn’t talk to her? He was so very handsome, so very sought after, he could certainly have his pick of feminine company.
She remembered the way he had smiled at her in Lady Alnworth’s drawing room, the easy way they had talked together. When she was actually with him, there hadn’t been this fear. It was only now, thinking about him in the silence of her own room, that she felt so uncertain about everything. And Mary hated being unsure of what to feel, what to do.
She closed her eyes and remembered that morning, when she had gone to take the air with Lady Louisa in the Smythe carriage at the park and she had glimpsed Lord Sebastian in the distance. He had looked so distracted and solemn on his horse, dressed in dark riding clothes, and she had wanted to go to him.
Yet he had seemed somehow to want to remain unobtrusive. He did not wear his dashing regimentals and was alone at the park at a quiet hour. He seemed so distant, as if his thoughts were not on the present moment at all. She hadn’t even had the heart to point him out to Louisa.
She had been thrilled at the unexpected sight of him and had longed to call out to him, yet something about his very stillness, his solitary state, had held her back. But then he looked up and saw her, and a smile touched his face. There was only time for him to nod and tip his hat to her, and for her to raise her hand in answer. Then he was lost to sight.
