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Courting Miss Vallois
Gail Whitiker
FROM THE FIELDS OF FRANCE… Miss Sophie Vallois’ looks and grace make her an instant hit with London Society. No one would know that the French beauty is a mere farmer’s daughter, with no interest in marriage whatsoever……TO THE DRAWING ROOMS OF LONDON!Except Robert Silverton, who has other reasons for staying away from Sophie. Yet her spirit and compassion intrigue him… Rather than keeping her at arm’s length, Robert soon wants the delectable Miss Vallois well and truly in his arms!



Sophie was halfway to the door when a hand closed gently but firmly over her arm.
‘The gentleman asked that you stay where you are,’ a voice said close to her ear. ‘I advise you to heed his request. You will only serve as a distraction if you venture outside now.’
The man’s voice was as inflexible as his grip, but his high-handed assumption that Sophie would just be in the way rankled. ‘You don’t understand! Someone may have been injured.’
‘I’m sure someone has, but your going out there now isn’t going to help. If you promise to stay here, I shall endeavour to find out what has taken place.’
The man did not let go of her arm, and when Sophie finally raised her eyes to look at him she realised he probably wasn’t going to. He stood with legs firmly planted, radiating power and authority in a manner that suggested he was used to being in control. Dark brown hair fell across a broad forehead, over eyes bright with intelligence, and while his features were too rugged to be called handsome he was still a very good-looking man. All of which meant nothing, given that he was still holding her captive against her will.
‘Kindly release my arm, sir.’

About The Author
GAIL WHITIKER was born on the west coast of Wales and moved to Canada at an early age. Though she grew up reading everything from John Wyndham to Victoria Holt, frequent trips back to Wales inspired a fascination with castles and history, so it wasn’t surprising that her first published book would be set in Regency England. Now an award-winning author of both historical and contemporary novels, Gail lives on Vancouver Island, where she continues to indulge her fascination with the past, as well as enjoying travel, music, and spectacular scenery. Visit Gail at www.gailwhitiker.com


COURTING
MISS VALLOIS

Gail Whitiker






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Klas, always.
Thank you for introducing me
to all things Swedish.
To my agent, Sally Harding,
for opening doors, and for being there
with a keen eye, a wealth of patience,
and an excellent sense of humour.
And to Kimberley Young,
who made me dig deeper,
but in the nicest possible way.
Thank you for guiding me safely through
the perils of the London Underground!

Chapter One


‘We’ve found them, my lord,’ Inspector Rawlings said in a voice of quiet satisfaction. ‘And by all accounts, in good health and fine spirits.’
For a moment, no one spoke. Not the portly detective whose long-awaited words brought to an end a search that had begun nearly eighteen months ago. Not the beautiful, dark-haired lady whose briefly closed eyes spoke more eloquently of her feelings than words ever could. And not the tall, slender gentleman whose clandestine missions in France had been the reason for the investigation in the first place. Nothing disturbed the silence of the April afternoon but the steady ticking of the mantel clock and the rattle of carriage wheels on the cobblestones below.
‘And there is no doubt in your mind that it is Sophie Vallois and her brother, Antoine?’ Nicholas Grey, Viscount Longworth, asked at length.
Rawlings shook his head. ‘None whatsoever. I’ve had my best man on it for months. There can be no mistake.’
‘Thank heavens!’ Lavinia Grey said with relief. ‘To know they have finally been located. I cannot imagine what their life has been like.’
‘Neither can I,’ the inspector admitted. ‘But I suspect they did what was necessary in order to protect themselves from those who would have murdered them in their beds.’
Lavinia’s slender fingers tightened on the arm of the loveseat. ‘Surely it was not as dire as that.’
‘I wish I could say otherwise, but to those loyal to Bonaparte, what Miss Vallois and her brother did would have been viewed as an act of treason. The two would have had no choice but to lose themselves in the back streets of Paris.’
‘Which they did most effectively for the best part of three years,’ Nicholas murmured. ‘Are they aware of having been followed?’
‘No, my lord. Budge is my best man. He could follow the Prince Regent into the privy and not arouse suspicion. Begging your pardon, my lady.’
Lavinia inclined her head, though the dimple in her cheek suggested amusement rather than annoyance. ‘And my husband’s letter. Was it delivered?’
‘According to my information, it was put into Miss Vallois’s hands at half past four on the afternoon of the tenth,’ the inspector said, checking his notepad. ‘That being the case, you should be receiving an answer very soon.’
‘If the young lady has any intention of replying.’ Nicholas moved towards the fireplace, seeing in the flames the sweetly innocent face of the child he remembered. ‘She might not even remember who I am. And if she does remember, she may wish to have nothing more to do with a man who was so instrumental in ruining her life.’
‘You did not ruin her life, Nicholas,’ Lavinia said with a touch of exasperation. ‘Miss Vallois and her brother helped you of their own accord. It isn’t fair that you should shoulder all the blame for what happened as a result.’
Nicholas smiled, touched as always by his wife’s unconditional support of his actions. She was a remarkable woman, able to comprehend the rationale behind what he did without convoluted explanations or lengthy justifications. Her quick, intuitive mind would have made her an excellent intelligence agent had she chosen to turn her hand to it. And as he walked across the room towards the brocade loveseat where she sat, he thanked God—and his commanding officer—that she had not. ‘You are, as always, the voice of reason and logic. Even if the logic is somewhat prejudiced in my favour.’
‘Of course it’s prejudiced, darling. I am your wife. How could it be otherwise?’
‘Not all wives agree with their husbands.’
‘Not all husbands are worth agreeing with.’ She smiled up at him. ‘You have always been a most delightful exception.’
Nicholas bent to press a kiss against her dark, shining hair. ‘And you the reason for it.’
Across the room, Inspector Rawlings cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, my lord, but shall I inform my man that his continued surveillance is no longer required?’
Nicholas glanced at his wife. ‘Well?’
Lavinia raised her shoulders in a gesture as eloquent as it was elegant. ‘I suppose there is nothing to be gained by leaving the poor man in France now. Miss Vallois and her brother have been found and your letter delivered. There is nothing we can do but sit back and wait for her reply.’
Nicholas glanced at the inspector to see if he had anything to add, but assumed from the expression on his face that he agreed with Lavinia. They had all waited a long time for news that Sophie and Antoine Vallois had been found. Now that they had, and an initial contact had been made, there was nothing any of them could do but sit back and wait for her answer. It was frustrating, to be sure, but it seemed that once again, fate had placed his well-being squarely into someone else’s hands. All he could do now was hope it would smile as favourably upon him today as it had all those years ago, when, but for a chance meeting with a young French girl and her brother in the darkened countryside of war-torn France, he wouldn’t have been here at all.

The lumbering coach drew to a halt in the bustling yard of the Black Swan Inn; within minutes, a stable boy ran forwards to grab the reins of the lead horse. Carriage doors were thrown open, stairs were let down and a stream of weary passengers began to make their way into the inn.
Sophie Vallois was amongst the first to disembark and as she waited for her brother to join her, she smoothed her hands over the rumpled skirts of her well-worn travelling outfit. Thank goodness she had not worn one of her new ensembles. Quarters on board ship had been cramped, and cleanliness was not an issue with which the captain had concerned himself. Added to that, the rough crossing had been enough to test the mettle of even the hardiest sailor. Fortunately, the wind-swept sea had not sent them to their beds as it had so many others and, come morning, Sophie had been on deck to see the spectacular sight of the sun glinting off the white cliffs of the southern coast of England. Now, countless hours and even more miles later, they had arrived at the coaching inn where they were to spend the night before continuing on to London in the morning.
‘So, we are to break our journey here.’ Antoine Vallois stepped down from the carriage and cast a dubious glance at the exterior of the inn. ‘I hope the accommodation is better than the inn’s appearance would suggest.’
‘It will be fine,’ Sophie replied with confidence. ‘Lord Longworth would not have recommended it to us otherwise.’
‘Unless it has been some time since the gentleman had occasion to stay here himself,’ Antoine murmured as he stepped around a steaming pile of fresh horse droppings. Thankfully, the interior of the inn turned out to be far more pleasant than the weathered timbers and muddy yard might suggest, and the fragrant smells wafting up from the kitchen did much to restore their spirits, as did the roaring fire burning in the grate. Instinctively Sophie moved towards it, anxious to banish the chill of the unseasonably cool April evening.
‘Wait here while I see to our rooms and enquire about dinner,’ Antoine said, placing their two small bags on the floor beside her. ‘If Lord Longworth was unable to secure accommodations, we may find ourselves bedding down with the horses. And while sleeping in a barn is nothing new, I would rather not be plucking bits of straw from my clothes when we arrive in London tomorrow.’
Sophie’s mouth twitched as she held her gloved hands out to the flames. ‘I’m sure Lord Longworth would not care if you arrived looking like l’épouvantail. As long as we arrive safely.’
‘The scarecrow, eh?’ Antoine chuckled. ‘Tiens, you have no respect for your brother and far too much for this English lord. You seem to forget that our acquaintance with the man was brief and the repercussions far reaching. I would have expected you to be more suspicious of his reasons for asking us to come to England after all this time.’
‘I admit, the circumstances are curious,’ Sophie agreed, ‘but I do not believe he would have asked us to come all this way if his motives were anything but honourable.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Antoine said, though his eyes remained guarded. ‘Wait here and speak to no one. I do not trust these English around my beautiful sister.’
Sophie resisted the urge to smile. ‘Do you not believe your sister capable of defending herself?’
‘Having seen the way you handle a pistol, I think my sister is more than capable of defending herself. It is the well-being of the English I worry about now.’
The remark was typical of the close relationship they shared, and as her brother headed towards the bar, Sophie realised how glad she was that he had agreed to make the trip with her. The last few years hadn’t been easy for either of them. The strain of constantly having to move had been exhausting, and when at the beginning of last year they had finally settled into affordable rooms near the centre of Paris, she had nearly wept with relief. It was the first time since leaving home they had enjoyed anything close to a normal existence, so it was only natural that when the letter from Viscount Longworth had arrived, inviting them to come to England, Antoine would be suspicious. After all, what did they really know about the man whose life they had saved all those years ago? The fact of his having stayed in their barn for two weeks meant nothing given that he had been either delirious or unconscious for much of the time.
It certainly hadn’t been the time to ask him what had brought him to France—or why he had been lying in a ditch with a bullet lodged in his side.
Because of her preoccupation with what lay ahead, it was a few minutes before Sophie realised that something was happening in the yard outside. An argument by the sounds of things, though the words were muffled by the thickness of the stone walls. Several of the inn’s patrons glanced towards the door, but none seemed inclined to move, reluctant perhaps to involve themselves in something that might have untimely consequences. But when the sharp retort of a pistol split the night air, followed by a woman’s high-pitched scream, Sophie knew the argument had turned deadly.
She turned to look for Antoine—and felt her heart stop when she saw him running towards the door. ‘Antoine!’
‘Stay where you are, Sophie. I have to see if I can help.’
‘Then I’ll come too—’
‘No! If you would do anything, see to our rooms, then wait for me upstairs.’
For the space of a heartbeat, Sophie hesitated. If someone was seriously injured, Antoine would need her by his side. It would be almost impossible for him to do what was necessary without an assistant or the proper equipment. ‘Wait, I’m coming with you!’
She was halfway to the door when a hand closed gently but firmly over her arm.
‘The gentleman asked that you stay where you are,’ a voice said close to her ear. ‘I advise you to heed his request. You will only serve as a distraction if you venture outside now.’
The man’s voice was as inflexible as his grip, but his high-handed assumption that Sophie would just be in the way rankled. ‘You don’t understand! Someone may have been injured.’
‘I’m sure someone has, but your going out there now isn’t going to help. If you promise to stay here, I shall endeavour to find out what has taken place.’
The man did not let go of her arm, and when Sophie finally raised her eyes to look at him, she realised he probably wasn’t going to. He stood with legs firmly planted, radiating power and authority in a manner that suggested he was used to being in control. Clearly a man of means, he wore a well-tailored jacket and light-coloured breeches beneath his greatcoat, and though his leather boots were scuffed and in need of a polish, the quality of the workmanship was unmistakable. Dark brown hair fell across a broad forehead, over eyes bright with intelligence, and while his features were too rugged to be called handsome, he was still a very good-looking man. All of which meant nothing given that he was still holding her captive against her will. ‘Kindly release my arm, sir.’
‘Have I your word you won’t do anything foolish?’
‘You think a desire to go to the aid of an injured person foolish?’
‘I think the intention noble, but the deed reckless.’ Nevertheless, his hand dropped away. ‘Your husband asked that you see to your accommodation. If you will wait for me at the bar, I shall offer what assistance I can and then return with any details I am able to uncover.’
‘Oh, but Antoine is not—’
But the man was already gone, his greatcoat billowing around him as he stepped into the night. Other men followed him to the door, but none ventured out, and, inexplicably annoyed, both with their cowardice and by the high-handed treatment of the stranger, Sophie walked briskly towards the bar. She wasn’t used to being cast aside like some helpless female who swooned at the sight of blood. She had often assisted Antoine with his work. Why would he not look to her for help now?
Her mood did not improve when she had to raise her voice to gain the innkeeper’s attention.
‘All right, all right, you needn’t shout,’ the old fellow grumbled, shuffling back from the window where he’d been trying to see what was going on outside. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’d like to see about our rooms. The name is Vallois.’
The innkeeper, whose grizzled eyebrows looked more like slivers of metal than natural hair, opened a well-worn book and ran his finger down the list. ‘Nothing like that here.’
Surprised, Sophie said, ‘Perhaps they were reserved under the gentleman’s name. Viscount Longworth?’
If she had hoped to impress him with the use of a title, her gambit failed. ‘No. Nothing like that either.’
‘But I was told the arrangements would be made. His lordship sent me a letter, and said a copy would be sent here. Did you not receive it?’
The old man grunted. ‘Mr Rastley might have.’
‘Mr Rastley?’
‘Him what owns the place. But he had to go off to see to his dying sister and there’s no reservation in your name or the toff’s’ The man closed the book. ‘I can give you a blanket and you can sleep in the stable if you like—’
‘Sleep in the stable? Good God, man, what kind of establishment are you running here?’
The remark was uttered by a tall, well-dressed man who came to stand beside her. He was obviously a gentleman. A shiny black beaver sat atop golden curls and a diamond pin was tucked securely into the folds of an elaborately tied cravat. Unlike the first gentleman who’d come to her aid, there wasn’t a speck of dust on his boots, and the heavy gold rings on his fingers indicated a degree of wealth most often associated with the aristocracy. But while it was clear he intended to intervene on her behalf, Sophie knew better than to encourage the acquaintance. For all his fine appearance, his expression was cold, his mouth possessed of a cynical twist, his eyes hooded like those of a cat eyeing the helpless bird it intended having for dinner.
‘Thank you, sir, but I have no doubt the situation can be resolved to the satisfaction of all concerned,’ she told him. ‘There has obviously been some confusion over the reservations.’
‘Indeed. Confusion that has left you without a comfortable bed in which to spend the night.’ The man flicked a contemptuous glance at the innkeeper. ‘And to cause so beautiful a lady such a degree of inconvenience is an unconscionable crime.’
The old man blanched. ‘Begging your pardon, Mr Oberon, but we don’t have any rooms—’
‘So you said,’ the gentleman drawled. ‘However, you cannot expect this young woman to spend the night alone and unprotected.’ He turned to her and, as he leaned his elbow on the bar, Sophie saw the expression in his eyes change. ‘Who knows what manner of harm might befall her? Better you spend the night with me, my dear, than take your chances elsewhere.’
The ploy was so obvious that Sophie almost laughed. ‘Fortunately, I am neither alone nor unprotected. As soon as my brother returns, we will settle this matter to the satisfaction of all involved.’
‘Your brother?’
‘Yes. He ran outside after the first shot was fired …’ Sophie faltered, painfully reminded of what had taken place only moments ago. She had no way of knowing if Antoine was all right because she had no way of knowing what manner of contretemps he had stumbled into. Innocent bystanders often came to harm when force was used to settle differences between men. But barely had the thought crossed her mind than it was laid to rest—and by the very man who had prevented her from going to Antoine’s side in the first place.
‘You will be glad to know that all is well, madame,’ the gentleman said. ‘The matter is settled and the injured man will recover, thanks to the timely intervention of your husband.’
‘Her husband?’ Mr Oberon turned to regard Sophie with an expression of reproach. ‘I thought you said you were travelling with your brother?’
‘I am. This gentleman mistakenly assumed he was my husband.’
‘Perhaps because you made no attempt to correct me,’ the first man said.
‘How could I?’ Sophie fired back. ‘You ran outside before I had a chance to say anything.’
‘By the by, Silverton,’ Mr Oberon cut in carelessly, ‘what was going on outside?’
‘An argument, over a lady,’ said the man so addressed, his slight hesitation enough to cast doubt as to the lady’s respectability. ‘An insult was tendered, an apology demanded, and when the offending gentleman refused to give it, the lady’s companion took out a whip and struck the man across the face. The first gentleman responded by shooting the second in the leg. A nasty wound, but not life threatening, thanks to the prompt attention of this young lady’s brother, whom I assume to be a doctor?’
‘He is studying to become one,’ Sophie was stung into replying. ‘And I would not have been in the way. I often help my brother in such situations.’
‘But I wasn’t to know that, was I?’ Mr Silverton said. ‘I only heard him ask you to stay where you were. And detecting the note of concern in his voice, I deigned to intervene. Perhaps I should have left well enough alone and let you rush headlong into the fray.’
The reprimand was faint but unmistakable—enough to inspire guilt, but not harsh enough to wound. Sophie was still considering her reply when the door opened and Antoine walked in, his face grim, the front of his jacket spattered with blood. ‘Antoine! Are you all right?’
‘Yes, which is more than I can say for the fellow outside.’ He glanced at the two men standing beside her and, to Sophie’s surprise, offered his hand to her adversary. ‘I am in your debt, monsieur. Without your help in holding the man down, I doubt I would have been able to staunch the flow of blood. Merci beaucoup.’
Mr Silverton’s hesitation was so brief as to be almost imperceptible, but Sophie noticed. She watched him take Antoine’s hand, shake it briefly, then release it almost immediately. ‘I’m sure you would have managed.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he would.’ Mr Oberon’s mouth pulled into a thin line. ‘The French are nothing if not resourceful when it comes to dealing with matters of life and death.’
His words fell into a strained silence and Sophie wondered at the look that passed between the two Englishmen. But, more concerned with her own plight, she turned to her brother and said, ‘It seems we must look for alternate accommodations, Antoine. Rooms have not been reserved for us and the inn is full.’
His surprise was as great as her own. ‘Did you not show the man the letter?’
‘There wasn’t any point. He said there were no rooms available.’
‘Then you will take mine,’ Mr Silverton said at once. ‘It is not large, but it has two beds and is relatively quiet. I shall make myself comfortable in the bar.’
‘Oh, no,’ Sophie said quickly. ‘We couldn’t possibly—’
‘Thank you, Mr Silverton,’ Antoine cut in. ‘My sister has had a long day and is anxious to look her best on the morrow. We are most grateful for your offer.’
Sophie’s mouth dropped open. They were grateful for his offer? Since when had they resorted to accepting help from strangers? Especially from a man who hadn’t even wanted to shake her brother’s hand!
‘Ce n’est pas une bonne idée, Antoine,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Nous serons mieux lotis dans la grange avec les chevaux!’
It was an indication of how distraught Sophie was that she allowed herself to fall back into French. Before leaving Paris, she and Antoine had agreed to speak English whenever they found themselves in the company of others. And while sleeping in the barn with the horses was not what she wished to do, it was far preferable to putting herself in a position of debt to this man. She had learned that offers of kindness always came with terms—and that payment was never negotiable.
Unfortunately, Mr Silverton obviously thought it a fait accompli. ‘The room is at the top of the stairs, second on the left. If you will give me a moment, I shall remove my things and then return to give you the key. Oberon, may I store my valise in your room?’
‘If you must, but don’t think to spend the night. I have only the one bed and I certainly don’t intend sharing it with you.’
Mr Silverton’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘Rest assured, the thought never entered my mind. I’ll see you at dinner.’
‘Fine. All this high drama has left me with an appetite. In fact …’ Mr Oberon glanced at Sophie, his gaze skimming over her with a thoroughness she found insulting. ‘Perhaps you would care to join us, mademoiselle? The innkeeper has assured us of a decent meal in his private dining room and I can assure you, it will be far preferable to sitting cheek to jowl with the riff-raff out here.’
Resisting the urge to tell him the riff-raff would be in the private dining room, Sophie said, ‘Thank you, but, no. My brother and I will be fine out here.’
‘Very well. Then I bid you a good evening. And may I say that it has been … a pleasure.’
His eyes said everything his words did not and as he turned and walked away Sophie felt her face burn with humiliation. If such was a display of upper-crust English manners—
‘You must forgive Oberon’s lack of tact,’ Mr Silverton said drily. ‘He tends to speak before he thinks.’
‘You owe us no apology, sir,’ Antoine replied stiffly. ‘Your conduct more than made up for his.’
Mr Silverton bowed. ‘I would not wish you to think English chivalry dead.’ His glance rested on Sophie for the briefest of moments before he touched the brim of his beaver and walked towards the narrow staircase.
Sophie followed him with her eyes, not at all pleased with the events of the past half-hour. ‘You should not have accepted his offer, Antoine. We know nothing about him.’
‘Nevertheless, I wasn’t about to see you spend your first night in England sleeping in a barn.’
‘Better that than finding ourselves beholden to a man who clearly doesn’t like us.’
‘I don’t care if he likes us,’ Antoine said. ‘All that matters is that you have a proper bed in which to sleep and hot water in which to bathe. Lord Longworth wasn’t able to provide that for you so I wasn’t about to turn Mr Silverton down when he did. Besides, I doubt the loss of one night’s sleep is going to trouble him unduly.’
Of course it wasn’t. Mr Silverton was clearly a man of means, Sophie told herself. If he slept poorly in the bar tonight, he would simply go home and sleep it off tomorrow, no doubt in the comfort of a very fine house with his wife and servants to attend him. He certainly wouldn’t be thinking about her. She was just one more person he’d met along the way.
And that’s all he was to her. One more anonymous face in the crowd. She knew nothing about his life, so what did it matter if he thought her ill mannered for having refused his offer of help? Thanks to him, she would be clean and well rested when she arrived in London for her reunion with Nicholas tomorrow. Surely that was more important than worrying about what kind of impression she’d made on a man she was never going to see again.

Chapter Two


‘So, who do you think she was?’ Montague Oberon enquired between bites of underdone potato and overcooked beef.
Robert Silverton didn’t look up from his plate of steak-and-kidney pie, hoping his apparent preoccupation with his meal would discourage Oberon from continuing to talk about her. ‘Why would you not think she was his sister?’
‘Because you heard what he said about it being important she look her best tomorrow.’
‘Perhaps she is meeting with a prospective employer. Or a long-lost relation.’
‘Or her new protector. You know what they say about French women.’
‘I know what you say about French women,” Robert said, reaching for the salt cellar. “But I fear they are not all whores, strumpets or ballet dancers.’
‘Pity.’ Oberon took a piece of bread, his brow furrowing. ‘I suppose she could have been his mistress. There seemed to be a deal of affection between them, and God knows, I’ve never looked at my sister that way.’
‘Why would you? You’ve told me countless times that you despise Elaine.’
‘Of course. You would too if she were your sister. But I’ve never seen you look at Jane that way and the two of you are very close.’
‘You’re imagining things.’ Finishing his meal, Robert picked up his glass. ‘There were marked similarities in their appearance. The slenderness of the nose, the firm line of the jaw, the shape of the eyes.’ The seductive curve of the lady’s mouth. Oh, yes, he’d noticed that. And he’d stared at it far too many times during their brief conversation … ‘I have no doubt they were related. But I could ask the gentleman on your behalf and leave you to the consequences.’
The viscount’s son nearly choked. ‘And find myself on the other end of a Frenchie’s blade? No, thank you. I haven’t your skill with the foil.’
‘You could if you showed more inclination to learn.’
‘I’ve little inclination to do anything that involves hard work or strenuous exercise,’ Oberon said, pausing to flick a remnant of charred crust from the bread. ‘Still, I’d give a year’s allowance to have her in my bed for one night.’
‘It seems to me your money would be better spent on the pursuit of a respectable bride,’ Robert said, sitting back in his chair. ‘Was that not a requirement of your continuing to receive the exceedingly generous allowance your father doles out to you twice a year?’
‘Damned if it wasn’t,” Oberon muttered. ‘The old codger knows me too well. I cannot afford to live without the allowance, so I am forced to legshackle myself to some simpering heiress or some horse-faced widow long past her prime in order to assure its continuation.’
Robert smiled, aware that even under the most dire of circumstances, Oberon would never settle for anything less than a diamond of the first water. ‘I’m sure such desperate measures will not be called for. No doubt you’ll find at least one young lady amongst this year’s crop of blushing débutantes to tempt you.’
‘Tempt us, don’t you mean?’
‘No. I’ve had my brush with marriage, thank you,’ Robert said. ‘My only goal is to settle my sister in marriage and I intend to devote all of my energies to that.’
Oberon frowned. ‘You may have a difficult task there, Silver. Jane’s a delightful girl, but there is her affliction to consider.’
‘I wouldn’t call a misshapen foot an affliction, and I certainly don’t consider it an impediment to her making a good marriage.’
‘Of course not. You’re her brother and honour bound to defend her. But what man would not wish his wife to be the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance?’
Robert raised his glass and studied his companion over the rim. The remark came as no surprise. It was exactly what he expected from a man who valued physical perfection above all and saw anything less as flawed. ‘Jane is an acknowledged beauty.’
‘But she limps, Silver. She cannot walk without the use of a cane and is hard pressed even to ride as well as other young ladies her age.’
‘But she rides nevertheless.’
‘Only when in the country where no one can see her. Be reasonable, old man. Jane’s chances of making a good match in London are about as remote as ours of finding a man of wit and intelligence amongst the rabble out there,’ Oberon said bluntly. ‘Perhaps if you left her in the country, introduced her to the local clergyman—’
‘Jane’s chances of making a good match in London are no better or worse than any one else’s,’ Robert said mildly. ‘Love enables one to overlook what others see as faults.’
‘Blinds one to them, you mean. It sets up ridiculous expectations and does nothing more than pave the way for marital strife. I don’t expect the woman I marry to love me, any more than I expect to love her.’
‘Then what do you expect?’
‘Loyalty, obedience and good breeding skills. I expect her to sit at my table and entertain my guests, manage my households to make sure the servants don’t rob us blind and provide me with an heir at the earliest opportunity so I can go off and indulge my other interests.’
‘Those being?’
‘To find myself in bed with a different woman every night.’
Robert snorted. ‘If that’s all you require, you may as well marry your housekeeper and spend your nights at a brothel.’
‘And pay for the pleasure of bedding a woman? I’d rather eat bad oysters for breakfast,’ Oberon said. ‘I could give you the names of a dozen young ladies happy to warm my bed for nothing more than the pleasure they receive in return.’
‘Then why not marry one of them?’ ‘Because I want a flower of rare perfection. A woman as virginal as Hestia, as amusing as Thalia, as—’ ‘As exquisite as Aphrodite?’ ‘That would be my first choice, though if she is not, I shall simply snuff the candles and do the deed as quickly as possible.’ Oberon shrugged. ‘London is full of tempting young chits only too happy to do what a man likes. Take that stunning young woman we just met. I’d wager even you wouldn’t mind a tumble with her, despite your stated aversion to all things French.’
‘That has nothing to do with it,’ Robert said, aware that it wasn’t entirely true, but wishing he’d never told Oberon of his antipathy. ‘As a result of what happened between Lady Mary Kelsey and myself, I have no intention of involving myself with any woman, whether she be well born or otherwise.’
‘Ah, yes, the broken engagement. Pity about that,’ Oberon reflected. ‘Unlike you, Lady Mary is not keeping quiet about her feelings. Last week she called you a heartless bastard for breaking things off without a word of explanation.’
‘Trust me, it is better I do not vouchsafe the reasons,’ Robert murmured.
‘Be that as it may, she is threatening to sue you for breach of promise and society has taken her side. You have been cast out, my friend. Abandoned. Thrown to the murderous hordes. Which means you may as well find yourself a nice little mistress to keep you warm at night—in fact, what say you to a little wager? Whoever establishes the most beautiful woman in London as his mistress before the end of the Season shall be declared the winner.’
‘I’d say that apart from it being a totally iniquitous undertaking, it makes absolutely no sense. Have you any idea how many beautiful women there are in London?’
‘Ah, but I said the most beautiful.’
‘By whose standards? Jane is considered a beauty, yet you are offended by her handicap and label her unattractive as a result.’
The viscount’s son had the decency to blush. ‘I did not say she offended me—’
‘Not in so many words, but we both know that is what you meant.’
‘Then we shall let a panel of our peers make the decision. And the stakes of the wager will show that he who loses must give the other that which he desires most. I’m willing to put up my stallion,’ Oberon said, stabbing the last piece of beef with his fork. ‘I recall you once saying that were I to offer you a chance to buy him, you’d take it without second thought. Now you can have him for free.’
Robert sighed. ‘Let it go, Oberon. You know this is a complete waste of time.’
‘On the contrary, it could be very interesting. We just have to come up with something of equal value for you to put forward.’ Oberon tapped his finger against his chin. ‘I have it! Your sapphire ring. I’ve always been partial to it and that is what I claim as my prize.’
Robert stared. ‘You think I would risk a priceless family heirloom on something as feeble as this?’
‘Why not? A wager must always have a prize and a consequence or it is not worth the trouble. So what do you say? Are you in?’
There were times, Robert reflected, when it was impossible to find the words that would adequately describe how he felt about some of the things Oberon did. Just as it was equally hard to imagine that one day, the man sitting opposite him would wear a viscount’s coronet and own a veritable fortune in property and wealth. Robert picked up his glass and shook his head. ‘No.’
‘But why not? It is a harmless enough wager.’
‘Not if the terms of the wager become known to the ladies involved.’
‘Faith, Silver, when did you acquire such pretty manners? I remember a time when you would have wagered a month’s allowance on something as inconsequential as in which direction a flock of pigeons took off.’
‘That was before my father shot himself over gambling debts he couldn’t afford to repay,’ Robert said quietly. ‘I swore then I wouldn’t follow in his footsteps. And I won’t have Jane ending up the same way as our poor mother.’
‘But she wouldn’t, old man. Unlike your father, you never lose!’
‘A man’s luck can change. Fortune is a fickle mistress.’
‘For others, perhaps, but not you. Your prowess at the tables is legendary.’
‘Count me out,’ Robert said. ‘I want nothing to do with it.’
Oberon sat back, rapping his fingers on the table and looking thoroughly peeved. ‘Really, Silver, if I didn’t like you so well, I’d pass you over for Welton. Unfortunately even he’s begun to bore me of late. Twice now he’s stood me up for lunch, and the last time I called round, he wouldn’t even see me.’
Robert frowned. That didn’t sound like Lawrence. When they had all been at Oxford together, it was most often Lawrence Welton to whom Oberon had gravitated. Likely because the affable Lawrence was the only one who had not been openly critical of Oberon’s debauched lifestyle. ‘Are you sure he’s well?’
‘Well enough to attend a social engagement the same afternoon he stood me up,’ Oberon said. ‘No, I’ve washed my hands of him. He used to be such good fun. Now he’s become as staid and as boring … as you.’
Robert was unmoved by the criticism. So what if Oberon thought him boring? He knew what was important and it certainly wasn’t deceiving innocent young women for the sake of someone else’s pleasure or gain. ‘Play the game if you must, but I’ll have nothing to do with it. However, I will offer a toast. To your future wife,’ Robert said, raising his glass. ‘May she be as beautiful as Aphrodite, as gentle as Hestia—’
‘And as lusty as an Irish farmer’s daughter,’ Oberon said. ‘A toast to the dear lady’s health … wherever she may be!’
* * *
It was late the following afternoon when Sophie finally stepped down from the carriage into the quiet of the respectable English street, and as far as she was concerned it wasn’t a moment too soon. Her serviceable brown jacket and skirt were hopelessly creased, her halfboots were covered in dust, and there was a stain on the palm of her left glove from having touched something black and oily. Added to that, the unsettling events of the previous evening had made it impossible to sleep, leaving her feeling overly tired and decidedly on edge. If it weren’t for Antoine, she would have climbed back into the carriage and turned the horses in the direction of home.
A long row of tall, white houses stretched before her, each with four stone steps leading to a shiny black door. From the centre of each door, a brass lion roared a warning to those who came near, and to either side and above, rows of windows glinted in the last rays of sunlight. A square ran the length of the street, bordered by trees newly covered in green, and in front of each house, black wrought-iron posts stood waiting to receive horses and carriages.
It was a far cry from the crowded Rue de Piêtre and the three small rooms she and Antoine called home.
‘Buy some sweet violets, miss?’ asked a young girl passing by with a tray. She was petite and dark haired, and the sweet smell rising from the flowers brought back bittersweet memories of home. Mama had always loved violets …
‘Non, merci, ’ Sophie murmured, forgetting the girl wouldn’t be able to speak French. Forgetting they weren’t in France. They were in England, and suddenly it all seemed like a huge mistake. What in the world had made her think this was the right thing to do? Too much time had passed. They should never have come—’
Upon my word, Sophie, is it really you?’
And then it was too late. The past caught up with the present and the moment of reckoning was at hand. Sophie looked up to see the door standing open and a swarm of black-coated servants emerge, like bees flying out of a hive. A couple stood on the top step, and while the beautiful woman in the exquisite silk gown was not known to her, the man … oh, yes, she knew the man. There might be lines around his mouth that hadn’t been there before, and traces of grey peppering the dark, wavy hair, but his eyes were still the clear bright blue of a summer sky and his smile was still as warm as an August day in Provence. She would have recognised him anywhere. ‘Lord Longworth,’ Sophie said, breathing an audible sigh of relief. ‘It has been … a long time.’
‘A very long time.’ Nicholas Grey started down the stairs. ‘So long I scarcely recognise the beautiful young woman you’ve become. And I’m not sure exactly what to say except … welcome to England, dear Sophie. And may I say how very, very happy I am to see you again.’
It was almost like coming home. Sophie stepped into his embrace, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘No happier than I, for you look much better than when last we parted.’
‘I dare say it would have been difficult to look worse. But even the deepest of cuts and bruises heal and I am pleased to say I had exceptionally good care.’ Nicholas glanced at the young man standing quietly on the street behind her, and slowly extended his hand. ‘Antoine. I was afraid you would not remember who I was. Or choose not to come if you did.’
‘Under the circumstances, you would be a hard man to forget,’ Antoine said, his greeting more reserved than his sister’s, but his tone cordial as he shook the viscount’s hand. ‘I take it your memory is fully restored?’
‘It is, though it was several months after the accident before I could claim a complete recovery.’
‘I have learned that injuries like yours often induce temporary memory loss.’
‘So it would seem.’ Nicholas smiled. ‘I understand you are apprenticed to a surgeon in Paris.’
Sophie glanced at him in surprise. ‘To Monsieur Larocque, yes, but … how could you know that?’
‘I suspect there is very little Lord Longworth doesn’t know about us,’ Antoine said. ‘No doubt he has had us thoroughly investigated.’
‘Antoine!’
‘No, it’s all right, Sophie,’ Nicholas said quietly. ‘I regret that such duplicity was necessary, but it would serve no purpose to lie and I will not insult your intelligence by doing so. Yes, I hired someone to find you and they did what was necessary in order to uncover your whereabouts. But the investigation was discreet and nothing of its undertaking made public. So unless you told anyone of your reasons for coming to England, I can assure you that no one here knows.’
It was a moment before Antoine said, ‘I told the gentleman to whom I am apprenticed that I was coming to visit an old friend, and that time was of the essence given the precarious state of his health. However.’ he looked at Nicholas and began to smile ‘.you appear uncommon well for a man on his deathbed, my lord.’
In full understanding of the situation, Nicholas chuckled. ‘I’m glad I was able to hang on until your arrival.’ He reached up to scratch his ear. ‘Am I in imminent danger of expiring?’
‘Not imminent, but the prognosis isn’t good.’ ‘In that case, I suggest we go inside before I take a turn for the worst.’
‘Thank heavens,’ Lady Longworth said. ‘I thought the entire visit was to be conducted on our doorstep.’
Making a sound of disgust, Nicholas said, ‘Forgive my abominable manners. Sophie, Antoine, my beautiful wife, Lavinia, who, I can assure you, has been as anxious about your arrival as I.’
‘Of course I’ve been anxious. But you must both be weary after your long journey,’ Lavinia said. ‘Why don’t we retire to the drawing room? I’ve asked Banyon to set out refreshments.’ She extended a slender white hand to Antoine. ‘Vous ne viendrez pas avec moi, monsieur?’
The young man’s eyebrows rose. ‘Your accent is perfect, madame. Avez-vous été née en France?’
‘No, I was born in England, but my first husband was French and we lived in Paris for several years after we married. It will be delightful to have someone to speak the language with again.’
‘I am surprised you do not speak it with Lord Longworth,’ Sophie said. ‘I remember his French being very good.’
‘Alas, that was over three years ago,’ Nicholas said. ‘And given that I seldom use the language any more, I am beginning to forget many words and phrases.’
‘Understandable. Even my own French is not as good as it once was.’ Lavinia turned to Antoine, a hint of mischief lurking in the depths of those lovely eyes. ‘I look to you for help in that regard, monsieur.’
‘Ce serait mon plaisir,’ Antoine replied, and though he did not smile, Sophie thought she detected a slight thawing of his reserve. Good. If the beautiful Lady Longworth had the ability to make her brother less suspicious of the situation, so much the better. She watched them walk into the house, quietly chatting in French, and found herself alone on the steps with Nicholas.
‘Tu es … très belle, mademoiselle,’ he complimented her. ‘And I am sorry my accent is so poor compared to my wife’s.’
‘Your accent is fine,’ Sophie said, wondering why Nicholas still seemed so ill at ease with her. He was a great man—a viscount in the British aristocracy. He had a beautiful wife, a lovely home and was clearly a man of means.
And yet, perhaps it was only to be expected. The last time they had seen each other, she had been a naïve girl of sixteen living on a farm in the French countryside and he an Englishman fighting for his life. She had struggled to make him understand what was happening to him and had done her best to keep him alive by feeding him soup smuggled from the kitchen, and by wrapping his wounds in bandages made from her own petticoats. For that, he had called her his angel of mercy and had gripped her hand when the fever had raged and the terror of his own anonymity had settled in his eyes.
Perhaps that was the problem, Sophie reflected. He was no longer a man on the brink of death and she was no longer the child he remembered. Maybe now that she was here and so little like the person he’d left behind, he was regretting his invitation, wishing he’d left things as they were. So much had changed in both their lives.
‘Lord Longworth—’
‘No,’ he interrupted gently. ‘Let there be no formality between us, Sophie. You are the young lady who saved my life and to whom I will always be indebted. I would ask that now, and in the future, you call me Nicholas.’
She looked up at him and tilted her head to one side. ‘Is such familiarity permitted in England?’
‘I see no reason why not. You are a good friend, and good friends always address one another by their Christian names.’
‘D’accord, then Nicholas it shall be. As long as I am Sophie to you.’
‘You will always be that, even though I now know your full name to be Sophia Chantal Vallois.’
Sophie raised one eyebrow. ‘You have done your homework.’
To her amusement, he actually looked embarrassed. ‘I fear so.’ Then, his expression changed, becoming serious. ‘Our first meeting seems … a very long time ago now, Sophie. Almost as though it were another lifetime. And there are still parts of those three weeks I don’t remember. But I sincerely hope I did nothing to hurt you, or say anything to which you might have taken offence. A man in pain often lashes out at those around him, and I would hate to think I had scarred the child I left behind with a callous remark or a thoughtless word.’
So, that was the reason for his reserve, Sophie reflected. It had nothing to do with the people they were now, but rather with the impression he had made all those years ago. ‘You did nothing wrong, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘Even in the depths of pain, you could not have been more vaillant. And if some of your memories of that time are dim, it is probably not a bad thing. It allows you more room for the good memories. For the ones that are worth remembering.’
‘I’d like to think so.’ He looked at her and a smile trembled over his lips. ‘What about you, Sophie? Have you happy memories of the last three years?’
Sophie knew that he wanted her to say yes. She could see in his eyes, the hope that her life had not been an ongoing series of struggles and hardships, and perhaps one day she would tell him the truth. But not today. ‘I have many happy memories, but I’m quite sure this is going to be one of the happiest.’

Chapter Three


‘Are you sure I cannot offer you more tea, Sophie?’ Lavinia asked. ‘Or another scone? Cook was most insistent that you try both the orange marmalade and the raspberry jam.’
‘Merci, non, I have already eaten too much,’ Sophie demurred, sitting back on the loveseat. Nearly an hour had passed since she and her brother had sat down with their hosts in the elegant rose drawing room, and in keeping with the spirit of the day, the formalities had long been dispensed with. ‘If I continue like this, I will not fit into my clothes.’
‘Nonsense, you could do with a little extra weight,’ Lavinia said. ‘Don’t you think so, Nicholas?’
‘I cannot imagine Sophie looking any better than she does.’
Lavinia’s lips twitched. ‘Spoken like a true diplomat. No wonder you do so well in the House.’
‘It does but pass the time.’ Nicholas set his cup and saucer on the table. ‘But now that we’ve all had a chance to become better acquainted, I think our guests would like to know why they are here. It isn’t every day a stranger from one’s past invites you to come to London.’
‘Especially when that stranger happens to be a member of the English aristocracy and an intelligence agent for the British government,’ Antoine added.
‘Former intelligence agent,’ Nicholas said. ‘I am happy to say those days are behind me. But it does bring me to the reason for my invitation, the first and foremost being to thank you properly for having saved my life. Without your discretion and most excellent care, I would certainly have died. A man doesn’t forget something like that and because I am in a position to repay you, it is my sincere hope that you will allow me to do so.’
‘But there is nothing to repay,’ Sophie said. ‘We did what anyone would have done under the circumstances.’
‘On the contrary, given the political instability of the time, finding an Englishman shot and left for dead should have raised any number of questions. You asked none.’
Antoine shrugged. ‘By your own admission, you had no answers to give.’
‘But you must have wondered.’
‘Bien sûr. But at the time I was more concerned with keeping you alive than with trying to find out why you had been shot.’
‘And therein lies the difference, Antoine.’ Nicholas got to his feet. ‘Where others would have waited until they knew why I had been shot, you went ahead and removed the bullet regardless. That is the mark of an honourable man.’
Sophie had no need to look at her brother to know that he would be uncomfortable with the praises being heaped upon him. Whatever services he had rendered had stemmed from a genuine desire to save a man’s life: the natural inclination of a man who one day hoped to become a doctor. For that, he expected neither praise nor reward. But equally aware that he was a guest in the gentleman’s home, Antoine said simply, ‘What is it you wish to do?’
‘For you,’ Nicholas said, ‘a letter of recommendation that will open the doors to whatever university you wish to attend, as well as a financial endowment to help offset the costs of your studies towards becoming a doctor.’
Antoine went very still. ‘You are offering me … money?’
‘I prefer to think of it as a means to an end.’
‘C’est la même chose. But we are not in need of your charity, my lord. Sophie and I have managed well enough on our own.’
‘Have you?’ Nicholas linked his hands behind his back. ‘I may not be familiar with all the ins and outs of becoming a doctor in France, but in England, there are considerable fees involved in the study of medicine. Not to mention the costs of establishing your own practice.’
‘None of which, if you’ll forgive me, are your responsibility.’
‘But all of which became my responsibility the day you saved my life and so drastically altered the course of your own. Let us not mince words, Antoine. Because of me, you and Sophie had to hide out in the French countryside with the fear of discovery hanging over your heads like the sword of Damocles; upon reaching Paris, you took whatever manner of work you could find. First as a labourer, then as a clerk, then briefly as a—’
‘Thank you, my lord. I am well aware of the means by which I earned enough money to cover our expenses,’ Antoine said. ‘It is enough you had us investigated. Pray do not compound the injury by prying into matters that are clearly none of your concern.’
‘But it is our concern,’ Lavinia said gently. ‘We care what happens to you and Sophie.’
‘Of course we do,’ Nicholas said. ‘Why else would we have gone to all this trouble?’
‘I really don’t know,’ Antoine said coldly. ‘But we did not ask for your help and our situation is not so desperate that we are forced to come to you with our hands out. It was Sophie’s wish to see you again and I agreed to make the trip with her. A decision I am now beginning to regret! ’ He abruptly got to his feet. ‘Now, if that is all you wish to say—’
‘It is not all I wish to say—! ’
‘Nicholas, please!’ Lavinia said. ‘Antoine. N’ira pas faire vous s’asseoir et nous écouter jusqu’au bout.’
Her low, quiet voice seemed to inject a note of calm into the escalating tension and Sophie was relieved to see her brother sit back down. She knew this was difficult for him. Antoine was proud. Too proud to accept what he would only see as a handout, even from a man whose life he had saved. ‘Listen to what Nicholas has to say, Antoine,’ Sophie urged softly. ‘Then let common sense, rather than pride, dictate your answer.’
‘And please understand it was never our intention to offend you,’ Lavinia said.
‘Indeed it was not,’ Nicholas said gruffly. ‘My only desire was to try to make things better for you. I apologise if you see that as an intrusion into your lives, but the fact is I was worried about the two of you. Those were dangerous times and hardly a day went by I didn’t wonder what had become of you. I owe you my life, Antoine. Perhaps to a doctor that doesn’t mean very much, but to me—to us,’ Nicholas said, glancing at his wife, ‘it meant … everything.’
There was a poignant silence as Nicholas sat down and took Lavinia’s hand in his. Watching them together, Sophie knew he had spoken from the heart. Whether or not his plans for their future came to pass, his reasons for bringing them to England could not be faulted. They stemmed from a genuine desire to thank them for the most noble gesture one man could make towards another.
Sophie glanced at her brother and was relieved to see that he, too, was regretting his hastily spoken words. ‘You have nothing to apologise for, my lord. Sophie’s right. Sometimes a man’s pride gets in the way and prevents him from seeing what is truly before him.’
‘I fear we’ve all been guilty of that.’ Nicholas offered him an apologetic smile. ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’
‘But pride can be a good thing too,’ Sophie said. ‘It gives us the courage to fight for what we believe in.’ She leaned over and touched her brother’s arm. ‘It enabled you to pursue your dream of becoming a doctor.’
‘Yes, it did,’ Nicholas agreed. ‘But a surgeon is not a doctor. And if your wish is still to become a doctor, I can help you. For all the right reasons.’
For a moment, Antoine was silent. There was a great deal at stake and Sophie knew her brother would not make a hasty decision. He would take time to think the matter through, weighing his options before giving them his answer. ‘And Sophie? What would you do for her?’
This time, it was Lavinia who answered. ‘It is our wish that Sophie stay here in London with us for a while. Not only so we can get to know her better, but so that we might introduce her to English society. It is our hope she will form lasting friendships with the young men and women to whom she is introduced.’
‘Naturally, we will provide her with all things necessary to a young lady entering society,’ Nicholas said. ‘A suitable wardrobe. A maid to attend to her needs. A carriage. Or if she prefers, a decent mare to trot around Hyde Park—’
‘Why?’
Antoine’s one-word question stopped Nicholas in his tracks. ‘Why?’ He looked at the younger man and frowned. ‘Is it not obvious?’
‘Not to me.’
But to Sophie, who had been listening with growing concern, the answer was suddenly all too clear. ‘I think, Antoine, that Nicholas and Lavinia wish me to find … a husband.’
‘A husband?’ Then, her brother’s eyes opened wide. ‘An English husband? C’est de la folie! Sophie has no intention of marrying an Englishman! She is perfectly capable of finding a husband in France!’
‘But what kind of man would he be?’ Lavinia asked. ‘The son of a boulanger? A shop assistant barely making enough to feed himself, let alone a wife and eventually a family.’
A flush darkened Antoine’s cheeks. ‘You assume too much, my lady.’
‘Do I? You forget that I’ve lived in France. I am well aware of the practicalities of life as they apply to a young woman in Sophie’s position and they are not without their limitations.’
‘Let us speak plainly, Antoine,’ Nicholas said. ‘Sophie’s chances of making a good marriage where she is are extremely limited. For all your noble aspirations, a surgeon is little better than a tradesman and your sister will not benefit by the association. Here, we can offer her so much more. She will move in elevated circles; accompany us to soirées and balls held at some of the best houses in London. And when a gentleman does offer for her, as I have no doubt several will, he will have to meet my standards as far as wealth and station go, and seek your approval as the man who will be your brother-in-law.’
‘May I be permitted to say something?’ Sophie asked, torn between annoyance and amusement at the conversation going on around her.
‘But, of course, dear,’ Lavinia said quickly. ‘It is, after all, your future we’re talking about.’
‘Yes, it is. And while I appreciate what you’d like to do, I really have no wish to be married.’
She might as well have said she wanted to strap on paper wings and fly to the moon.
‘No wish to be married?’ Lavinia said. ‘But … every young lady wishes to be married, Sophie. It is the only respectable option open to a woman.’
‘Perhaps, but since Antoine and I left home I have seen much of relationships between men and women, and I am not convinced marriage is to my benefit. A man stands to gains much whereas a woman loses everything.’
‘Not if she marries the right man,’ Lavinia said.
‘But she will not know if he is the right man until after she’s married him,’ Sophie said. ‘And then it is too late. Besides, what gentleman of good family is going to want someone like me? A farmer’s daughter, from Bayencourt?’
‘Rubbish! You no more resemble a farmer’s daughter than I do a tinker! ’ Nicholas said. ‘You are an astonishingly beautiful young woman who carries herself like a duchess, and who speaks the King’s English with a slight, albeit charming accent. I cannot think of any man who would not be proud to have you by his side.’
‘There, Sophie, did I not tell you?’ Antoine said. ‘If you gained nothing else from your employment with Mrs Grant-Ogilvy—’
‘Good Lord. Constance Grant-Ogilvy?’ Lavinia interrupted in surprise.
Sophie sucked in her breath. Mère de Dieu, she had begged Antoine not to mention that woman’s name. ‘Yes. Do you … know her?’
‘Not personally, but I understand she is a woman of high moral character and an absolute stickler for propriety. You could not have had a better teacher in the arts of being a lady.’
The moment passed—and Sophie breathed again. ‘Nevertheless, I am not a lady and I did not come to London looking for a husband.’ She turned to Nicholas. ‘I came to see you. And to meet Lavinia.’
‘Yes, well, why don’t we talk about all this in the morning?’ Nicholas said. ‘After you’ve had a chance to settle in.’ He glanced at his wife, seeking support. ‘What do you think, my dear?’
‘I think that’s a good idea,’ Lavinia said slowly, ‘but we probably owe Sophie an apology as well.’
Sophie blinked. ‘An apology?’
‘It was never our intention to make you uncomfortable, my dear. We simply thought that if you wished to be married, we might be able to provide you with a better opportunity to do so. However, if that is not the case, will you not at least stay and give us a chance to get to know you? We have both waited a long time to say thank you.’
Sophie began to smile. ‘And I have waited a long time to see Nicholas well again. But the final say must be Antoine’s. He has been as much guardian as brother to me these past three years and I could not stay if he was not easy with the decision.’
‘Well, Antoine,’ Lavinia said, ‘what do you say?’
Antoine drew a deep breath. ‘En vérité, je ne sais pas. It seems … so much to ask. A great imposition on you both—’
‘Then let me tell you one more thing,’ Nicholas said quietly. ‘My memory of Sophie was of a child. A golden-haired angel who appeared to me through a nightmarish haze of darkness and pain. I really had no idea how old she was and in bringing her here now, I thought to give her whatever a child her age might like. But the young lady who stepped down from the carriage is not a little girl who hankers after sandcastles by the sea. She is beautiful young woman with a mind of her own, and more than anything, we would like to get to know her better. All you have to do is say yes.’
Antoine was quiet for a long time, longer than Sophie expected. To her, the question was straightforward, the answer, simple. ‘You have concerns about leaving me here, Antoine?’ she asked at length.
‘No, not really,’ Antoine said finally. ‘I admit, it wasn’t what I had in mind, but as Nicholas pointed out, I have neither the financial wherewithal nor the social connections to make life better for you. And given that I would like to see you married—’
‘Antoine—!’
‘Soyez patient, Sophie. You and I have had this conversation before. I too believe that marriage is the only respectable occupation for a woman, and your chances of making a good marriage here are far better than they would be in France. As to marrying an Englishman … well, that decision must be yours. But if you would like to stay with Nicholas and Lavinia, I won’t stand in your way.’
‘Please stay with us, Sophie,’ Lavinia said. ‘It would make us both so very happy.’
Sophie looked at the three people in the room and realised that for the second time in three years, her life was about to change—but this time it would be a change for the better. In the company of Nicholas and Lavinia, she would be able to explore London and all it had to offer. She would have access to good books and fine music, perhaps have conversations about subjects that had always been of interest to her. And if her time in London culminated with a proposal of marriage, she could always say no. But the chance to get to know these two dear people might never come again.
‘Yes, I would like to stay,’ Sophie said firmly. ‘And, if possible, I would like Antoine to stay as well.’
‘Sophie! C’est trop demandez!‘
‘No, it’s not too much to ask at all,’ Lavinia said quickly. ‘We simply thought you would be anxious to return to France.’
‘Which, of course, I must or Monsieur Larocque will look for someone to take my place.’
‘But surely a few more days won’t make that much of a difference,’ Nicholas said. ‘There are people here who would like to meet you. Friends, who know what you did and who would be proud to make your acquaintance.’
‘Why not stay with us for a week?’ Lavinia suggested. ‘Nicholas and I will be attending a ball tomorrow evening and we would be delighted to have you come with us. It will be the perfect opportunity to introduce you and Sophie to society.’
Antoine frowned. ‘If I stay, it will not be with a view to entering English society.’
‘Then come for the sport,’ Nicholas said. ‘Lord Bruxton plays an excellent game of billiards. I can promise you some stiff competition if you’re up for it.’
‘Antoine is actually quite good,’ Sophie said, knowing her brother would always downplay his abilities. ‘Monsieur Larocque often invites him to play.’ She got up and crossed to his side. ‘Please say you will stay, Antoine. It will give you a chance to practise your game before you play Monsieur Larocque again. And I would enjoy seeing les dames anglaises swooning over you.’
Antoine snorted. ‘They will surely have more sense than that. But, if it will make you happy, I will stay—but only for a week. Then I must go back.’
It was good enough for Sophie. She didn’t care if it was Nicholas’s persuasiveness or her own pleas that had finally convinced her brother to change his mind. All that mattered was that he was to stay in London for a week—and that she was to stay for at least a month. After such an auspicious start, how could she look upon this as anything but the possible start of a new and memorable chapter in both their lives?

Robert Silverton was not in a good mood as the carriage made its way from Portman Square to Mayfair. Not only because he had no desire to spend an evening being given the cold shoulder by a large number of the three hundred guests Lady Bruxton would have surely invited to her petite soirée, but because of what he had heard at his club just that afternoon.
It seemed that despite having told Montague Oberon he had no intention of participating in his ridiculous wager, the man had gone ahead and set it up regardless. Now he and several of Oberon’s more disreputable friends were engaged in a race to establish the most beautiful woman in London as their mistress.
‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ said his sister, Jane, from the seat opposite. ‘You need only strike your name from the book and in a few days it will all be forgotten. It seems a silly thing upon which to wager.’
‘It is, but Oberon lives to gamble and when the topic of—’ Robert shot her a wry glance ‘—that is, when talk veered in that direction, he couldn’t resist putting forward this preposterous wager.’
He watched her lips compress, knew she wanted to laugh. ‘You needn’t pussyfoot around the subject with me, Robert, I am well aware that most men keep mistresses. What do you think those old tabbies talk about while they are watching their young charges pirouette about the ballrooms of society?’
‘How prettily they dance?’
‘Not for a moment. They gossip about which gentlemen are having affairs, and about which married ladies are in love with other women’s husbands. How do you think I found out about Lady Andrews and Jeremy West?’
‘Yes, I did wonder about that,’ Robert murmured. ‘But it is hardly the kind of information an unmarried lady should be privy to.’
‘Oh, my dear Robert, you have no idea how much scandalous information I am privy to. It is one of the highlights of my sad little life. But seriously, you must stop worrying about me all the time. You’ve done little else since Mama died and it really isn’t fair. You should be out there looking for a wife.’
‘Need I remind you that I was briefly engaged to Lady Mary Kelsey?’ Robert said. ‘And that as a result, my name has now been struck from the list of eligible bachelors.’
‘Then why are we going to Lady Bruxton’s tonight?’
‘Because you still need to be exposed to good society and Lady Bruxton was kind enough to invite us both, despite my shoddy reputation.’
Jane wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t care what anyone says, you were right to break off your engagement. Life would have been very unpleasant for both of us had you gone ahead and married Lady Mary. I know she didn’t like me.’ She was silent for a moment, but when she spoke again, there was a delightful wickedness in her voice. ‘I’ll wager Mr Oberon would never consider me in the running for the most beautiful ladybird in London.’
‘I should damn well hope not! Apart from your being a respectable young woman, I cannot imagine you married to a man like Oberon.’
‘Why not? When his father dies, Monty becomes a very rich young man. The list of ladies wishing to be his wife or his mistress will stretch long, of that you can be sure.’
‘And I pity every one of them,’ Robert said, suddenly reminded of the French girl he’d seen at the Black Swan Inn. A girl whose beautiful face lingered in the shadows of his mind. He hadn’t seen her or her brother again after taking his leave of them that night, but he hadn’t forgotten her—and neither had Oberon. He’d talked about nothing else the entire way back to London.
‘Well, let’s hope there will be a few new faces at Lady Bruxton’s tonight,’ Jane said. ‘Otherwise, I shall be forced to marry a blind man who falls in love with the sound of my voice and does not mind that I hobble on the way to the drawing room.’
‘You will marry a man who loves you despite the fact you hobble,’ Robert informed her with amusement. ‘And I have every confidence this will be the year you find him.’
‘Goodness, such unwavering belief in my ability.’
‘Do you not share it?’
‘I would like to, but I fear Tykhe has chosen to bestow her favours elsewhere.’
‘Then we shall seek our own good fortune,’ Robert said boldly. ‘Thumb our noses at the Fates.’
‘Oh, no, we must never do that,’ Jane said, laughing. ‘Unless we wish to bring their wrath down upon our heads.’
‘Nothing of the sort,’ Robert said. ‘But we have endured more than our fair share of bad luck, Jane. It is time the gods smiled favourably upon us for a change.’

Sophie recognised him the moment he walked into the room. Though he was far more elegantly attired than on the occasion of their first meeting, there was no mistaking the confidence in his stride or his ruggedly handsome features. He stood tall and proud, his dark hair gleaming in the candlelight, and though several women turned to look at him as he passed, his warmest smile was reserved for the young woman at his side. A slender lady wearing green and who walked with a cane in her hand. ‘I know that gentleman,’ Sophie said.
Lavinia’s dark brows rose in surprise. ‘Which one?’
‘The tall one who just came in. Silverton, I believe his name is.’
‘Yes. Robert Silverton. And that is his sister, Jane. Where do you know him from?’
‘The Black Swan Inn. He and another gentleman were there the evening we landed.’
Sophie had purposely made no mention of the events that had taken place at the inn. Nicholas would have been furious that his arrangements had fallen through, and Lavinia would have been horrified at the thought of a lovers’ quarrel erupting into gunfire in the courtyard. But with Mr Silverton in the room and the prospect of an encounter likely, Sophie thought it best to mention that the two of them had spoken. ‘I would not have thought them brother and sister. The resemblance is not strong.’
‘No. Robert tends to follow his father’s side while Jane gets her fair hair and delicate colouring from her mother’s. But they come from a very good family. Their father was knighted for services to the Crown, and their mother was the youngest daughter of a baronet,’ Lavinia said. ‘Sadly, their deaths kept Robert and Jane out of society for many years.’
‘Neither of them is married?’
‘No. Jane was injured in a carriage accident as a child and does not go about much. You see how she limps. As for Mr Silverton, I regret to say he is out of favour with society at the moment.’
Sophie frowned. ‘Out of favour?’
Lavinia glanced around, and then lowered her voice. ‘About six weeks ago, Mr Silverton asked a young lady to marry him. She accepted and wedding plans got underway. Then, a few weeks later, he broke it off without a word of explanation to anyone. Naturally the lady was terribly upset and said some very harsh things about him in public. After all, it’s one thing for a lady to change her mind, but quite another for a gentleman. As a result, no self-respecting mother will allow her daughter anywhere near Mr Silverton, and many doors have been closed in his face. I’m surprised he’s here tonight.’
Sophie watched the good-looking brother and sister move through the crowd and noticed that while some of the guests offered them a reserved smile, others ignored them completely. ‘It seems a very harsh treatment,’ she said. ‘He must have had a good reason for breaking the engagement off.’
‘I’m sure he did,’ Lavinia agreed. ‘But a gentleman simply doesn’t do things like that. And the fact he won’t say why he did it has hurt him irreparably. Lady Mary is telling her own version of the story and it is not kind. Even Jane has suffered for it.’
Sophie switched her attention to the sister. A truly lovely young woman, Jane Silverton stood a good head shorter than her brother and looked to be fairly delicate. And though the smile on her lips was cheery, the paleness of her cheeks told another story. ‘I should like to meet her. I think it’s cruel that she be shunned for something her brother did.’
‘That’s very kind of you, dear.’
‘I just try to put myself in her place,’ Sophie said, for in truth, she had been in Jane Silverton’s place once, though not for the same reasons. ‘And you should know that while Mr Silverton and I did have a conversation that night, we were not formally introduced. He may not even remember who I am.’
‘Well, he’ll remember you after tonight,’ Lavinia said, discreetly raising her hand to attract the couple’s attention. ‘Madame Delors surpassed even my expectations with that gown. You are easily one of the most beautiful women in the room.’
While Sophie took leave to disagree with the latter part of Lavinia’s statement, she couldn’t deny that the gown of cream-coloured lace over a gold satin slip was the most glorious thing she had ever seen. Cut outrageously low in the front, it displayed a rather alarming amount of skin—which had prompted her to stitch a wide band of lace inset with pearls and tiny satin roses into the neckline—and from a raised waist, the skirt fell in elegant folds to the floor. Delicate slippers of soft kid leather, cream-coloured elbow-length gloves, and a spray of cream-and-pink roses in her hair put the finishing touches on what Sophie could only think to call a truly magnificent ensemble.
Even so, she doubted it would be enough to thaw Mr Silverton’s chilly reserve.
‘Mr Silverton, Jane, how lovely to see you again,’ Lavinia said when the pair finally managed to reach them. ‘Allow me to introduce a very dear friend of mine, Miss Sophie Vallois. Sophie, this is Miss Jane Silverton and her brother, Mr Robert Silverton.’
‘How lovely to meet you, Miss Vallois,’ Jane said. ‘Or should I say, enchantée?’
The girl’s voice was as delightful as her sparkling green eyes and Sophie found it hard to believe that any gentleman would find her lacking. ‘How do you do, Miss Silverton,’ she replied, before adding more diffidently to her brother, ‘Mr Silverton.’
‘Miss Vallois.’ He briefly inclined his head. ‘We meet again.’
So, he wasn’t about to pretend ignorance of their first encounter. She awarded him a point for honesty. ‘I didn’t think you would remember.’
His deep brown eyes were steady on hers. ‘On the contrary, I am unlikely to forget.’
‘Sophie informs me the two of you met at the Black Swan Inn,’ Lavinia said.
‘Saying we met would not be entirely correct,’ Mr Silverton said. ‘We were brought together by circumstances less than conducive to pleasant socialising and parted soon after.’
‘Then how fortunate you should both end up here tonight in order that the formalities might be observed.’
The gentleman inclined his head. ‘As you say.’
‘Is your husband not with you this evening, Lady Longworth?’ Miss Silverton asked.
‘Yes, but he and Sophie’s brother just left to play billiards with Lord Bruxton. Apparently they are all quite mad for the game.’
‘Your brother plays billiards?’ Mr Silverton asked Sophie in surprise.
‘When he has a chance, yes.’
‘I thought the study of medicine was an all-consuming passion.’
Sophie raised her eyes to his, daring him to disagree. ‘A man must take some time away from his studies, lest he become too weary to absorb anything new. Even God rested on the seventh day.’
Was that a hint of a smile? ‘A lofty comparison.’
‘But fitting under the circumstances. I admire anyone who has the determination to strive for something they truly believe in.’
‘And I have always been impressed by people who choose to help others in such a way,’ Jane spoke up. ‘But tell me, how did the four of you meet?’
‘Through my husband,’ Lavinia said easily. ‘Nicholas and Antoine met in France several years ago, and we finally persuaded him to come to London and to bring Sophie with him. Unfortunately, Antoine must shortly return home, but Sophie is to stay with us until the end of the Season.’
‘Oh, how wonderful!’ Jane said happily. ‘Then you must pay us a visit while you are here, Miss Vallois. We will have petit fours, and speak French, and you can tell me all about the latest fashions from Paris. J’adore la mode française. Have you seen much of London?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Then why not join us tomorrow afternoon? Robert has promised to take me for a drive around Hyde Park. It would be lovely if you and your brother could come too.’
It was an unexpectedly kind offer and one Sophie would have been happy to accept—had she not caught sight of the expression on Mr Silverton’s face. Obviously he did not share his sister’s enthusiasm for the outing and saw no reason to pretend he did. ‘Perhaps another time,’ she said. ‘I have no wish to intrude.’
‘Oh, but you wouldn’t be intruding,’ Jane said. ‘My brother is always delighted to have friends come along. Aren’t you, Robert?’
‘Of course. I merely thought it too soon after Miss Vallois’s arrival for such an outing. She might wish to rest.’
‘Fudge! If she has been here since yesterday, she is well over the worst and decidedly in need of a diversion,’ Jane said. ‘Tell her you were only thinking of her welfare and that you would love to have her come with us.’
Sophie had a difficult time holding her tongue. Had Lavinia not been present, she would have politely but firmly declined the invitation. She had no wish to force her company on any one who had no desire to share it, even if it meant disappointing Jane, who obviously did. To her surprise, however, it was Mr Silverton who resolved the problem. ‘You are more than welcome to join us, Miss Vallois. Jane is anxious for your company, and I am happy to oblige her. As for your own enjoyment, while it might not be as diverting as a night spent in a barn with the horses, I’m sure you will find it an amusing way to pass an hour or two.’
Jane frowned. ‘A night spent in a barn with horses? What on earth are you talking about, Robert?’
But Sophie knew exactly what he was talking about. And the knowledge that he not only understood French, but that he remembered every word she’d said to Antoine that night at the inn, brought hot colour sweeping into her cheeks. No wonder he’d been so distant with her.
‘Come, Jane,’ Mr Silverton said. ‘Miss Vallois can send a note if she wishes to join us. For now, we mustn’t keep her and Lady Longworth from their evening.’
‘No, of course not. Forgive me,’ Jane said. ‘It’s just that I so seldom meet anyone I really like, I tend to get carried away. But now that we’ve met, I know we are all going to be great friends. Until tomorrow, then, Miss Vallois. Good evening, Lady Longworth.’
‘Jane,’ Lavinia said. ‘Mr Silverton.’
‘Lady Longworth.’ He bowed, and then turned to Sophie. ‘Miss Vallois.’
Sophie inclined her head, but refused to meet his eyes. Why should she when it was so obvious that he didn’t like her? His words had been clipped and the warmth he had shown his sister and Lavinia had definitely not been extended to her.
‘A charming pair, are they not?’ Lavinia asked.
‘The sister more than the brother, I think,’ Sophie said. ‘Imagine extending an invitation to someone she barely knows.’
‘Jane has always had a good heart,’ Lavinia said. ‘Which is why it annoys me so that she is not yet married. At times, I feel like shaking the young men for their fickleness. But I expect she will benefit greatly from spending time with you and Antoine tomorrow.’
‘And I look forward to introducing Antoine to her. In fact—’ Sophie broke off and slowly began to smile. ‘I have a feeling my brother might enjoy Miss Silverton’s company very much.’

Chapter Four


So she wasn’t a whore, a strumpet or a ballet dancer, Robert reflected as he and Jane walked away. She was an exceptionally beautiful young woman who, thanks to the kindness of Lord and Lady Longworth, was about to be launched into English society. The prospect did not please him. His own reasons aside, it meant she was fair game for the likes of Montague Oberon, and he did not relish the thought of watching the man salivate over her every time he saw her out in public.
‘Behold the prodigal son,’ Jane whispered in her brother’s ear a few minutes later. ‘And more splendidly attired than half the ladies in the room.’
Her assessment wasn’t far off. Not many gentlemen could have carried off the colourful waistcoat and elaborately folded cravat with such panache, but Oberon’s height and bearing allowed him to do so magnificently. His golden curls were swept back in a manner few men could have worn to advantage and his clothes were immaculate. Pompous prig he might be, Robert reflected, but looks, breeding and a fortune allowed him to carry it off with aplomb.
‘Evening, Silver,’ Oberon said when he came within speaking distance. ‘Jane. Lovely to see you again.’
‘Mr Oberon. What a splendid waistcoat. It is surely a modern version of Joseph’s coat of many colours.’
Oberon’s expression was blank. ‘Joseph?’
‘You remember. From the bible.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. The old fellow whose wife turned to stone.’
‘That was Lot,’ Robert said. ‘And it was salt.’
‘Salt?’ Oberon frowned. ‘What has salt to do with it? We were talking about my waistcoat.’ He paused for a moment to glance around the room. ‘Jupiter, what an appalling crowd. I vow there weren’t this many people at the—’ He broke off, his eyes frozen to one spot. ‘Good God, it’s her!’
Jane turned to look. ‘Who?’
‘The girl from the inn. Aphrodite reincarnated,’ Oberon murmured. ‘It is her, isn’t it, Silver?’
Breathing a sigh of exasperation, Robert said, ‘Yes.’
‘Splendid. Then I must be introduced.’
‘I’d like a word with you first.’
‘Later.’ Oberon’s eyes never strayed from the object of his affection. ‘After I speak to the Goddess!’
‘Now. Will you excuse us, Jane?’
‘Of course. I see Lady Jennings sitting on her own and looking rather disgruntled,’ Jane said. ‘I shall go and keep her company. No doubt she will have a few choice things to say about some of the guests here this evening.’
‘Not about me, I hope,’ Oberon said.
‘On the contrary, you are always one of her favourite topics, Mr Oberon.’ And with a smile for him and a wink for her brother, Jane left the two of them alone.
‘Impertinent minx,’ Oberon said without rancour. ‘Is it my imagination or is her limp less noticeable than it used to be?’
‘I am hardly the one to ask given that I never thought it was all that noticeable,’ Robert said, drawing the other man aside. ‘Now, would you mind telling me what the hell you think you’re doing?’
Oberon’s gaze shortened and refocused. ‘Doing?’
‘The wager. I told you I wanted no part of it, yet you went ahead and put my name to it regardless.’
‘Ah, yes, that. Yes, I did set it up because several of the lads thought it would be a great lark. All of them are in the market for a new mistress and when Mortimer wagered a month at his father’s hunting lodge in Yorkshire that he would be the first to succeed, Cramby staked a thousand pounds against him, saying Mortimer had more money than sense.’
‘There’s a lot of that going around,’ Robert muttered. ‘But I won’t have it, Oberon. Take my name off the bet and out of the book. My reputation doesn’t need any further blackening by you.’
‘Can’t do it, old boy. We all put our hand to it, you see. I personally signed for you,’ Oberon confided. ‘And when you consider what the winner stands to gain, it really makes no sense to call it off. Now, about the French girl. Who is she and how does she come to be here tonight?’
Biting back a scathing retort, Robert said, ‘I know nothing more about her than I did at the inn. Except that her name is Miss Vallois and she is here with Lord and Lady Longworth.’
‘You mean she’s staying with them?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Interesting.’ Oberon’s eyes assumed a speculative gleam. ‘She must be well born to be moving in their circle. I wonder if the fair Lavinia has taken it upon herself to launch the girl into society.’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Then I’ll find out for myself. Introduce us.’
‘No.’
The blunt answer brought Oberon’s head around. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said no. If the young lady is being presented to society, she is not some light-skirt for you to trifle with.’
‘My dear Robert, did it not occur to you I might have other things in mind for the delectable Miss Vallois?’
‘It did not.’ Robert smiled without warmth. ‘I know your reputation, Oberon, and a leopard doesn’t change his spots.’
The other man’s expression cooled. ‘Tread lightly, my friend. ‘Tis a fine line between familiarity and contempt, and many a friendship has been lost over a careless misstep. I ask only to be introduced to the young lady. What possible harm can come of that?’

They were coming. The man who didn’t like her—and the one who did in ways of which no mother would ever approve. Sophie took a deep breath and slowly opened her fan. What a pity Lavinia had chosen that very moment to go off and speak with friends.
‘Miss Vallois,’ Mr Silverton said, stopping in front of her. ‘Pray forgive the intrusion, but my friend has asked to be made known to you.’
Sophie glanced up into his handsome face, aware of the strength in those chiselled features, and saw again the cool disinterest she had come to associate with Robert Silverton. But she also saw something else. A reserve that seemed to echo her own uncertainty. ‘As you wish, Mr Silverton.’
‘Miss Sophie Vallois, may I present Mr Montague Oberon.’
‘Miss Vallois, what a pleasure this is,’ Mr Oberon said. ‘I did not think I would be fortunate enough to see you again.’
‘It is something of a surprise,’ Sophie acknowledged, not liking the way his eyes lingered on the low décolleté of her gown. She purposely raised her fan to block his view. ‘So you and Mr Silverton are friends as well as travelling companions.’
‘Oh, yes. Very good friends.’ Mr Oberon raised guileless blue eyes to hers. ‘As you saw that night at the inn, Silverton is everything a gentleman should be. Thoughtful, unselfish, steady as a rock. Sadly, all the things I am not.’
Startled by his candour, Sophie said, ‘Then what qualities do you possess?’
‘Wealth, humour and impeccable taste when it comes to female beauty … which is why you caught my eye the other evening. The gods themselves could not have sent a more divine creature to move amongst us. But I am well aware I owe you an apology. My behaviour was, to say the least, reprehensible. Due, no doubt, to the tedium of travel and the insufferable manners of that wretched innkeeper. Please say you will forgive me or I shall never rest easy again.’
The effusive apology surprised Sophie as much as amused her, and though she believed his words to be little more than pretty flattery, the fact he had offered an apology allowed her to look upon him with a touch more charity. ‘I accept your apology.’
‘I am relieved beyond words.’
‘Ah, good evening, Mr Oberon,’ Lavinia said, finally returning. ‘How nice to see you again.’
‘The pleasure must always be mine, Lady Longworth.’ Mr Oberon’s smile moved smoothly into place. ‘I vow you grow more lovely with every passing day.’
‘And I vow you grow more fulsome with your compliments. Have you met Miss Vallois?’
‘Indeed. Silverton was kind enough to introduce us. Am I to understand the lady will be spending the Season here in London with you?’
‘You are.’
‘Then perhaps I might call upon you in the near future to exchange pleasantries in a less crowded venue.’
Lavinia inclined her head. ‘You are, of course, welcome to call. But now I must steal Sophie away. Lord and Lady Beale are anxious to meet her. Sophie?’
Grateful for the opportunity to escape, Sophie dropped a quick curtsy. ‘Mr Oberon.’ Then, raising her chin, and goaded by some mischievous impulse she would no doubt regret later, she looked at the gentleman standing quietly beside him and said, ‘Please tell your sister that my brother and I look forward to joining you tomorrow afternoon, Mr Silverton. If the invitation is still open.’
His expression didn’t change, but Sophie heard the quiet edge of mockery in his voice. ‘It is, and I shall be pleased to tell her of your acceptance.’
Sophie smiled as she tucked her arm in Lavinia’s. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’
‘Ladies.’ Oberon barely waited until they were out of hearing before exclaiming, ‘Until tomorrow? What was that all about?’
‘Jane has invited Miss Vallois and her brother to come driving with us,’ Robert said distantly.
‘And she agreed?’
‘Why would she not? By your own words, I am thoughtful, considerate and steady as a rock.’
‘I was only trying to flatter you.’
‘By making me sound like the trusted family dog?’
‘Nothing of the sort. I simply wanted her to know that you and I are very different.’
‘I believe she worked that one out on her own,’ Robert drawled, but Oberon wasn’t listening. He was following Sophie’s progress across the room like a hungry lion following a sprightly gazelle.
‘By God, she’s exquisite,’ he murmured. ‘Those eyes. That hair. And that complexion! As pink as rose petals and as smooth as alabaster. Imagine her lying naked in your bed, Silver. Imagine the softness of her skin as you run your hand slowly over her throat, and then lower.’ He briefly closed his eyes and made a sound deep in his throat. Seconds later, his eyes snapped open. ‘I must know who she is. Where does she come from, and why is she here?’
‘I have no idea,’ Robert said. ‘Is it not enough that she is a good friend of Lord and Lady Longworth’s?’
‘No. The French are as stuffy as the English when it comes to matters of class. And a well-brought-up French girl would have no need of a London Season.’
The same thought had occurred to Robert, but he had no intention of giving Oberon the satisfaction of agreeing with him. ‘If you don’t think she’s well born, why trouble yourself to make enquiries?’
‘Because I would hate to miss the opportunity of getting to know her if her birth is all it should be,’ Oberon said. ‘Look at her, man! When did you last see beauty like that? Observe the elegance of her carriage, the unconscious grace with which she carries herself. Who knows? She may well be the daughter of a French count.’
‘You could ask Lady Longworth.’
‘I could, but if the Longworths are using her extraordinary beauty as a means of capturing a wealthy husband, the truth may be revealed only after the vows are spoken. She may be an heiress—or an actress, which means I’m better off making my own enquiries.’
‘Which means what? You strap Miss Vallois to the rack and turn the screws until she tells you what you want to know?’
Oberon laughed. ‘Really, Silver, my methods are far more civilised. You see, in every person’s life, there are secrets. And there are always people who know those secrets. It is simply a matter of finding the right people and asking them the right questions.’
‘And if they suffer from the antiquated notion of loyalty or friendship?’
‘Then they must be encouraged to share what they know.’ Oberon smiled, but to Robert’s way of thinking, it was a singularly unpleasant thing. ‘Next to torture, I’ve always found money to be the most effective way of eliciting the truth.’
Oberon walked away and Robert made no attempt to stop him. The man was like a dog with a bone. Once he sank his teeth into something, he wouldn’t let go until there was nothing left to hold on to. Such was the case with Miss Vallois. Oberon had decided she was of interest to him and he would leave no stone unturned until he knew everything there was to know about her.
A daunting prospect for anyone, let alone a young woman newly arrived in London and looking to make a successful marriage. For her sake, Robert hoped there was nothing in her past that would preclude that from happening.
By the time the evening came to an end, Sophie was convinced the English were indefatigable. Though it was well past two in the morning, Lavinia and Nicholas were still chatting enthusiastically about the people to whom they had spoken, and about the delight those people had expressed at having been introduced to the charming brother and sister from France.
Sophie was pleased the evening had gone so well, but her feelings of excitement had long since given way to exhaustion. The noise of so many people, the sights and sounds of a grand ball, the necessity of constantly having to be on one’s guard to say the right thing, were tiring in the extreme, to say nothing of the difficulties involved in keeping everyone’s titles and positions straight. What a confusing jumble of lords and ladies the English aristocracy was!
Then there was the always-disturbing behaviour of one Mr Robert Silverton …
‘I think you’ll sleep well tonight,’ Lavinia said as they climbed the stairs to their rooms. ‘I’ll have Jeanette bring you a cup of chocolate in the morning.’
‘Thank you, Lavinia.’ Sophie was so weary she had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. ‘If left alone, I fear I may sleep until noon.’
‘In that case, I shall have a breakfast tray sent up as well.’
Thankfully, Jeanette was waiting to help her undress and after the magnificent gown was removed and carefully hung in the closet, Sophie sat down at the dressing table and gazed longingly at the bed. ‘I don’t suppose I could go to bed without having my hair brushed?’
Jeanette pursed her lips. ‘Her ladyship wouldn’t like it, miss. She’s very particular about that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, I’m sure she is.’ Sophie sighed as she turned to face the glass. As the maid took the pins from her hair and it came tumbling down around her shoulders, Sophie closed her eyes and let her mind drift back over the events of the evening. Ironically, she found herself thinking about Robert Silverton. Why, she couldn’t imagine. The man had made no secret of the fact he didn’t like her, yet she was finding it exceedingly difficult to put him from her thoughts. She had followed his progress around the room, watching as he had stopped to speak with people he knew. The young ladies had been careful to keep their distance, but several of the older ones had smiled in a way that led Sophie to believe he was still very attractive to women open to une dalliance.
‘Sophie, are you awake?’ Lavinia called from the other side of the door.
‘Yes.’ Sophie opened her eyes, glad to have something to think about other than Robert Silverton. ‘Come in, Lavinia.’
Lavinia did, looking wonderfully exotic and far too wide awake in a dressing robe of deep crimson silk trimmed with layers of snowy white lace. Her long dark hair was caught in a loose knot at the nape of her neck and there was a definite twinkle in her eyes. ‘Thank you, Jeanette. That will be all.’
The maid put down the silver-handled brush, bobbed a curtsy and left. Lavinia waited for the door to close before settling herself on the edge of the bed and gazing at Sophie’s reflection in the glass. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t wait until breakfast to hear what you thought of your first ball. And to tell you how proud Nicholas and I were of you this evening. I’m sure we will see your name in the society pages tomorrow.’
Sophie turned on the upholstered seat and her mouth lifted in a smile. ‘I hope they neglect to mention that I addressed the Countess of Doncaster’s eldest daughter as Lady Doncaster.’
Lavinia dismissed it with a wave. ‘You apologised so sweetly even Lady Doncaster couldn’t take offence. But we could spend some time with Debrett’s tomorrow, if you like.’
‘Or we could just avoid attending any more grand balls. But I did enjoy myself this evening, Lavinia, and I think Antoine did too.’
‘Good, because I noticed several young ladies watching him,’ Lavinia commented. ‘Miss Margaret Quilling couldn’t take her eyes from him.’
‘Which one was she?’
‘The tall girl in white. Quite pretty, with blond hair dressed with feathers and pearls.’
Sophie nodded, remembering the ensemble rather than the lady. It had been of white tulle over satin with a rather unusual band of satin crescents forming a wide border around the bottom. The sleeves had been short and edged with a smaller band of crescents. ‘Yes, I remember. She complimented me on my gown and asked if I’d had it made in Paris.’
‘Really? I must pass that on to Madame Delors. She will be delighted to know that her gowns are being praised by such illustrious members of society.’ Lavinia got up and wandered across to the window. ‘Does the room please you, Sophie? I thought you might prefer one facing the square.’
‘The room is perfect,’ Sophie said, glancing around the spacious chamber. A huge four-poster bed was draped in lavender velvet, with the bedspread and pillows being of a lighter hue. A wardrobe stood against the opposite wall and a writing table was nestled under a window framed by delicate white curtains. ‘My mother would have loved it. Lavender was always her favourite colour.’
‘It must have been hard for you to leave her.’
‘I didn’t get the chance.’ Sophie’s eyes misted as they always did when she thought of the gentle woman who had raised her as best she could, despite the frequent bouts of debilitating illness. ‘She died four years ago.’
‘Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’

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