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Breaking the Governess's Rules
Michelle Styles


‘How delightful to meet you again, Miss Louisa Sibson. ’ Jonathon, Lord Chesterholm’s eyes bored holes into Louisa Sibson’s back. The former fiancée he’s thought dead is very much alive… ?Louisa has rebuilt her life, after being dishonourably dismissed from her post as governess for allowing Jonathon to seduce her. Now Louisa lives by a rulebook of morals and virtue – the devastating Lord Chesterholm will not ruin her again!But Jonathon will get to the bottom of Louisa’s disappearance – and he’ll enjoy breaking a few of her rules along the way…!










‘Miss Louisa Sibson.’ The three words were said in a warm, masculine voice—but they were enough to send an ice-cold chill down her spine.

Her hand froze. She kept her gaze downcast and willed the stranger to go. She could not be so unlucky as to encounter Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe here. In Newcastle. He was a habitué of London clubs, fashionable salons and Almack’s—not provincial concerts with second-rate singers.

Louisa forced the breath into her lungs. This man, this friend of Miss Daphne’s nephew, was someone else. This man was not the man who had destroyed her life.

And she was no longer the same naive girl who had believed a man’s whispered endearments of eternal love.

What was the proper etiquette for greeting the man who had taken your innocence and destroyed your girlish dreams?




AUTHOR NOTE


When I first started writing COMPROMISING MISS MILTON, Daisy’s friend Louisa Sibson was supposed to be a throw-away character. A few lines, nothing more. However, Louisa had other ideas. She arrived, and refused to budge from my mind. She was determined to have her story told. Luckily my editor agreed with her, and allowed me to write Louisa and Jonathon’s story. Because Mrs Blandish and her daughters were also very determined characters, they also had a part to play in this story. Hopefully you will enjoy it.



Louisa’s story was inspired in part by reading Other People’s Daughters: the Life and Times of the Governess by Ruth Brandon, The Victorian Governess by Kathryn Hughes, and Miss Weeton’s Journal of a Governess, both volumes: 1807–1811 and 1811–1825. If you are interested in the actual experiences of governesses, the books are excellent sources.

As ever, I am always delighted to get letters from readers. I can be contacted via post to Mills & Boon, through my website, www.michellestyles.co.uk, or my blog http://www.michellestyles.blogspot.com






About the Author


Born and raised near San Francisco, California, MICHELLE STYLES currently lives a few miles south of Hadrian’s Wall, with her husband, three children, two dogs, cats, assorted ducks, hens and beehives. An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romance when she discovered Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt one rainy lunchtime at school. And, for her, a historical romance still represents the perfect way to escape. Although Michelle loves reading about history, she also enjoys a more hands-on approach to her research. She has experimented with a variety of old recipes and cookery methods (some more successfully than others), climbed down Roman sewers, and fallen off horses in Iceland—all in the name of discovering more about how people went about their daily lives. When she is not writing, reading or doing research, Michelle tends her rather overgrown garden or does needlework—in particular counted cross-stitch.

Michelle maintains a website, www.michellestyles.co.uk, and a blog, www.michellestyles.blogspot.com, and would be delighted to hear from you.

Previous novels by the same author:

THE GLADIATOR’S HONOUR

A NOBLE CAPTIVE

SOLD AND SEDUCED

THE ROMAN’S VIRGIN MISTRESS

TAKEN BY THE VIKING

A CHRISTMAS WEDDING WAGER

(part of Christmas By Candlelight)

VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE

AN IMPULSIVE DEBUTANTE

A QUESTION OF IMPROPRIETY

IMPOVERISHED MISS, CONVENIENT WIFE

COMPROMISING MISS MILTON

THE VIKING’S CAPTIVE PRINCESS

BREAKING THE GOVERNESS’S RULES

features characters you will have already met in

COMPROMISING MISS MILTON.


BREAKING THE

GOVERNESS’S RULES

Michelle Styles






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To India Grey,

who has the unfailing knack of brightening my day.




Prologue







1833—Warwickshire

Pain consumed Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe. Every breath seared his lungs. His limbs refused to obey his command. Jonathon fought against it and the heavy blackness that called to him and invited him into its embrace—to death. Jonathon knew he was far from ready to die. His life mattered.

‘Louisa, Louisa.’ The words escaped from his lips, a plea for life, for salvation. With Louisa at his side, he could accomplish anything. With his last ounce of strength, he lifted his hand towards a shadowy female shape. ‘Louisa, help me. I want to live.’

‘Jonathon, oh, my poor, brave Jonathon, you must rest. You are not allowed to die,’ an overly sweet voice cried.

‘Louisa … not you …’ he croaked at the woman with her English-rose complexion and immaculately golden curls. ‘Get her now! Louisa!’

‘Who is this Louisa?’ the woman asked, less sugary and far more imperious. ‘Should I know her?’

‘He wants that little nobody, the governess, Louisa Sibson,’ the brisk tones of his stepmother rang out. ‘Put her from your mind, Clarissa. She is beneath your notice.’

‘Not governess. Fiancée. Find her.’ Jonathon ignored the sudden stab of pain that racked him and forced his body to an upright position. He stared at the pair. They would do as he commanded. ‘I want her here. Now. Louisa. Must marry.’

‘Jonathon is marrying the governess?’ Clarissa shrieked. ‘But you said … Mama said … It is all arranged and has been since we were babies. I am the right wife for him.’

‘Have licence. Marry Louisa today.’ Jonathon frowned. How much time had he lost to the black pain? A few hours? Days? He shook his head to clear his mind. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘He has hit his head, Clarissa, and raves. A good wife knows to allow these indiscretions. Men are like that,’ his stepmother said. ‘Jonny is lucky to be alive, to be given a second chance. I pray he makes a better fist of it.’

‘But this Louisa? I will not have her here. This is my house! I forbid it! He is not allowed to be in love with her!’

‘He will forget her. She is nothing. A trollop who had ideas bigger than her station.’ His stepmother snapped her fingers. ‘Patience and fortitude will win the day, my dear. Remember that and he will always come back to you.’

Jonathon summoned the last of his strength. Forget Louisa? Never. Louisa was his life. His lodestar. ‘Find Louisa.’

‘Rest, my darling, later.’

Jonathon searched his memory and met the heavy curtain of blackness. Something had happened to Louisa. Dead? Injured? His fault? Pain shot through him as Jonathon rejected the notion. She had left. They had quarrelled and she had refused to come with him in the curricle, said that he drove too fast. So he had driven the horses faster to show her. ‘Clarissa, fetch Louisa to me. Now.’

Clarissa backed away and glanced over her shoulder. ‘She is not here. I don’t know where she is. But I promise I will see you back to health, Jonathon. Then. then you can find her if you wish.’

‘Find her!’ He bit his lip and pain pounded on his lungs and skull. ‘Please.’

‘Jonathon,’ his stepmother said in her brisk voice, ‘Louisa Sibson is not coming. Not now. Not ever. Clarissa will nurse you back to health.’

‘Never?’ Jonathon searched his memory. Had he gone back and insisted that Louisa come with him? He had wanted to. Louisa hadn’t been in the curricle when it had overturned, had she? Every breath was fire and the pain in his head screamed worse than ever. He felt the memory of the crash slip away from him and become lost. ‘Was she in the curricle? Clarissa, you would not lie to me. Did I kill her?’

Clarissa turned away, sobbing, unable to meet his eyes.

‘No one is lying, Jonny,’ his stepmother said with great precision.

‘Venetia, where is Louisa? What has happened to her?’

‘She has gone for ever from our lives, Jonny. You had to indulge in your needs and to go against my advice.’

‘Dead.’

His stepmother was silent for a long moment. ‘You will not see her again. Jonathon, you were spared. No one but a fool would have left a cart on a blind bend.’

Louisa had died in the accident. His stepmother had admitted it in that roundabout way of hers. The knowledge hammered against his chest. The one person in the world he loved, that bright shining girl, dead. He had sworn to protect her, but instead he had destroyed her.

‘It would have been better if we’d never met.’

‘You can’t turn back the hands of time, Jonny.’ His stepmother gave him a fierce look. ‘You can only go forwards. It was providence that led you here to Clarissa’s. If the farm manager had not found you, I shudder to think.’ She put a cool hand on his shoulder. ‘You have everything to live for.’

Jonathon collapsed against the linen-covered pillows and willed the darkness to take him to Louisa. His body refused to die.

He turned his head and met his stepmother’s icy gaze. ‘You are wrong, Venetia. Without Louisa, I am beyond redemption.’




Chapter One







Four years later, August 1837—Newcastle upon Tyne

‘Miss Daphne Elliot.’ The three words were said in a warm masculine voice, but they were enough to send an ice-cold chill down Louisa Sibson’s spine.

Her hand froze on the soft folds of Miss Daphne Elliot’s woollen shawl. Louisa kept her gaze downcast and willed the stranger to go. She could not be so unlucky as to encounter Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe here. In Newcastle. He was an habitué of London clubs, fashionable salons and Almack’s, not provincial concerts with second-rate singers. Louisa forced the breath into her lungs. This man, this friend of Miss Daphne’s nephew who had sponsored the concert was someone else. This man was not the man who had destroyed her life. And she was no longer the same naïve girl who believed a man’s whispered endearments of eternal love.

Dimly she heard Miss Daphne answer with delight in her elderly voice and the low rich voice answer again. And she knew her luck in England remained resolutely poor.

Louisa concentrated on the shawl.

What was the proper etiquette for greeting the man who had taken your innocence and destroyed your girlish dreams? Particularly when one of the women most responsible for giving her a new life was enthusiastically greeting him?

And, most importantly, how had she missed his name as one of the sponsors of the Three Choirs concerts?

Louisa weighed her options. Cutting him dead would be the height of rudeness and would distress Miss Daphne no end. Neither could she turn and flee. There had to be a solution, but her mind refused to offer it.

‘Miss Sibson, are you quite the thing?’ Lord Furniss, Miss Daphne’s nephew, asked. Before Louisa could reply, Lord Furniss swallowed her hand in his gigantic paw. ‘I can see from a glance something is wrong. You have gone pale. It is not allowed to have a beauty fainting.’

Louisa withdrew her hand and looked up into Lord Furniss’s broad genial face. ‘There is little danger. I leave the fainting and attacks of vapours to the débutantes. They are the experts in these matters, after all.’

‘As ever, your wit slays me, Miss Sibson, but you do not have to be brave.’ Lord Furniss’s ruddy cheek became a deeper shade of red. He cleared his throat. ‘Chesterholm, we shall have to leave you. The esteemed Miss Sibson protests far too much. She is unwell.’

‘My health is robust.’ Louisa planted her feet more firmly, and her gaze locked with the clear blue-green of her worst nightmare, and her forbidden dream.

‘How delightful to meet you again, Miss Louisa Sibson.’ He held out his well-manicured hand. It was then that she knew her prayers were destined to remain for ever unanswered. ‘A highly unexpected occurrence.’

Louisa twisted Miss Daphne’s shawl about her fingers. By rights, he should have grown fat. Or have his face be marked with scars, something to show his wickedness. However, Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe’s countenance was as fair as ever—golden brown hair contrasting with intense blue-green eyes. Once she had thought his face with its dimple in the chin angelic, but now she could see the sardonic twist and the hardness that lurked behind the smile, the heartless seducer of women.

Gentlemen must be allowed their little indiscretions as long as they do not interfere with the household. She could remember Mrs Ponsby-Smythe’s precise intonation as Jonathon’s stepmother explained why she was dismissing Louisa immediately without reference, and not allowing her to wait for Jonathon’s return.

Louisa took another steady breath and squared her shoulders. She had found her solution. She would get through this unasked-for encounter with dignity and poise. She would demonstrate to him and the rest of the world that he meant nothing to her. She had learnt from her years in Italy. Let him prey on some other gauche governess who might believe his lies. She was now a woman of means, with standing and a good reputation.

‘Mr Ponsby-Smythe.’ Louisa inclined her head. Even now, a traitorous part of her remembered how his fingers had skimmed along her skin, sending quivers of delight throughout her as they bid each other goodbye despite the quarrel. Naïvely she had thought he offered the world, and instead it was one night. For when does the first-born son marry a governess with no family, except in a fairy tale?

‘Lord Chesterholm, Louisa,’ Miss Daphne squeaked, her withered cheeks flushed an excited pink. ‘You have not been paying attention. Young Jonathon has become the fourth Baron of Chesterholm and changed his name to Fanshaw out of respect to his late uncle. Chesterholm, Louisa.’

Louisa crossed her arms and mentally kicked herself. Such a simple thing as a name change. She had not even considered the possibility when she quickly scanned the list of subscribers to the concert. If she had known… she’d have invented a dozen reasons why she could not attend the concert and why she had to leave for Sorrento immediately, even if Miss Daphne had not finished her sentimental journey back to her childhood haunts. ‘Why did you change your name, Lord Chesterholm?’

‘It was my late great-uncle’s wish. He wanted his name to carry on.’ An arrogant smile crossed his features. ‘It suited me to please him, Miss Sibson.’

‘Why should the reason matter?’ Miss Daphne asked, bewilderment in her tone. ‘You are being very bold, Louisa, my girl, with a man you have barely met. Are you certain that you are not sickening? I have never seen you act this way before.’

‘Hasn’t the esteemed Miss Sibson confided about our friendship? That was remiss of her.’ Jonathon’s blue-green eyes burned with a fierce light as his fingers captured her hand and brought it to his lips. ‘Miss Sibson and I are acquainted. Old friends. Is that not true, Louisa?’

Even after all this time, a warm pulse went through her as he used her first name, rolling it slightly on his tongue and making it sound like no one else had ever done. Louisa ruthlessly quashed the feeling.

‘I had the pleasure of teaching Lord Chesterholm’s younger sister several years ago … before I departed for Italy.’

‘That is true. You were my sister’s governess, among other things.’ His fingers tightened and caressed the soft inside of her wrist where her glove gapped.

Louisa tugged at her hand. Surely he had to let her go. It was beyond the bounds of all propriety. He knew why she had left. The coward. He had not even bothered to answer her letters—not the one after the dismissal or the other even more desperate one four months later informing him of her delicate condition. Instead he had left the task of irrevocably severing relations to his stepmother.

She could hear Venetia Ponsby-Smythe’s cut-glass tones echoing down the years. Her relationship with Jonathon was a misalliance. Mrs Ponsby-Smythe daily expected the announcement of her stepson’s forthcoming marriage to the Honourable Clarissa Newton to whom he had been betrothed since they were in the cradle. Louisa and the child she carried must stand aside and forge a new life … for the good of everyone. Venetia Ponsby-Smythe had said that while she sympathised with Louisa’s plight, such things happened when women behaved lewdly. The knowledge of a child would not bring him back, Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had advised, and could Louisa even prove the babe she said she carried was Jonny’s. Then, when Louisa had been ready to storm out, Venetia Ponsby-Smythe had waved her hand and offered to provide Louisa passage to Italy as she did feel responsible for her stepson ruining one of her former employees. Her one condition was that Louisa should never return, never contact her again. Faced with starvation, Louisa had accepted the offer with tearful gratitude. She had even kissed the woman’s hand.

‘Fancy you knowing Aunt Daphne’s delightful friend, Chesterholm.’ Lord Furniss’s voice rang out, recalling her to the present. ‘Who’d have supposed it? Miss Sibson, you have been keeping secrets from me.’

‘Miss Sibson keeps her secrets very well.’ Jonathon’s eyes pinned her. ‘Some day, Miss Sibson, you must tell me how one can rise from the dead. I visited your grave not more than three months ago.’

Miss Daphne and Lord Furniss exchanged shocked glances as the entire Assembly Hall fell silent. Louisa wanted to sink down beneath the floorboards and hide. Everyone was looking at her as if this mess was somehow her fault.

Dead? A gravestone with her name? Louisa fought against a wave of dizziness. She had suffered a sort of death. She had even forbidden her friend Daisy Milton to tell Jonathon where she was if he should ever ask. But it was not what Jonathon meant. He had thought her dead. In the ground. Buried.

‘But you are gravely mistaken, Chesterholm. Miss Sibson is happily very much alive,’ Lord Furniss boomed into the silent void. ‘She nursed my late great-aunt through her last illness. She is a pillar of strength to Aunt Daphne. Words fail me to think of her dead. Who could have been so cruel as to give you misinformation? You must have had the wrong person.’

As Lord Furniss finished, suddenly the room was filled with noise.

Louisa shot Lord Furniss an admiring glance. He had taken her part. The tiny gesture meant so much. She was far from alone. She had friends.

‘Rumours of Miss Sibson’s demise appear to be without foundation,’ Jonathon said in a clipped tone. ‘They are to be regretted.’

‘I remain as I always have been—alive,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I know nothing of a gravestone. It must belong to someone else.’

‘Nevertheless, it is a surprise.’

‘I trust a welcome surprise,’ Miss Daphne said, fluttering her fan. ‘Louisa is such a treasure. My sister looked on her as the daughter she never had.’

‘I had not expected to see Miss Sibson again in this lifetime.’ His eyes slowly examined her from the top of her carefully constructed crown of copper-brown plaits to the bottom of her mauve-silk evening gown, slowly, as if mentally taking off each garment.

Louisa fought against the rising tide of heat. She was over him. Every time she woke at night with the memory of their passion lingering in her brain, she gave the same promise—Jonathon meant nothing to her and her rules guarded her reputation. Never again would she be that impetuous woman who was so desperate for love that she believed a rake’s promise of love was for ever.

‘Nor I you, Lord Chesterholm.’ She graciously inclined her head. Two could play at this game. The rules for winning were simple—icy politeness and never to allow any of her inner turmoil to show.

‘Four years, Louisa,’ he said in that slow seductive voice of his, the one which even now made warm tingles run along her spine. ‘Where did you hide?’

With an effort, Louisa closed that particular door of her memory and concentrated on filling her lungs with life-giving air.

The woman she had once been was dead. Long live the reborn Louisa—the one who believed in schedules and rules, rather than following her desires. Jonathon—indeed none of the Ponsby-Smythes with their smug words and self-satisfied manner—had any power over her. This time she had money and a position of sorts in society, maybe not as grand as the one she had dreamt of in those halcyon days but it was one she had on her own merit and one she would keep as long she remembered the rules of conduct.

She tugged one last time and he let her go with such suddenness that she had to take a step backwards. A faint smile touched his lips. He had done it on purpose and was enjoying her discomfort. ‘In some ways, Lord Chesterholm, it has been but a moment, but in others a lifetime.’

‘You never speak, Louisa, about your past,’ Miss Daphne said, putting a frail hand on Louisa’s shoulder and looking at her with faintly accusatory eyes. Louisa shifted uncomfortably. The last thing she wanted was to cause Miss Daphne distress. ‘I had no idea you were friendly with the Ponsby-Smythes. Young Jonathon’s mother was the only niece of Arthur Fanshaw, the late Lord Chesterholm. Did Mattie know? She would have been very interested, I am sure.’

‘Did you offer references, Miss Sibson?’ Jonathon asked with an arrogant curl of his lip. ‘Or was it a little detail you neglected, Louisa? Miss Sibson was never very good on details.’

‘Your sister, Miss Daphne, was always considered an excellent judge of character. She interviewed me and was satisfied. More than satisfied.’ Louisa ignored Jonathon’s barb. She knew what game he was playing—trying to drive a wedge between her and Miss Daphne. Not content with ruining her once, he wanted to ruin her again. Hopefully Miss Daphne was not suddenly going to become difficult and demand particulars. Here. In public. The last thing Louisa desired was a reliving of her dismissal for improper behaviour with the very reason towering over her.

‘Mattie … yes, she had an instinct for character. One I sadly lack. I trusted her judgement on such things.’ Miss Daphne ducked her head like a child, her grey ringlets hanging in submission.

Louisa’s heart squeezed. She had been far too quick to judge. Miss Daphne had a kind heart, far kinder than most people’s. While Miss Mattie knew about the failed love affair and its aftermath, Louisa had never confided the full story to Miss Daphne. Obviously Miss Mattie had done as she had promised and kept the confidence. The thought made Louisa miss the elderly lady with her vinegar tongue all the more.

‘You have been in Italy,’ Jonathon said, his lips becoming a thin white line.

‘Yes, Italy. Sorrento, in the Kingdom of Two Sicilies, to be precise.’ Louisa fixed a polite smile. The next round in the match had begun. Italy had been his stepmother’s idea of precisely the right place for an inconvenient governess in a delicate condition to go. Within moments of Louisa agreeing, Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had produced a ticket for the mail coach and one for a packet leaving London and bound for Naples. And Venetia Ponsby-Smythe had been correct. Eventually Louisa had found a far better life than in the gutters of Warwick. ‘The air there has been more conducive to my health than Warwickshire’s.’

‘And now you have returned. Is England to have the benefit of your company for long?’

‘I have returned to the north-east. Not to Warwickshire. And only temporarily. Miss Daphne wished to visit those places she remembered from her childhood.’ Louisa swallowed hard, hating the way her breath caught in her throat. She curled her hand about her fan and concentrated on taking calming breaths. ‘You must remember me to your sister, Margaret. When will she have her first Season?’

‘Next Season, if my stepmother gets her wish.’

Louisa took another deep breath. Icy politeness, talking about inconsequential acquaintances. But equally she had to know—what had happened to her rival. Had he married her?’And Clarissa Newton?’

‘We married a year after you … disappeared,’ Jonathon said in a measured tone. ‘Clarissa nursed me back to health and everyone agreed that it was the correct thing to do. Chesterholm needed an heir.’

They had married. Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had told the truth. Louisa’s insides churned as she forced her back to be ramrod straight. Clarissa had been everything that she was not—well connected, accomplished and possessing looks that were in fashion. With the little misalliance out of the way, he had married Clarissa, no doubt in a huge wedding with all the ton in attendance.

‘And is Lady Chesterholm with you?’ Miss Daphne asked.

‘Regretfully, Miss Elliot, Lady Chesterholm died eighteen months ago. She contracted a fever and died hours after giving birth.’ Jonathon inclined his head and his face showed genuine sorrow.

Died. Louisa’s retort withered on her lips. Clarissa was dead. Despite everything that Clarissa had done, all the petty remarks about governesses getting above their stations and all the boasting about how she’d rule the ton as Jonathon’s wife and how they had been betrothed in the cradle, Louisa had never wished for the woman’s death.

‘I am sorry for your loss,’ she whispered.

‘As am I,’ Miss Daphne said, putting a handkerchief to her eyes. ‘It is so tragic when a young woman loses her life in childbirth.’

Louisa silently put the shawl about Miss Daphne’s shoulders. If she was very lucky, she would be able to escort Miss Daphne home now. Miss Daphne loved a good weep. This night and her meeting with Lord Chesterholm would be behind her. Tonight demonstrated how easily she could lose everything she held dear if she failed to keep to her rules.

‘And now, my dear lady, it is my turn to offer condolences.’ Jonathon captured Miss Daphne’s hand, and prevented Louisa from leading her off. ‘Lord Furniss informs me that your sister recently died. You both visited Furniss several times at Eton for the Montem celebrations.’

‘How good you are.’ Miss Daphne’s eyes shimmered. ‘We always brought iced buns. They were Rupert’s favourite.’

‘My dear mama always forbade them as she thought it bad for my figure,’ Lord Furniss said, puffing up his chest. ‘But there is something glorious about an iced bun—sugar on the top and soft dough underneath.’

‘And now you have returned to the land of your birth, Miss Elliot,’ Jonathon said.

Louisa frowned, trying to work out why Jonathon was determined to prolong the painful encounter. Silently she willed him to give up and go.

‘For a fleeting visit. Dear Louisa wishes to return home as soon as possible.’

‘I am hoping to persuade them both to stay in the country,’ Lord Furniss said, reaching for Louisa’s hand.

Louisa avoided it. Tomorrow, she promised silently, tomorrow she would check the steamship timetable.

‘I regret, Lord Furniss, our schedule …’ Louisa said, inclining her head.

‘How long are you here, Miss Elliot?’

‘Louisa took charge of all the arrangements, even though England holds few good memories for her. She has a wonderful talent for scheduling and making sure all the details are sorted.’ Miss Daphne gave a tremulous smile. ‘But then you know Louisa, how kind she is and what a wonderful eye for detail she possesses.’

‘Yes, I do know her.’ His eyes shone like cold emeralds. ‘I will take your word for her kindness. And I’m pleased to learn her eye for detail has improved.’

Louisa flinched. Once he had proclaimed her the kindest of women and told her that he’d love her until he died. She refused to let his words have any lasting sting. They were only words. And she wanted nothing from him. She needed nothing.

‘I think it might be best if I checked on the carriage, Miss Daphne. We would not want to put the schedule in jeopardy.’ Without giving Miss Daphne a chance to answer, Louisa marched away, clinging to the remnants of her temper. It was better to leave than to fight.

‘Don’t forget my shawl … Louisa.’ An elderly voice floated out over the crowd. ‘You promised …’

Jonathon watched the swinging mauve skirt of the very much alive Louisa Sibson disappearing into the crowd. He wanted to shake her insolent shoulders for vanishing in the way she had. For years, he had thought her dead, religiously visiting her supposed grave on the anniversary of her death, but she was alive and far more beautiful than his last memory of her.

Why had his stepmother allowed him to think Louisa was dead? That he had accidentally killed her? Even with his stepmother’s legendary efficiency she could not have achieved the deception without Louisa’s active co-operation. Louisa had to have participated in the deception.

For months he had lain, staring at the white walls of the Newtons’ sickroom, waiting to heal, willing his body to prove the doctors wrong and to walk again. And the first thing he had done was to walk to Louisa’s supposed grave. He had taken such pride in standing in that windswept graveyard, solemnly vowing to live his life as she would have wanted him to. But the entire thing had been a monstrous lie.

Now, he wanted answers, answers from the one person who could give them—Louisa. She was not going to find it that easy to dismiss him. With a few quick strides, he reached Louisa and caught her by the elbow. ‘Oh, no, no more disappearing tricks. You are staying.’

‘What do you think you are doing, Lord Chesterholm? Unhand me!’ Louisa pulled away from his grip, but Jonathon tightened his hold. ‘Jonathon, please, people are beginning to stare! For propriety’s sake!’

‘We are going to have a conversation, Louisa,’ he said through gritted teeth as white-hot anger seethed through him. ‘One we should have had four years ago. We can have it here in this public space or we go into one of the private card rooms, but we will speak. You may begin by explaining why you faked your death.’

‘I have nothing to say to you!’

‘But I have things to say to you.’ Jonathon kept a leash on his temper. For years he had thought about what he would have said to her if he had had one more chance.

The woman had never been dead. She had left, leaving others to heal him and his broken heart. And now she had returned, more desirable than ever. The innocent promise of four years ago had blossomed into a sensuous combination of rich, autumn-red hair, amber eyes and dusty-rose lips—all staring provocatively up at him. ‘And you will listen.’

Without giving her a chance to protest further, he led her to a small room that was often used for card games when balls were given and shut the door with a distinct click, then turned to face his adversary.

She crossed her arms and her amber eyes blazed with fury. ‘You have precisely two minutes before I scream, Lord Chesterholm. We finished a long time ago.’

‘You may have finished, but you neglected to inform me personally.’

Her mouth opened and shut several times. ‘Your stepmother served as your emissary. The Kingdom of Two Sicilies was her suggestion. She paid for my passage. It was a chance for me to start again.’

A red mist settled on Jonathon. ‘You asked my stepmother to help you rebuild your life?’

‘She was my employer. What reason did she have to lie? There was nothing for me here, as she so helpfully pointed out. You were engaged. I was an unwanted reminder.’ Her crown of auburn hair quivered with indignation. ‘I shall leave now. Miss Daphne will worry.’

‘Furniss can guard his aunt.’ Jonathon held up his hand, stopping her. Louisa was going to stay and they would speak under his terms, not hers. ‘Why did you return to England?’

‘To allow Miss Daphne to visit the places of her youth. She wants to see them one last time.’ Her lips turned up in a false smile. ‘You need not worry. I intend to depart from these shores as quickly as possible. England is anathema to me.’

‘A pity. And what charms does Italy hold?’ He looked her up and down, noting how she no longer tried to hide behind demure high-necked gowns but chose instead to wear a décolleté gown that barely skimmed her breasts, proclaiming she was a woman of the world instead of the naïve and somewhat gauche governess who blushed so charmingly. ‘For a woman like you.’

The beauty-spot mole in the corner of her mouth flashed. ‘A marriage proposal. To a baronet. Think of that. Sir Francis Walsham wishes to marry me, honourably, with a large church wedding.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘I have rebuilt my life, Jonathon. Give my regards to your stepmother. Her instincts were correct. Italy has been far better to me than England ever was.’

‘When rebuilding anything, Louisa, you should have a care that the foundations are not made on sand.’

A crease appeared between her perfectly arched brows and for the first time, she appeared less certain. ‘You have lost me, Jonathon.’

‘You admire plain speaking.’

‘Wherever possible.’ A smug smile crossed her lips. She tilted her head upwards. She believed she’d won.

Jonathon waited, savouring the moment.

‘Unlike some I could mention, I am an admirer of the unvarnished truth,’ she said with absolute assurance.

‘Your besotted beau’s proposal might prove difficult to accept.’

Her eyes narrowed and her smile trembled. ‘Why?’

Jonathon leant forwards, his breath brushing her cheek. ‘I have a prior claim.’




Chapter Two







A prior claim. Claim to what? To her? To her hand, or her body? Louisa stared openmouthed at Jonathon as the words echoed around her brain. His hooded eyes held a sensuous promise and his lips were a mere turn of her head away.

She stumbled backwards, away from him, away from his body, narrowly missing a gilt-edged chair.

Louisa put out a steadying hand and grasped its back, shifting the chair so it was between her and Jonathon. She attempted to get her emotions under control. Emotions and dreams were the enemy. They had destroyed her before. They could again. Once she had longed to be married to him and to belong body and soul to him. She had considered them already married, soul mates, and had disregarded all the warnings and well-meant advice to wait until the wedding night. She had mistaken a young man’s lust for all-conquering love and had paid a heavy price. But she had finished paying, years ago.

‘Do you agree I have a prior claim, Louisa?’ His hands closed over hers, pressing them against the giltedged wood.

‘Words said in jest can destroy a person’s reputation, Lord Chesterholm.’ Louisa gave a light laugh to show that his betrayal no longer had the power to hurt. It was in the past and she no longer pined for him or her girlish fantasies. She had rebuilt her life on rock-solid foundations. She had learnt from her mistakes. Her heart might bear scars, but it was whole and safe.

‘I am deadly serious.’ He released her hands and moved the chair so it sat squarely between them. ‘Perhaps you chose to disregard such things. But will your intended? Does he know that you bolt? Does he know you are promised to another?’

‘Hardly promised. What was between us ended years ago.’

‘We were engaged, Louisa,’ his voice purred. ‘We were as close as a man and woman could be, but forgive me—when did you sever our relationship?’

Just after your stepmother informed me you were engaged to another woman, and had been promised to her for months before. You seduced me when you were not free. Louisa kept her breathing steady and wished she had not done her laces up so tightly. ‘Your memory is indeed failing. You never returned.’

‘I was in an accident. It was nine months before I could walk any distance, before I was released from my sickroom.’ An ironic smile played on his full lips. ‘Forgive me for being remiss, but then I was otherwise occupied—attempting to survive.’

‘Nobody told me,’ Louisa whispered.

‘Did you ever ask?’ His words were intended to cut, but instead they gave her strength.

She pushed away from the chair and drew herself up to her full height, regretting that she only reached his chin. ‘I am a respectable person. I always have been, despite what passed between us. Despite your stepmother’s dismissal for loose morals.’

The covered tables and gilt-edged chairs with their air of north-east respectability seemed to leer at her and mock her—as if they too knew about her lapse and how, in her headlong rush towards matrimony, she had ruined her prospects for ever. And no matter what happened in this room, society would deem it all her fault and turn its collective back, just as it had done the last time.

‘You had a choice, Louisa. You knew my habits, my friends, yet you contacted not a single one.’

‘And risk further humiliation?’ Louisa gave a strangled laugh. Even the innocent girl she had been knew the sort of company he kept and how women were passed around like gaily wrapped parcels. She had had their child to think of. No child of hers was going to be abandoned in a foundling home while she warmed another man’s bed. ‘I think not, sir.’

‘And do your swains know about your past? Did Miss Elliot?’

‘Do not threaten me, Lord Chesterholm. I have paid for my sins.’

‘Surely you know me better than that.’ He brushed an imaginary piece of dust from his cuff. ‘I never threaten. I make promises and I always keep my promises.’

‘And that is supposed to make me quake in my evening slippers?’ she asked scornfully.

‘You may do as you like—go dance around St Nicholas’s church in your petticoat if it pleases you, but answer my question. Why did you conspire to fake your death?’

‘You should be careful of your accusations. I have never abandoned anyone, nor have I ever pretended to be anything but alive.’ Louisa gripped her reticule tighter. Dance about St Nicholas’s church dressed only in her petticoats? The man was insupportable. ‘Simply repeating lies over and over does not make them suddenly become the truth.’

‘I never lie. Can I be held to blame if people choose to misinterpret my words?’ A muscle tightened in his jaw and Louisa knew she had scored a hit.

Once she had readily believed the words that had tripped off his tongue. I will love you for ever, Louisa. You are the only woman in the world for me. You are my wife in truth. What is a licence but a piece of paper? I will return. I know how to handle the ribbons of a curricle. I will always find you. Your life will be one of luxury. Instead she had discovered the humiliation and degradation of trying to find work without a reference and what it was like to be pregnant without a friend to turn to. It was then she had stopped believing in happily-ever-afters.

‘Piecrust promises, then—easily made and easily broken. Your servant, Lord Chesterholm, but there is no claim on either’s part.’ Her self-control amazed her, but he did not deserve to know of her heartbreak or the baby. She had decided that long ago. She had her pride. She gave a perfunctory curtsy. ‘You will forgive me, but I have other business to attend to.’

He took a step towards her, brushing aside the chair. It fell to the ground with a thump. ‘In the village churchyard where you grew up, there is a stone that bears your name. I have placed flowers there every year on the anniversary of your death.’

‘Your stepmother engineered my disappearance, as you call it.’ Louisa retreated and found herself pinned between the table, a pile of two chairs and the wall. ‘Why would I seek a life of shame? How could I stay after I had been dismissed? A governess has little choice in such matters.’

The shadows deepened in Jonathon’s eyes and his advance stopped. There was the faint hint of hesitation in his mouth as if he had never suspected his stepmother might do something like that. Louisa’s stomach lurched. He did know. He had to have known what Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had done, what she was capable of doing. A tiny whisper resounded in the back of Louisa’s brain—perhaps he hadn’t known.

She quashed it.

‘I was an innocent, Jonathon. You were infinitely more experienced.’ She paused and controlled the faint tremor in her voice. ‘You knew what you were doing. I had no idea, but I knew you were disappointed in me. We quarrelled. You broke with me. It was a late summer romance and then the chill winds of autumn came.’

‘You are wrong, Louisa, very wrong.’ Jonathon banged his fists together and took a step towards her, his face contorting in anger. ‘I wanted you.’

‘You may wish to live in fantasy worlds, Lord Chesterholm, but mine is solidly grounded in reality.’ She kept her voice steady and her eyes on a spot somewhere over his right shoulder. Dignity and hard-won poise would see her through this ordeal, rather than weeping uncontrollably or shouting. ‘You discarded me because I no longer excited you.’

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. ‘Interesting—that is not my recollection of the night. Untried, yes, but passionate and willing to learn.’

Louisa focused on the dust-sheeted furniture, forced herself to remember the awful words Venetia Ponsby-Smythe had said when Louisa had proudly boasted that she would marry Jonathon. ‘You left your stepmother to sort out the mess just as she had sorted out every other scrape from the Earl’s wife to the little dancing girl at Covent Garden.’

‘Which Earl’s wife? What dancing girl from Covent Garden?’ Jonathon tilted his head to one side, his lips a firm white line. ‘What fustian nonsense are you spouting, Louisa? Why would I ever ask Venetia to do something like that?’

‘The women that your stepmother had to pay off. She showed me a list of your women …’

Jonathon’s mouth dropped open and his eyes were wide with disbelief and horror. The expression vanished in an instant. He slammed his fists together. ‘I have never asked for any assistance from anyone in my family with managing my women, as you call them. I never would.’

‘You married another woman, a woman who was far more acceptable to your family. You were engaged to her when you made love to me,’ Louisa continued on, refusing to allow him and this pretended outrage to distract her. ‘You never looked for me.’

‘One does not look for the dead amongst the living, Louisa. Clarissa and I only became engaged after I thought you were dead,’ he said slowly, running his hand through his hair. A small shiver ran down her spine. He was serious. He had thought her dead. ‘As much as I wanted to believe otherwise, I thought you dead—a fact you have not until now bothered to correct.’

‘I refuse to dignify that remark with an answer.’

‘What were you so frightened of that you had to disappear?’ His voice held a new note, a plea for something. In many ways, it was worse than his anger. Anger she could react against. ‘Did our love-making frighten you? There was so much passion between us.’

She gazed up at the ceiling, noticing the swirls and stains from the burning tallow candles. He was right in a way. She had been frightened, frightened of losing him, particularly after their bitter quarrel in the curricle as they had journeyed back to the house. Her cases had been waiting for her in the vestibule as Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had discovered her lie about her ill friend. And Jonathon had departed before she could ask for his help. Very quickly the enchanted afternoon and night had become a nightmare.

His stepmother had said the very words Louisa had half-expected to hear drip from Jonathon’s lips on his return from his great-uncle’s. She had been a mere plaything and had served her purpose.

A great weariness invaded Louisa’s being. This battle was four years too late. Taunting him was beyond her. Venetia bore some of the blame, but she had put her past behind her.

‘Your stepmother would have made a good general. She leaves nothing to chance. And never gives any quarter to her enemies. Should haves and could haves serve no purpose. What was between us ended and you married another while I began my life again.’ She smoothed the folds of her mauve silk gown, a small action, but one that served to remind her of her independence. Jonathon might threaten and bluster, but ultimately she would survive. ‘Let me go, Jonathon. It is over between us.’

In the silence that followed, Louisa could hear the concertgoers moving around outside the room. A woman had lost a glove, another wanted to find her carriage, little snippets of ordinary conversations that reminded her there was another life out there, waiting for her.

He took a step towards her, his blue-green eyes flashed and his fingers flexed as if only through the greatest act of will-power did he refrain from wringing her neck. ‘No, it is not over.’

‘Four years ago we parted,’ she said and hated the way her voice squeaked. She always promised herself that if they ever met she would be calm and collected. She would act as if nothing had happened and as if the grave in Sorrento did not exist because he had no right to know. And now there had to be a way of making him understand, of getting through to him before he did something that they both regretted. ‘The girl I was, the young man you were … they are gone. Dead, if you like. Unwelcome memories.’

He stopped, fingers outstretched as if he had been about to capture her and pull her to him. A small traitorous part of her was disappointed. Louisa quickly silenced it. Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe, now Fanshaw, Lord Chesterholm, had played her for a fool four years ago. His touch might feature in her dreams, but on waking she remembered the aftermath.

‘You are wrong, Louisa.’ He lifted a hand and brushed her cheek, a butterfly touch, but one that sent pulses of warmth throughout her body. ‘My memory of you is far from unwelcome.’

‘I have put the sordid episode behind me. I suggest you do the same.’

She waited. If anything, his eyes glittered more dangerously. The silence threatened to press down on her soul. He had to believe her. All she had to do was to stick to her rules. They were simple and straightforward.

‘The past has nothing to do with my future, Jonathon.’ Louisa started to push past him, but he stepped in front of her, blocking the door. The cut of his evening coat made his shoulders appear broader than ever. ‘Neither of us wants or desires a scandal. Society has rules for a purpose and I for one intend to keep them … this time.’

‘But scandals can be enjoyable.’

Louisa ignored the sudden prickle of heat that coursed through her. It was simply a reminder of why Jonathon was dangerous. He lived and breathed sensuality in a way no man had before or since. In the intervening years she had not been tempted or felt one ounce of breathlessness. But now she spent a few moments in his company and the hot pounding of her blood started again. This time she was wise and mature and recognised it for what it was—a remembrance. She refused to give in.

‘Remove yourself from the door and allow me to be about my business.’

His hand reached out and grasped her waist gently, but firmly enough to keep her there. The prickle of heat threatened to become a flame. Louisa concentrated on breathing slowly. She had survived such things before. Jonathon would be no different than the major who had had too much to drink at the Trasemeno hotel. Her rules had worked then. They would work now.

‘About my business?’ The lights in his eyes deepened. ‘And what exactly is my business?’

She moved to the next stage. ‘Unhand me, sir.’

‘My hand is off you.’ His fingers hovered above her waist, and somehow it was worse because her body ached to have the small caress. ‘You are free to go.’ He leant forwards so his forehead touched hers. ‘But before you do, Louisa, do you think about what we experienced together? How your lips felt against mine? At night when you lie in bed?’

‘Never,’ Louisa breathed. Her heart thudded so loudly in her ears that she thought surely Jonathon must hear. It bothered her that she remained attracted to him, but that had always been her problem. Even the first time she had seen him, her pulse had beat faster. This was simply an echo from the past. Everything to do with being this close to a man for the first time since … since the last time she had been with Jonathon.

She swallowed hard and grasped her reticule to her bosom. It was not the same. She had changed. She knew the pain men were capable of inflicting on her soul. She knew why the rules existed. She had learnt her lesson well. ‘You have vanished from my mind.’

‘You were always a poor liar, Louisa.’

Before she had a chance to move away, he lowered his mouth and captured hers. The kiss was designed to evoke a response—small nibbles at her mouth, swiftly followed by a more lingering meeting as her lips gave way to temptation.

Louisa’s backbone melted as small tongues of fire leapt from his hand to her skin. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders and she remembered how Jonathon had once run his hands through it, proclaiming it softer than silk and infinitely more precious. She knew she should stop, but her body luxuriated in his touch.

Abruptly he released her and she stumbled away from him.

‘Is that the best you can do? Seek to dominate me with the physical?’ Louisa automatically began to straighten her gown, but she knew her chest rose and fell far too fast. ‘I never think about such things. They have vanished from my mind.’

A smug look appeared in his eyes. ‘We are far from finished, Louisa. We have only just begun, and this time, it will end when I say it does.’

Louisa paused with her hand on the door. She gave him a quelling look. ‘I decline your offer of marriage. We would not suit.’

‘You should wait until you are asked, Louisa.’ His face became all planes and shadows.

‘Then I decline whatever you are offering.’

Louisa pulled the door open and slammed it behind her. Never again would she return to being that woman who melted at the slightest touch from Jonathon. That woman no longer existed. She had died when they had prised her baby daughter’s lifeless body from her. Born too soon, the baby had failed to draw even a single breath. It had been a judgement from God and she would do well to remember that.

* * *

‘I want this letter in the first post,’ Jonathon said, handing the sealed note to his valet.

‘Very good, my lord.’ Thompson gave a bow and left Jonathon alone in the library of his Newcastle town house on Charlotte Square.

Jonathon swirled the untouched ruby port in his glass. His stepmother would come to Chesterholm and she would bring his half-sister Margaret. Before he confronted Venetia over Louisa, Jonathon wanted to make sure that Margaret could not be held as a hostage. If Venetia was prepared to lie about Louisa’s death when he lay injured in order to further his relationship with Clarissa, Jonathon knew that she would not hesitate to arrange a marriage that Margaret might not desire. He had a duty towards his sister. Margaret deserved her chance to find love.

What to do about Louisa Sibson and her reappearance in his life? She denied the passion that had existed between them, but it was there, and this time she would stay until the passion burnt out.

Even the last few remaining coals in the fire mocked him, echoing the colour of Louisa’s hair. She was here and alive, utterly unrepentant and utterly desirable. How many times had he longed for Louisa’s return, if only for a few minutes, if only so he could whisper that he was sorry. He gave a wry smile. His nurse used to say it was never good to get what you wish for.

His mind returned to the early days after the accident when he had asked for Louisa to see if Clarissa’s overly pat tale of woe had any substance. Clarissa had been there, competent and efficient, the perfect nurse, alongside Venetia. And each time he had asked, her frown had increased. He clearly remembered the exchange—why is he asking for that governess?—and his correcting shout—my fiancée. And his stepmother had patted Clarissa’s arm and told her not to worry about the baggage before forcing more of the damned laudanum down his throat.

He reached forwards and gave the fire a stir, making the coals glow bright orange.

Louisa should have trusted him. What more could she have desired from him? What further proof had she wanted? He had asked her to marry him, to run away with him.

He tapped his fingers together. His late great-uncle was fond of quoting Eros’s explanation of why he left Psyche—there can be no love without trust, but there can be desire—to say why he had chosen to be a bachelor. Jonathon had never understood the saying until now.

And what of her future plans? Her marriage plans? Did she love this baronet, Francis Walsham, whom she had dangled in front of his nose? Debrett’s only listed a solitary name, a man old enough to be Louisa’s grandfather, but wealthy. Had she ever kissed Walsham the way she kissed him? The very thought made him want to tear the man limb from limb.

Jonathon took another reflective sip of his port. And why had she returned to England if she intended on marrying? What was there for her here?

‘Forgive the late-night interruption, Chesterholm, but you are my only hope.’ Furniss burst into the library. ‘My need is a matter of life and death.’

‘How so?’

‘Did you know tonight was the first time that I have seen Miss Sibson flustered? She nearly forgot her reticule in her haste to inform Aunt Daphne of her decision to go. Her reticule goes everywhere with her. Her lifeline, she calls it. Something has unnerved her. She plans to return to Sorrento as soon as she can find passage on a steamship.’ Furniss put his hands to his head. ‘This is bad, bad, bad. Miss Sibson is notorious for her schedules.’

Leaving. Running. From him or from her desires? But she would fail to escape. This time, he knew she was alive.

‘And why should I be able to help you?’ He gave a light laugh that sounded hollow to his ears. Furniss fancied himself in love with her. Jonathon ground his teeth. How many bloody admirers did Louisa have? ‘I have no power over Miss Sibson’s movements.’

‘Aunt Daphne is here in the north-east to visit her childhood haunts.’ Furniss’s ruddy face became alight. ‘Then she is returning to Sorrento where Miss Sibson plans to marry Sir Francis Walsham. Previously Miss Sibson promised to stay until Aunt Daphne was ready to go back to Italy.’

‘You are making no sense, Furniss.’ Jonathon forced his tone to be light as a surge of jealousy cut through him.

‘I intend to marry Miss Sibson,’ Furniss continued blithely on. ‘I will have no chance if she returns to Sorrento and her baronet. Here, in England, I do.’

‘You want to marry Miss Sibson? Has she agreed?’ Jonathon stared at his friend, furious that Furniss had not bothered to confide in him. Tonight’s farce could have been avoided.

‘I am certain my late aunt would have approved. Why else would she have left Miss Sibson the money?’

‘Why indeed? Perhaps she liked her.’ Jonathon shook his head as a primitive urge filled him to proclaim that Louisa was his. Furniss was a far more dangerous rival than the far-off baronet. Furniss had youth and a genial manner on his side.

‘You are my last hope.’ Furniss settled down into the red armchair opposite and poured himself a glass of port. ‘I thought and thought about how I could make them stay.’

‘I knew Miss Sibson a long time ago.’ Jonathon gave an exaggerated yawn. As if he would provide information to a rival! Furniss was on his own. ‘I can provide no insight.’

‘Not Miss Sibson. I know all about Louisa. We met months ago in Sorrento.’ Furniss gave a little wave of his hand, missing the cut-glass decanter by a hair’s breadth. ‘I have devoted time to studying her, her ways and how her mind works. She keeps her cards close to her chest, but I think there must be some secret sorrow in her past. She always changes the subject.’

‘You did?’ Jonathon tightened his fingers about the glass as a white-hot rage shot through him. His friend had known Louisa was alive and had known for months. The time he had wasted. ‘Why are you not engaged? You are both free.’

‘There was my dear mama to think about.’

‘What does your mother have to do with it?’

‘Mama would put poison in Miss Sibson’s tea if she could. Mama only went to Sorrento because she was convinced Aunt Mattie was going to leave her fortune to her. In the event, she only received a few pieces of jewellery.’ Furniss lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Mama feels Miss Sibson exerted an undue influence on my late aunt.’

‘Do you?’

‘There are reasons why my father prefers to live at his club. Mama should never have made disparaging remarks about Aunt Mattie’s cameos. It is her own fault she lost the inheritance. But, regardless, I will get no help from that quarter.’

‘What does this have to do with me?’

‘Your Uncle Arthur collected cameos. It came to me in the carriage and Aunt Daphne’s eyes sparkled when she mentioned him. Perhaps there was a connection.’

‘I can’t help you, Furniss. I know of little connection between the Misses Elliots and Uncle Arthur. He did not hold women in very high standing.’ Jonathon stared at the fire. Furniss was right. There had to be a way of keeping Louisa here, rather than letting her run to ground in Sorrento. ‘But if I think of anything …’

‘I knew you would help, Chesterholm.’

‘I promise nothing.’ Jonathon tapped a finger against his mouth. ‘But Miss Sibson will not be going to Sorrento.’




Chapter Three







‘The concert was a splendid outing. I am so pleased Rupert suggested it. It was just the tonic. I do declare Rupert is far better away from his odious mother, don’t you agree?’ Miss Daphne said, while Louisa poured the late-night cups of hot chocolate. ‘You are going to reconsider going back to Sorrento. Given encouragement, Rupert might… It would do my heart good to see you settled.’

‘We have seen everything we came to England to see,’ Louisa replied carefully. Tomorrow, she’d go and book their passage back. Marriage to anyone was not in her plans. Tomorrow, she would keep to the strict letter of her rules. Tomorrow she would remember what was important in her life—her future rather than her past. ‘We have already spent longer in England than we planned.’

‘But why the immense hurry? Only this morning, you appeared content to reside here a bit longer.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Miss Daphne.’

‘Suddenly you are frightened of staying in England, Louisa. Why the change? There might be things I still wish to see. And my nephew’s fascination with you grows. He is not up in Newcastle simply to pass the time of day with his old auntie. I predicted as much in Sorrento last spring.’

‘You read too much into his attention.’

‘And you read too little, my girl.’

Louisa regarded the chocolate pot for a long moment. One of her favourite Italian rituals was drinking hot chocolate just before bed. Miss Daphne preferred to have heaping spoonfuls of sugar, but Louisa liked it with the barest hint of sweetness. There was a certain something about the way the chocolate tasted—smooth and rich, reminding her to take joy in the small pleasures rather than looking for castles in the air.

Tonight all the hot chocolate did was serve to remind her how easily her present life could be destroyed if she was not very careful. She should never have kissed Jonathon back. She had grown beyond the naïve girl who thought his kisses showed his devotion.

‘Nothing about England frightens me,’ Louisa said, placing the silver spoon down. ‘Sir Francis expects me to return and give him his answer.’

‘Poppycock. That man is a puffed-up popinjay. Mattie could not abide him and his airs.’

‘She respected his opinion.’

‘On cameos.’ Miss Daphne leant forwards. ‘Sir Francis is closer to my age than yours. You want a young man to warm your bed, Louisa. Trust me on this.’

Louisa took a delicate sip of the chocolate. Miss Daphne seemed to have an uncanny way of knowing if there was an attraction between a couple. This evening’s kiss had been about the past, an aberration, and had nothing to do with her present or, more importantly, her future. ‘Nevertheless he expects an answer.’

‘It was good to see young Jonathon looking so well.’ Miss Daphne reached for the sugar bowl. ‘Particularly after his accident a few years ago.’

Louisa froze. Until this evening she had not even realised that either of the Misses Elliots knew Jonathon.

‘You know about the accident,’ she said slowly.

‘Mattie liked to keep up with the doings of Arthur Fanshaw and his relations, or at least she used to.’ Miss Daphne gave her a sharp look. ‘After you arrived, she had a new enthusiasm and rarely spoke of them. I was pleased at the time that she had finally come to terms with her heartache, but now I wonder.’

Louisa swallowed hard. Miss Mattie knew the full story about her past, but had never mentioned it. ‘Curious. I … I had left the household before the accident. The first I heard of it was today. Miss Mattie never said anything to me.’

Miss Daphne set her cup down. ‘Did Mattie know of your connection to the Ponsby-Smythes?’

Louisa raised her head and met the elderly lady’s gaze full on. ‘Yes, she did. I explained about my past when the doctor introduced us.’

‘She will have had her reasons.’ Miss Daphne frowned. ‘Old scandals can return when you least expect it. People’s memories are long, but I think you are being overly cautious, my dear. There is no need to go back to Sorrento with your tail between your legs, and accept a proposal that you will regret for the rest of your life. We can keep to our new schedule.’

Louisa reached for the sugar bowl and added another spoon of sugar to her chocolate, before she carefully stirred. The result was far too sweet, but it helped to steady her nerves. ‘Perhaps, but I do not want anyone to say that I was wicked.’

‘Who would say that?’

‘Your niece Honoria. She might say that I exerted undue influence on Miss Mattie before she died. I never knew Miss Mattie intended to leave me the money.’ Louisa had never asked for the inheritance. It had come as a complete surprise. Both Miss Mattie and Louisa had shared a common fascination for all things ancient. Under Miss Mattie’s tutelage, Louisa had become an expert on cameos and Miss Mattie had considered Louisa the best person to maintain her collection.

‘Mattie loved you like a daughter. She also gave Honoria and that solicitor of hers a piece of her mind. You need not fear. You will have no problems from my niece. Mattie made sure of it. Mattie liked to take care of all contingencies and I trusted her.’ Miss Daphne reached out her hand. ‘But I think I deserve to know what happened with young Jonathon and make my own judgement. You want to run away from me because of it.’

‘What happened to me, happened years ago. It is a depressingly old and familiar tale.’ Louisa attempted a smile. ‘I learnt my lesson. Believing a gentleman who promises the moon leads to disappointment. Miss Mattie agreed with me.’

‘I want the story and not the aftermath. The aftermath I know. What passed between you all those years ago?’

Louisa swallowed hard, considering how to tell her tale. She had been an impressionable twenty years old and had thought her fairy tale was coming true—a handsome prince who married for love instead of duty. She should have seen the warning signs—the bored rake home from London, the seduction, and then her giving in and believing him when he had promised to return with a licence to marry her. Mrs Ponsby-Smythe had dismissed her without a character reference when rumours had reached her ears. Then, three months later, she had discovered that she was pregnant and had gone to Mrs Ponsby-Smythe’s, searching for Jonathon, and had discovered about the impending marriage between Jonathon and Clarissa. When on the voyage to Naples, she had fallen ill with a high fever and the baby had been born too early—a beautiful little girl with translucent skin and jet-black hair, perfect in every way, except she never breathed. A large part of Louisa had died that day.

‘Miss Daphne, he is part of my painful past, not my future.’ Louisa put her hand over Miss Daphne’s withered one as she finished the story. ‘But you can see why I must return to Sorrento. I do not want any rumours to soil your skirts.’

‘No, no, that would be giving into the pompous society prigs without a fight. You must stay.’ Two pink spots appeared on Miss Daphne’s withered cheeks. ‘I can fight. I am unafraid and I stick by my true friends.’

‘I know.’ Louisa smiled back.

She valued Miss Daphne’s friendship. It was why she had agreed to this trip and why she knew she would stay until Miss Daphne wanted to leave, but it was unfair to ask Miss Daphne to fight those sorts of battles at her age.

Louisa knew she had made a mistake, and some day she would stop paying for it. She leant forwards and banished tonight’s kiss to the further reaches of her mind. Her reaction was an aberration brought on by suddenly seeing him again. Now that she was prepared, nothing like that would ever happen again.

‘I am no fool and will not make that mistake again.’

‘You are certain of that?’ Miss Daphne’s eyes took on a knowing gleam. ‘I have some knowledge of human nature, Louisa, despite being a spinster. Men seldom look at women like Lord Chesterholm looked at you if they are uninterested.’

Louisa concentrated on gathering up the cups and saucers, arranging them neatly on the tray, ready for Jenkins, the butler, to remove it, rather than meeting Miss Daphne’s knowing gaze. ‘Miss Daphne, you are beginning to speculate. Speculation overheats the blood as Miss Mattie was wont to say. A woman can learn from her mistakes. I learnt from mine.’

‘Hmm, but what are his intentions now? I have often found men with fascinating eyes can make a woman forget her lessons. And Lord Chesterholm has some of the most fascinating I have seen in many a long year.’

‘Your eyesight must be mistaken.’ Louisa focused on the cups and tried not to think about Jonathon’s preposterous suggestion that he had a claim over her. She was not an object. Miss Daphne’s eyes assessed her for a long moment but Louisa looked back unblinkingly. Finally Miss Daphne turned away.

‘I accept you want to believe that, Louisa.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Please ask Cook to make iced buns for my At Home tomorrow.’

‘Iced buns?’ Louisa frowned. Miss Daphne never served teacakes at At Homes. The women had a cup of tea or coffee, but never iced buns. The whole procedure was shrouded in tradition, even on the hottest days in Sorrento.

‘I am expecting callers, gentlemen callers. You did make an impression, Louisa, even if you wish to deny it.’ Miss Daphne tapped the side of her nose. ‘And if I am right, tomorrow’s At Home will be highly productive. One must fight fire with fire. And then, Louisa, when it is all done, we can go home with our heads held high.’

Miss Daphne swept out of the room.

Louisa stared at the dregs of her hot chocolate, turning the conversation over in her mind. It made a sort of sickening sense. Miss Daphne expected Jonathon to appear alongside Lord Furniss. Louisa reached for the poker and gave the coal fire a final stir, sending an arch of flame into the air.

All she knew was that she could not remain in this drawing room like some scared rabbit, waiting for Jonathon to appear. She had stopped running years ago. Jonathon deserved to learn a lesson in civility and she looked forward to administering it. Miss Mattie would have approved.

‘Miss Daphne,’ Louisa called on her way to bed, ‘the At Home will go splendidly tomorrow. I can feel it in my bones.’

The clock on the mantelpiece was only a few minutes away from twelve. Last night in bed, Louisa had dreaded that Jonathon would arrive bright and early, but now she dreaded that Miss Daphne’s premonition was wrong. The sole callers were a Mrs Blandish and her two daughters.

Once the At Home was finished, she would confront Jonathon, corner him and force him to back down. He would cease to threaten her or her good name.

Louisa risked a breath and tried once again to concentrate on the conversation between Miss Daphne and the younger Miss Blandish, a conversation that appeared to have Miss Daphne enthralled beyond the bounds of propriety. The conversation appeared to revolve around Miss Nella Blandish’s exploits with a gang of murderous thieves earlier that summer in Gilsland.

‘And now my former governess, Miss Milton, is married to Viscount Ravensworth,’ Miss Nella Blandish finished with a triumphal clap of her hands. ‘I received the letter this very morning. And the entire marriage is thanks to me.’

‘That is quite enough, Nella.’ The elder Miss Blandish gave a prolonged sniff and toss of her blonde curls. She would be pretty if she did not look so bored with the proceedings. As it was, Miss Blandish reminded Louisa of Clarissa Newton—beautiful, but self-absorbed. ‘We all understand that we were not invited to the wedding.’

‘Lord Ravensworth procured a special licence, rather than having a society wedding,’ her mother said with a thoughtful expression. ‘It is how a governess can come to marry a viscount. Personally I never thought Daisy Milton had it in her, but it turns out she was an heiress all along.’

‘Daisy Milton?’ Louisa said, sitting bolt upright, all thoughts of ending the visit fled. ‘Daisy Milton, who has a sister Felicity and a young niece?’

‘That is correct. Do you have a connection?’ Mrs Blandish raised her lorgnette and proceeded to minutely examine Louisa.

‘Daisy Milton is an old friend of mine, but I had no idea that she was even engaged. Let alone entangled with jewel thieves.’ Louisa put her hands to her mouth. She dreaded to think how Daisy had coped. Daisy had based her entire existence on keeping her reputation spotless. ‘I look forward to receiving her latest letter.’

‘Indeed,’ Mrs Blandish said, settling herself against the sofa’s cushions. Her tone implied that Daisy might not have time for such an acquaintance now that she had been elevated to a peerage.

‘You do seem to be hearing news about your old acquaintances, Louisa dear,’ Miss Daphne said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘And here you thought you would not have any connection to Newcastle.’

‘Do you know someone else?’ Miss Blandish asked, suddenly becoming animated. ‘Is it someone we know? Someone in society?’

Louisa inwardly seethed. If only Miss Daphne had had the sense to remain quiet. People had long memories and there was no telling what Mrs Blandish might have heard and how the tale had been twisted. Daisy might even have inadvertently told Louisa’s tale. It bothered her that less than twenty-four hours after encountering Jonathon, she was tempted to return to that naïve girl who looked to others to solve her problems.

‘I … I …’ Louisa began. ‘That is to say …’

Miss Elliot rocked back and forth as if she were no older than Miss Nella Blandish. ‘The fourth Baron of Chesterholm did Louisa the honour of renewing his acquaintance last evening.’

‘And were you good friends with just Lord Chesterholm or his late wife as well?’ Miss Blandish asked with a faint curl of her lip. There was a sharp intake of breath from Miss Daphne and Miss Nella Blandish pretended a sudden interest in her glove buttons.

‘Susan!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘Manners are the young lady’s greatest asset.’

‘I trust you do not think the question impertinent,’ Miss Blandish said, her cheeks becoming stained cherry pink. ‘You do understand why I ask it? If one is to be a débutante in London, one must be so careful.’ She gave Nella Blandish a ferocious look. ‘Particularly when one’s sister is given to exaggeration. My sister’s tongue nearly did for dear Miss Milton’s prospects and I must not have the same happen to me.’

‘I was a governess to Lord Chesterholm’s sister,’ Louisa replied with a clenched-jaw smile.

‘And you have given up being a governess?’ Mrs Blandish asked, leaning forwards, her eyes suddenly alight. ‘We are currently between—’

An involuntary shudder went through Louisa. Mrs Blandish with her purple turban and self-righteous airs represented all that was wrong with being a governess. She pitied anyone who had the misfortune to work for the woman. ‘I found it more pleasant to be a companion.’

‘But now, Louisa is a dear, dear friend.’ Miss Daphne gave a broad smile. ‘Louisa is far too modest about her prospects. My sister left her the bulk of her considerable fortune. She has no need to work. I daily expect a good match for her. My nephew …’

‘I am sure you choose your friends well, Miss Elliot.’ Miss Blandish began to wave her fan about and her eyes took on a hunted expression. ‘No harm was intended. Mama is desperate to replace Miss Milton.’

‘Miss Daphne and her late sister have never had problems distinguishing between true friends and hangerson.’ Louisa kept her head up. The Blandishes and their kind were the sort of creatures that Louisa despised—only concerned about appearances and quick to judge. Exactly like Clarissa Newton and her parents.

Before Miss Blandish had a chance to reply, Jenkins brought in a silver tray with two cream-coloured calling cards.

Miss Daphne took the cards and her face lit up, becoming twenty years younger. ‘Mrs Blandish, my nephew, Viscount Furniss, and Lord Chesterholm have both come to pay their regards as well. What a shame you cannot extend your call.’

‘Mama,’ Miss Nella Blandish said, ‘we ought to depart. Miss Milton always used to say—fifteen minutes and no longer.’

Mrs Blandish made a face like she had swallowed a particularly sour plum. ‘Come along, girls. We have other business to attend to. The day is wasting.’

‘But, Mama …’ Miss Blandish wailed. ‘Surely we can stay a moment longer. They are both … eligible.’

Louisa stared at the woman in astonishment.

‘Has Susan become utterly devoid of sensibility?’ Miss Nella Blandish asked in a stage whisper. ‘The Viscountess Ravensworth would be horrified!’

‘You will consider staying, Mrs Blandish,’ Miss Daphne said, patting the sofa with a conspiratorial expression. ‘Some rules were meant to be broken. particularly when faced with an unmarried daughter and two highly eligible titled men.’

Mrs Blandish hesitated, obviously debating the demands of propriety and the demands of matrimony. Matrimony won out and she settled herself back down on the sofa. ‘I suppose we can impose on Miss Elliot and Miss Sibson for a few moments longer.’

Miss Daphne gave a beatific smile. Louisa narrowed her gaze. Miss Daphne had some scheme in mind and wanted the Blandish tribe to stay.

‘I had hoped you would see reason,’ Miss Daphne said. ‘Miss Nella tells such interesting stories. My nephew loves a good tale.’

Louisa stood up and reached for her beaded reticule. She would find a way to speak to Jonathon in private. The letter was far too damning to be waved under his nose in public, particularly with the Blandishes hanging on every word. But she had cried her last tear over him four years ago.

Jonathon strode in, his frock coat flaring to emphasise the length of his legs. He surveyed the gathered throng, every inch the proud aristocrat from his immaculately tied stock to his butter-yellow gloves and silver-topped cane. Despite all the promises she had given throughout the years, her pulse beat faster as his eyes appeared to linger on her. Louisa turned her gaze to the reticule, going over each damning line of the letter in her mind, reminding her errant heart. He had ruined her life once. Only a fool would allow that to happen a second time and she was no fool.

‘Lord Chesterholm, Rupert, what a delightful surprise,’ Miss Daphne said, fluttering her fan. ‘You must have guessed that Cook baked iced buns today.’

‘I tempted him with a promise of your iced buns, Aunt,’ Lord Furniss said with smug superiority in his voice. ‘You always have iced buns at your At Homes. A shameful extravagance, but a welcome one. My mother would never approve.’

‘Just like burning more than one candle?’ Louisa asked.

‘Precisely, Miss Sibson. You remember my mother’s odd quirks.’ Furniss flushed slightly and gave a decided nod. ‘What my mother remains in ignorance of, she cannot condemn.’

‘Dear Rupert,’ Miss Daphne said, holding out her hand. ‘You must meet the Blandishes. They were involved in the doings at Gilsland Spa. You know … when poor Edward Heritage died.’

‘Charmed, I am sure.’ Lord Furniss gave the briefest of nods towards the Blandishes, before capturing Louisa’s hand and pressing it tightly. Spying Jonathon’s glower, she resisted the temptation to pull away and allowed Lord Furniss to hold it for a half-minute more than was strictly proper. ‘Now, my dear Miss Sibson, have you missed my company? Did you count the minutes?’

‘Rupert!’ Miss Daphne exclaimed and Lord Furniss dropped Louisa’s hand.

‘What is the temptation of the iced buns?’ Miss Blandish asked, wrinkling her nose. ‘I must confess to never having tried one.’

‘You have never tried one! You have not lived until you have eaten iced buns,’ Lord Furniss exclaimed. ‘Is that not right, Miss Sibson? My aunt’s iced buns are known far and wide. The mere memory of them from our days at Eton is why Chesterholm accompanied me here today.’

‘And the pleasure of Miss Sibson’s company. I found last night’s exchange to be most enlightening.’ Jonathon’s blue-green gaze caught Louisa and held her. Everything else seemed to fade into insignificance.

A small tingle coursed through her. She forced her breath in and out of her lungs. Her reaction was a ghost from ages past. It had nothing to do with the infuriating man standing in front of her and everything to do with her younger, impossibly naïve self. ‘Do you not agree, Miss Sibson?’

‘Do we agree on anything?’ Louisa pasted a smile on her face. ‘We spoke of long-ago trifles that had no meaning then and even less now.’

‘The value of intriguing conversation is immeasurable,’ Jonathon returned smoothly as his eyes taunted her. ‘One can learn such fascinating facts through a few moments of idle talk.’

‘I think you are correct, Lord Chesterholm,’ Mrs Blandish called out from where she sat, making it clear that she for one was following the entire exchange with interest. ‘The pursuit of knowledge is always enlightening.’

Jonathon’s lips turned upwards and his eyes took on a mischievous expression. ‘Particularly when one chances upon old friends one had considered long departed from this world.’

‘The way you talk, Lord Chesterholm—’ Mrs Blandish’s turban quivered with disapproval ‘—one might think Miss Sibson was dead when she stands before us, breathing and in good health. It would be monstrous to spread a tale like that about anyone.’

Jonathon’s gaze travelled slowly down Louisa’s form, his eyes lingering on her curves. His smile increased, becoming that special smile, the one which he had always given her just before kissing her. ‘No, I agree she is very much alive. I had been wrongly informed.’

‘And you are pleased with that,’ Miss Daphne said.

‘Did I ever say I wasn’t?’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Simply surprised to discover the fact. It would appear I put my trust in the wrong people.’

‘The notions some people entertain without bothering to check the facts.’ Louisa clenched her reticule. She looked forward to seeing Jonathon’s arrogant expression replaced with abject begging. And for each barb he sent her way, she’d make him beg a little longer.

‘Are we going to discuss cooking utensils now, Miss Sibson?’ He gave a slight flourish with his hand, daring her.

‘Is that a pile of stones I see beside you, Lord Chesterholm? What is the state of your soul?’

‘Utensils, stones and souls? I fear I cannot follow this conversation,’ Miss Blandish declared with a slight pout and shake of her golden curls.

‘Honestly, Susan.’ Miss Nella rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘A pot calling a kettle black. And from the Bible about someone without sin casting the first stone. Miss Sibson and Lord Chesterholm are having the most interesting quarrel. Now do be quiet and you might learn things.’

‘It is a long-standing argument,’ Louisa said quickly.

‘Miss Sibson and I used to enjoy such arguments,’ Jonathon said with a teasing glint in his eye. ‘She was quite notorious for her skill with … words.’

‘Miss Sibson was renowned for her wit in Sorrento as well,’ Lord Furniss said, hooking his thumbs into his waistcoat. ‘For my part, I always think of the right words precisely five minutes after I have left a gathering.’

‘My poor tongue is feeble compared to the late Matilda Elliot’s.’ Louisa ducked her head as her insides churned. She had been wrong to give in to that impulse.

‘Come, come, Miss Sibson, false modesty does you few favours,’ Jonathon said. ‘Your remarks were often repeated when you were in my stepmother’s employ.’

Louisa fought against a tide of red heat that threatened to engulf her face and banished it. It was up to her whether or not Jonathon discomforted her. Her choice, not his. She gulped a breath of air and met his gaze full on. ‘I rarely think about that time. It was far from the happiest period in my life.’

‘Indeed.’ His eyes became glacial ice. ‘It is always pleasant to discover the truth of the situation. I regret that you spent one moment of unhappiness.’

Quietly Louisa consigned Jonathon Fanshaw to the hottest room in Hell. He regretted nothing. He had come here to torment her. He probably intended to make it his mission in life. Well, he’d learn that the new Louisa played by a different set of rules. ‘It was a long time ago. I have put it from my mind.’

Jonathon lifted an eyebrow, as if he were inviting the next round. Louisa gave a slight shake of her head and turned her body towards Lord Furniss.

‘What do you think of Newcastle, Lord Furniss? Does it meet with your expectations?’

‘Very much so.’ Lord Furniss made a low bow towards her. ‘The day is brighter for having seen you and my aunt.’

Jonathon began to rapidly speak of the latest John Martin exhibition in London to Mrs Blandish, asking Lord Furniss to comment as he had seen it.

‘The discussion about John Martin should divert their attention,’ Jonathon’s low voice rumbled in her ear. ‘It is a topic of conversation to keep everyone entertained, but not you, I think. You never did care for painting.’

‘You know nothing about me.’ Louisa took a sip of her lukewarm coffee. ‘I happen to enjoy John Martin’s paintings.’

Jonathon pressed his lips together. ‘You do?’

‘I have changed, Jonathon.’

His eyes searched her face. ‘Not that much. You only think you have. And I have only done what your eyes implored me to do—rescue you from Furniss and divert the conversation.’

‘I happen to like Lord Furniss’s company. Why should I want attention diverted?’ Louisa asked between gritted teeth.

‘Our conversation last evening is far from finished,’ Jonathan said, looking down at her with hard eyes. ‘I wait with baited breath, Louisa. Where is your infamous proof? I had fully expected it to land on my breakfast table while you took the first boat out of Newcastle back into the arms of your aged baronet.’

The words stung far more than they should.

‘All things come to those who wait.’

His voice lowered to a seductive and intimate growl, which made her insides curl with warmth. ‘I devotedly hope so.’

‘You are attempting to disconcert me.’

‘Perish the thought.’ His eyes deepened. ‘My only desire at the moment is for a cup of tea.’

‘It is good that your desires are easily satisfied’ Louisa said before wincing. Open mouth, insert kid slipper.

‘As long as you satisfy them.’ The banter was gone from his voice.

Louisa hurriedly looked away and concentrated on pouring the tea. In her haste, she knocked a spoon to the ground and then sent the sugar bowl flying—the actions of a flustered débutante rather than a companion of several years’ standing. Miss Daphne gave a mildly disapproving stare from where she sat, but made no move to intervene.

‘Are you disturbed about something, Miss Sibson?’ Jonathon asked, taking the cup and then placing the sugar bowl back on the little table. ‘You appear flustered. But everything is quickly put to rights once one sets one’s mind to it.’

‘Should anything disturb me, Lord Chesterholm?’ Louisa poured another cup of tea. This time, she managed to keep her hand steady.

‘Such action could be construed as a guilty conscience.’

‘I do have proof, Lord Chesterholm.’ Louisa reached for the reticule. ‘My conscience is clear.’

‘Why didn’t you wave the proof under my nose when I walked in the room? The Louisa I knew would have done. Wasn’t that what you did with my sister’s poem? But then the action was to pique my interest. And this one is …’

The old Louisa. Louisa gritted her teeth. She too remembered that day and what had happened after-wards—their first kiss, a stolen kiss. It was low of Jonathon to bring it up, particularly now. And she had not been flirting with him. He had simply assumed that she did not have anything else to do except answer his impertinent questions about how pretty girls could ever have serious thoughts in their brains. And she had shown him the papers. She had mistaken flirtation for kindness, a silly naïve mistake, and had paid a heavy price.

‘I would, but Mrs Blandish is addicted to gossip and her hearing is very acute.’ Louisa nodded towards where Lord Furniss was rather grandly informing Miss Blandish that she was completely wrong to consider Turner a better painter than John Martin. ‘I would hardly wish to involve you in scandal.’

‘It makes a first. As far as I recall you courted it. You were an active participant in our little games.’

‘Any scandal that happened was down to your actions and not mine,’ Louisa whispered in a furious undertone. ‘I behaved impeccably.’

He leant forwards. ‘Or are you merely mouthing words without understanding the implications, Louisa? You played your part as much as I did.’

‘I grew up.’ Louisa batted her eyelashes and made her voice sound as much like treacle as possible. ‘Trials and tribulations have a way of doing that to people.’

‘We are at an impasse, Louisa. Why not accept that I do have a claim and come away with me?’

‘Must you sound like a villain in a penny novel?’

‘Why are you casting me as one?’ A muscle jumped in his jaw. ‘Shall I force you to be alone with me? Or are you scared about what you might discover? When shall it be? This afternoon?’

‘Unfortunately, I must decline.’ Louisa kept her voice even. ‘I must visit the chemist later this afternoon. Miss Daphne finished her tincture this morning. And without Miss Daphne’s tincture, the world stops.’

‘Ah, our old code.’ Jonathon’s eyes deepened to a storm-tossed green. ‘Shall we meet inside the chemist? What shall I say that I am searching for? A hair restoration tonic?’

Louisa’s stomach tightened. She should have remembered about the code and the visit to the chemist for a hair restoration tonic. How they accidentally met to have a proper conversation. And the other times she had pretended to have to get more ink or blotting paper so that she’d get a glimpse or stolen moment with him as he solemnly carried her packages.

She had thought at the time that the code and the meetings made what they shared more special—keeping it private and between the two of them. But now she saw it for what it was—a means to keep the relationship clandestine until it was far too late for anyone to intervene. And when it had ended, she had been ruined, in the gutter, but he had remained a pillar of society.

‘You are misconstruing my words and their meaning.’

‘Am I?’ He raised his eyebrow higher and she felt the heat begin to gather on her cheeks.

‘Yes, I sought to explain why it would be impossible to meet.’ Louisa regained control of her body. She refused to be attracted to him. ‘I will send you the letter. There will be no need to meet after that. I will return to Sorrento and our lives will go on as before, our paths never crossing.’

‘A forlorn hope, Miss Sibson,’ Jonathon said. ‘You will not get rid of me that easily.’

‘Watch me.’

‘A challenge.’ He put his tea cup down. ‘Good. I love it when you issue challenges. Watch and learn, Miss Sibson. Afterwards, and in private, we can discuss how easy I will be to dissuade.’

Louisa shifted slightly on the sofa, feeling that she had played into his hands.

‘Miss Elliot,’ Jonathon said, giving a loud cough.

The entire room went still. ‘Yes, Lord Chesterholm?’

Silently Louisa prayed that Jonathon was not going to do anything untoward, not with Mrs Blandish in the room.

‘I understand that you spent some time in the Kingdom of Two Sicilies. Did you manage to collect any Roman cameos? My late great-uncle had a collection and, since his death, I have developed an interest and I am eager to learn more.’

Louisa stared at Jonathon. Since when had he become interested in cameos? He had been far more interested in racing and placing bets, living the life of an overly indulged son. She doubted if he could even name any of the Roman emperors.

‘My sister was a keen collector. It was how we first met Arthur Fanshaw.’ Miss Daphne waved an arm. ‘I am afraid I did not have the head for it. All Latin and Greek. Louisa is the woman to speak to about such things. In her last years, my late sister relied on Louisa’s eye.’

‘Miss Mattie and I travelled to inspect the diggings at Pompeii and Herculaneum.’ Louisa’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Jonathon had miscalculated. She could easily turn the talk to her travels. The days she and Miss Mattie had spent in Pompeii with Mount Vesuvius gently billowing smoke in the background had been some of the most pleasant of her life.

‘Are the ruins as good as they say?’ Miss Nella Blandish asked, sticking her face between Louisa and Jonathon. ‘Miss Milton told me all about them. How you can walk the streets. And how they have put the skeletons that they found in various places just as they would have been.’

‘With Herculaneum, you have to descend stairs and go underground,’ Louisa said, expounding on the theme. A few more minutes and the allotted time for a visit would be up. Jonathon would be forced to make his excuses and leave. ‘The guides carry torches. But Pompeii is exactly like walking a deserted street. They say that there’s over a hundred years of digging to be done. Miss Mattie found several pieces for her collection there, including a very lovely Psyche.’

‘And are they here?’ Jonathon asked, breaking into the conversation. ‘Or have they remained in Sorrento? I have heard rumours about certain Roman cameos that she might have had in her possession. I believe she outbid my late uncle on one or two pieces.’

‘Oh, yes, my sister did enjoy besting your late uncle!’ Miss Daphne clapped her hands. ‘And you are clever to guess that Louisa brought a few pieces with her, including the Herculaneum ones. Not the whole collection, just a few to show honoured guests.’

‘And Miss Sibson is now the expert.’ Jonathon wore a superior expression. ‘She knows the ins and outs … of the cameos.’

Louisa’s next remark about the delights of Pompeii died on her lips as Miss Daphne started frantically gesturing to her. ‘I will show the collection to Lord Chesterholm, Miss Daphne.’

‘That would be a good idea,’ Miss Daphne murmured with an approving glint in her eye.

‘May I come as well?’ Miss Nella Blandish asked. ‘I am going to be a lady explorer. Some day I am going to find a lost city. It will be much more interesting than being in society and marrying some stupid titled peer as Susan wants to.’

Mrs Blandish blanched. ‘No, Nella, you can stay here with me. You have done quite enough exploring for one summer. We had best be going. Susan will be attending the Assembly Rooms ball this evening and must make her preparations. Are you going, Miss Sibson?’

‘I am otherwise engaged … with the study of the cameos,’ Louisa said, banishing all thoughts of how Jonathon had once taught her to waltz.

‘Some other time. And the gentlemen?’

‘A pity that I am otherwise engaged,’ Lord Furniss said with a bow.

‘I shall be returning to Chesterholm in the morning and wish to make an early start.’ Jonathon looked directly at her. ‘Provided nothing detains me.’

‘I once went to Chesterholm as a young girl. It is a magical place with a Cedar of Lebanon in the centre of a maze,’ Miss Daphne proclaimed after the Blandishes had departed.

‘I was unaware you had a direct connection to Chesterholm, Miss Elliot,’ Jonathon said with an astonished look.

‘The cameos. You wished to see the collection,’ Louisa said quickly as she spotted a deepening gleam in Miss Daphne’s eye.

‘Louisa, be quick about showing Lord Chesterholm the cameos. Rupert, I want to speak to you about your mother’s letters.’ Miss Daphne made an irritated sound. ‘Honoria has written to me again about candles! I am not a blushing school miss to be reprimanded. I was once though, years ago when we went to Chesterholm. I suppose I shall never see Chesterholm again.’

Louisa sucked in her breath at the blatant attempt at securing an invitation. What was Miss Daphne doing? Not cause scandal, but matchmake. Miss Daphne had always proclaimed she was a dab hand at it. Louisa concentrated on the pug figurine. Any matchmaking tendencies had to be nipped in the bud. But she would redirect Miss Daphne’s attention later, after Jonathon had departed, chagrined and chastened.

‘This way, if you please, Lord Chesterholm.’ Louisa made a flourish with her hand. ‘The cameos I brought with me are in the library. It is reckoned to be as fine as any collection of cameos in Sorrento, if not the Kingdom of Two Sicilies.’

‘I await the collection with eagerness. My uncle felt the loss of a “Psyche undergoing her trials” cameo to Miss Mattie with particular keenness.’

‘I hadn’t realised you were interested in Roman remains, Lord Chesterholm,’ Louisa said as they started down the passage towards the library.

‘Chesterholm lies beside a Roman fort. Unfortunately, my late uncle had the remains of the Roman village swept away. He wanted an uninterrupted view down to the Tyne.’

‘And you disapprove.’

‘I have an interest in preserving the ancient. I am hoping to prove that the wall was indeed built by Hadrian.’

Louisa stared at him. The Jonathon she remembered had been interested in having a good time, drinking and pretty women. He had had little time for history, declaring it to be dull fodder for growing minds. And now he wanted to prove that the wall had been built by Hadrian.

‘Miss Mattie liked cameos—both the Roman paste type and the ones carved from shells. Sorrento has many cameo makers. Did you know that you can tell a real cameo by holding it up to the light?’

‘And how can you tell an errant fiancée?’ Jonathon murmured. ‘One who prefers to jump to conclusions, rather than waiting for answers? One who seeks to deny certain things even when the truth is obvious to everyone else?’

Louisa gritted her teeth and revised her opinion. Jonathon had not changed. He remained the same single-minded man that he had always been. He was seeking to put her off balance. But he was going to be the one to learn and to suffer. ‘I will let you know when I meet one.’




Chapter Four







Jonathon watched with grim amusement as Louisa marched down the hall towards the library, her shoulder blades twitching in mock indignation. She expected seduction. Good. She needed the anticipation. But it would be she who seduced him, and not here but at Chesterholm. Miss Elliot had neatly solved his problem. Louisa would be going to Chesterholm. It would give him the perfect opportunity.

In the intervening years, Louisa’s beauty had grown and matured rather than diminished. Her clothes and hair might not be precisely up to the minute, but there was a certain sensuousness about the way she moved and the way the light lit the red fire in her hair. His body stirred with anticipation.

He could remember what she’d looked like—her glorious titian hair spread across his pillow and body, long white limbs and rosy mouth whispering how their love was eternal, how he was the only man for her. Right before she’d disappeared. Now she was back and her beauty, instead of fading, had deepened and ripened.

On how many other men had she practised her schemes? How many other men had run their fingers through her hair, enjoying its silky smoothness as it covered their bodies like a protective cloak? Had she kissed the baronet? Furniss?

A surge of jealous anger went through him. He refused to think about any other man touching her. The current of desire ran between them, unabated after all these years. Jonathon clenched his fist around the head of his silver-topped cane and regained control of his body. The important thing was ensuring Louisa did precisely what he wanted her to, rather than thinking about his rivals.

She walked quickly to the library and with practised movements began to pull out the various drawers where the cameos were stored, talking very quickly and loudly about the merits and where the collection was from.

Jonathon wondered how many times she had played this little game, keeping the door open just wide enough so as not to excite the servants’ curiosity. Once he had thought innocence and purity had shone from her face. An uneasy thought whispered in the back of his mind that she had been pure until he had introduced her to the arts of love and subterfuge. He silenced the thought. He had to get her out of her environment and into his. They would start playing by his rules. Now.

Jonathon closed the door with a decisive click, half-expecting an immediate protest at the impropriety. Louisa stopped for a moment and their gazes held. Her lips parted as if she was about to protest, but then she gave a slight shrug and concentrated on straightening the cameos.

‘You will want to see the best. It took me a moment to find them and here they are.’

She pushed a drawer forwards. The deft movement emphasised the length of her fingers, slender and tapering but with a certain resilient strength.

He had always admired her hands and how they moved. When he was recovering from the accident, he had lain awake, imagining what it would be like to have his brow stroked. He could remember her innocent hesitant touch becoming more assured as she had gained in confidence until she’d touched his body with the skill of a courtesan, playing it like a musician plays a fine instrument. But it had been that underlying innocence that had heated his blood to fever pitch.

He wrenched his thoughts away from the past.

Her lips curved up into a secret smile, challenging him to make his move. ‘This is the cream of the collection. Miss Mattie used to show all her visitors these cameos. The fact that others coveted them only increased their value.’

‘Where is Eros? Psyche is alone in each of these cameos.’

‘You know the myth!’ Her eyes widened in astonishment.

‘Going to Eton did give me a classical education, Louisa. The myth serves as the basis for Beauty and the Beast and several other fairy tales.’ Jonathon leant forwards and dared her to say the truth.

‘Eros abandoned Psyche. He flew away and left her to her fate. Miss Mattie and I prefer the ones with Psyche alone and surviving. They are more honest.’

The words cut through him, but he pushed the thought away. He had not abandoned her. He drew a steadying breath and kept his gaze on her. Louisa had obviously forgotten the entirety of the story. Eros had won in the end. He had made Psyche into a goddess.

‘Or could it be that Miss Mattie was shocked?’ He allowed his eyes to dance. ‘Some in my late uncle’s collection are very risqué. Eros and Psyche intertwined. Hardly the subject for an unmarried spinster.’

‘This one might be to your taste.’ Her eyes flashed fire. ‘You do, I believe, have a healthy appreciation of the female form.’

‘On occasion.’

He held out his hand. She dropped the cameo into his palm, being careful not to touch him. Psyche about to enter the underworld stared up at him, her figure much as he remembered Louisa’s.

‘What else does the collection offer? Which ones are your favourites? Do you have a healthy appreciation of the masculine form?’

Louisa’s tongue flicked out and moistened her lips. Her hands pressed harder against the table and her pupils flared slightly. Her breath emerged as a hiss before she seemed to regain control and reached for the drawer again. ‘That is a personal question. Are we now moving to the personal, Lord Chesterholm?’

‘Everything between us is personal, Louisa. But I can answer the question. You once watched me bathe.’

‘You have no interest in the cameos.’ She gripped the drawer so tightly that her knuckles shone white. ‘Why lie? Why not tell the truth? You intend to seduce me, but you will fail, sir.’

Her tongue flicked over her lips and he knew she remembered. It was enough for now. Soon, they would repeat the performance. Slowly. With candlelight flickering, red rose petals shimmering on the water and the soap sliding over her naked back as she sighed. Jonathon forced his mind from the image.




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