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The Wicked Baron
Sarah Mallory


At the rake’s mercy…When he returns from his lavishly opulent lifestyle in Paris, Luke Ainslowe’s reputation as an expert seducer of women precedes him. The ladies of the ton are torn between scandalised outrage and the desire to become mistress to the most dashing rake London has ever known…Innocent Carlotta Durini refuses to become the Baron’s next conquest. For she lost her heart to Luke once before, and now believes herself impervious to his lethal brand of seduction. But what if the Wicked Baron refuses to take no for an answer?







‘Carlotta, do allow me to present Lord Darvell to you.’

Carlotta froze. She had known this moment would come, had rehearsed it a thousand times, but still she was not prepared for the stomach-wrenching spasm that threatened to render her senseless when she heard his name. Gathering all her strength, she turned and dragged her eyes up to his face. The gentleman standing before her was achingly familiar. As he bowed over her hand she looked at his brown hair and remembered the silky feel of it beneath her fingers, the touch of his lips, not on her glove but on her own mouth, caressing, demanding—She thrust such thoughts away. They had no place in her life now. He had no place in her life now.

She forced herself to look at him. His glance told her he knew her, but there was no sign of uncertainty in his hazel eyes as he smiled. He was so sure of his welcome. Her training had been very good: she buried her feelings and presented him with a bland, polite mask. She withdrew her hand from his grasp, saying coolly, ‘My lord.’

‘Your aunt tells me you are not engaged for the next dance. I would be honoured if you would allow me to partner you…?’

His assurance made her seethe. He was laughing at her.




Author Note


Ask writers where they find the ideas for their stories and many will tell you it starts with a little question: what if? I am no exception.

A few years ago I visited West Wycombe Park, the eighteenth-century home of Sir Francis Dashwood, founder of the infamous Hellfire Club. I have no doubt that many of the rakes featured in historical romances are in some part based upon Sir Francis and his friends, but when I visited West Wycombe Park I was taken with the beautiful paintings that adorn the house—and that is when that little question popped into my head. What if my heroine was an artist? What if she painted beautiful frescoes like the ones that decorate the house?

This is how Luke first sees Carlotta, dressed in breeches and a paint-stained shirt, climbing down from the scaffolding at Malberry Court. He is immediately enchanted with this waif-like creature: she is different from all the other young ladies of his acquaintance. But Luke is the Wicked Baron of the title: he is not used to behaving chivalrously, and when he decides to make a noble sacrifice Carlotta is not at all grateful for his actions. In fact, in true Italian style, she is determined to punish him!

I hope you will follow Luke and Carlotta as their battle of wits takes them from the ballrooms of Regency London to the Italianate elegance of Malberry Court, where they must face well-meaning relatives, intrigue and danger before they can find their happy ending. Enjoy the journey!


Sarah Mallory was born in Bristol, and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. She left grammar school at sixteen, to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen-name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award in 2005 from Singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice in November 2006 for Gentlemen in Question.

A recent novel by the same author:

MORE THAN A GOVERNESS




THE WICKED

BARON

Sarah Mallory















MILLS & BOON




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


To Jay Dixon, with thanks for all your support and encouragement




Prologue


‘Hell and confound it, Darvell, will you stop flirting with that lightskirt and give your mind to the cards!’

Luke Ainslowe, fifth Baron Darvell, gently disentangled himself from the lady’s scented embrace and begged pardon. There were few amusements for the Army of Occupation in Paris, following the stunning victory at Waterloo: women and cards were two of the most popular and Luke was currently enjoying both. He looked at the eager, wine-flushed faces of the gentlemen around him and smiled. They all envied him, he knew, for he was sitting beside the most fashionable courtesan in Paris, the improbably named Angelique Pompadour. She leaned against him, her powdered head on his shoulder while he studied the cards in his hand.

Across the table, the officer of the Light Dragoons who had berated Luke made his discard and glanced up, his silver epaulettes glinting in the candlelight.

‘I hear von Laage’s wife is increasing again—she holds that you are the father, Darvell.’

Luke shrugged. ‘Lady Sophia is air-dreaming, Denby. There are at least half a dozen men more eligible than I for that role.’

‘Why, then, is the lady naming you?’ demanded another of the players.

A red-faced gentlemen in grey satin laughed.

‘Because Darvell is the only one von Laage would not dare to call out! Well known to be lethal with swords or pistols. Never beaten in a duel, eh, Luke?’

‘Not yet, Clayman, not yet.’

‘So you are telling me you were never one of Lady Sophia’s lovers?’ cried Major Denby.

Luke shook his head. ‘We had a few preliminary skirmishes, but I never breached that particular citadel. I discovered the lady was far too free with her favours.’

Sir Neville Clayman chuckled. ‘A man needs to be very rich to keep an exclusive mistress, and that is not you, eh, Darvell?’

Luke grinned. ‘Devil a bit!’

There was a pause while Sir Neville considered his hand. ‘But you have a title, and that is certainly an advantage. I believe le Brun’s widow is hoping to become the next Lady Darvell.’

Angelique raised her head. ‘Mon cher…’ she pouted and placed one white hand upon Luke’s velvet sleeve ‘…c’est vrai?’

Sir Neville nodded. ‘Had it from the lady herself two nights’ since.’

‘But you have not had it from me,’ said Luke gently. He picked up Angelique’s hand and planted a kiss in the palm before releasing it. ‘The woman is an upstart. Her beauty dazzled le Brun, but there is no breeding behind that pretty face.’

‘If it’s breeding you want, the Tregennick chit has it through several generations,’ remarked the major, ‘yet you cut her dead last night. She was mad as fire.’

Luke flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve. ‘Her mama insisted upon throwing her in my way at Lady Gressingham’s rout. I obliged her with an evening’s flirtation, that is all.’

‘And you could not even recall her name the very next night.’ Major Denby shook his head at him. ‘By Gad, you are devil, man! No woman is safe from you.’

‘Nonsense. Virtuous maidens bore me, so they have nothing to fear. And you will never find me chasing innocent little ingénues. But a man must have a diversion now the war is over. Mine is beautiful women.’

‘Yet you’ll offer none of them your heart and your hand.’

‘There is no room for sentiment in marriage, Denby. When I take a wife, it will be a business contract. My father gambled away the Darvell fortune; it is up to me to restore it by marrying a well-bred heiress. But not yet.’ He stared at the cards Sir Neville laid on the table and muttered a laughing curse under his breath. ‘Two kings! Damnation, Clayman, your luck is running high tonight. I am out.’

Angelique smiled at him. ‘Well, my lord, it was agreed if you lost at cards you would worship at my feet.’ She spoke in English, a charming, provocative lilt to her words. With the light of mischief in his eyes Luke reached down, curled his fingers around one slim ankle and lifted her foot on to his knee. A murmur of anticipation ran around the room, while the lady herself leaned back on her chair and smiled.

‘Well, milor’? What do you propose? What will the wicked Baron Darvell do?’

He grinned. ‘I will keep my word.’

His hand moved over the pink silk stocking and she shivered delightfully when he reached the ribbon-and-lace garter at her knee. He hesitated, then his long fingers moved back to her ankle. He began to untie the strings of her pink satin slipper, calling to the waiter to bring another bottle of champagne.

‘Now what are you about, Darvell?’ cried Major Denby gaily. ‘Do you propose to undress the lady in public?’

‘Not at all, my friend. Patience and you shall see.’ He pulled the little shoe free and held it aloft, the ribbons dangling over his wrist. When the waiter returned with the champagne he took the bottle from the tray. ‘I wish to drink a toast to you, Angel.’ He poured a little of the wine into the shoe and quickly raised it to his lips.

‘You fool, Darvell, the satin won’t hold it!’ laughed Sir Neville.

But Luke was not listening; he had swallowed some of the champagne, the rest was seeping through the slipper and running over his hand, soaking the white ruffle around his wrist.

‘It held enough,’ he said. ‘And witness, Angel, that none of the bubbles escaped—I drank them all.’

Angelique sat up and clapped her hands. ‘Bravo, milor’, I am enchanted. But we should use glasses for the rest.’ She looked at him, an invitation in her dark eyes. ‘Per’aps you would like to drink with me privately?’

‘I regret not, Angel. I am obliged to leave you very soon.’ He filled two glasses with champagne and handed one to the lady. ‘I am off to England tomorrow.’

‘England!’ cried Major Denby, signalling for a fresh pack of cards. ‘Never tell me you are going home.’

‘I am indeed. Peacetime soldiering is not in my line. I have spent one winter in Paris and that is enough.’

‘He’s going back to Darvell Manor to become a gentleman farmer,’ declared Sir Neville, smoothing the wrinkles from the sleeve of his grey silk coat.

Luke grimaced. ‘Devil a bit! I plan to enjoy myself for a few more years yet. But I have a fancy to see England again. Besides, I have a commission from my brother. You may recall he was in Paris last month. He is touring Europe with his bride until the summer and wants me to make sure his new house at Malberry is ready for his return.’

‘Ah, the fortunate James,’ nodded Sir Nicholas. ‘He married his heiress.’

‘Fortunate indeed,’ agreed Luke. ‘Not only is she rich, but pretty and agreeable, too.’

‘Perhaps you should try marriage, Darvell,’ suggested the major.

‘I think not, my friend. It would take a paragon indeed to make me give up my freedom.’

Angelique drew a finger gently along his cheek. ‘Milor’, it is not necessary that you should give up everything.’

For a moment he looked serious. ‘Oh, yes, it is. Only a deep, long-lasting devotion could tempt me into matrimony.’

‘And what would tempt the lady, his prowess in the bedroom, perhaps?’ quipped an officer in scarlet regimentals.

‘That and his title,’ responded another.

Luke joined in the general laughter. ‘Aye, that would have to do it, gentlemen, since there’s no fortune to speak of.’

Angelique held up her glass. ‘Then you will come back to Paris, mon cher?’

‘Perhaps.’ He handed her the wet satin slipper. ‘It is past midnight: I must take my leave.’




Chapter One


The atmosphere in the morning room of Broxted House was decidedly tense. Carlotta stared at her uncle, her chin raised and a hint of defiance in her dark eyes. Lord Broxted met her look with a frown of exasperation.

‘Carlotta, you are no ordinary débutante. It is no matter that your mother is the daughter of an earl; twenty years ago she eloped with a penniless Italian artist.’ He paused and a faint look of distaste flickered across his aristocratic features. ‘They both of them…paint…to earn their living.’

Carlotta clasped her hands even more tightly in her lap. ‘I am not ashamed of my parents, Uncle.’

Lady Broxted, sitting beside Carlotta on the elegant little sofa, reached over to pat her hands. ‘No, of course you are not, my dear, and no one is suggesting that you should disown them, only…’

‘Only what, Aunt?’

Lady Broxted avoided Carlotta’s eyes and fluttered her fan nervously. ‘Tonight we attend Lady Prestbury’s rout—your very first ton party. It is what we have been working for, is it not, ever since we carried you off from Malberry last June and installed you in Miss Currier’s extremely select seminary? Not that I think it was necessary to send you there; no one would know you were brought up in Rome, for the English governess your mama employed gave you an excellent education, and all that was needed was a little polish—but there, your uncle was adamant.’

‘I was, madam, but I fear we are straying from the point,’ put in the earl, frowning at his wife.

‘Yes, of course, my dear. Carlotta, now we are in London and…that is, I think it might be best if…’

Lady Broxted twisted her hands together, looking very uncomfortable.

Carlotta prompted her gently. ‘If what, Aunt?’

‘Well, as you know, we decided at the outset that you should take the family name of Rivington—so much simpler for us all, my love, and quite usual when one is taken up by relatives—but perhaps also it would be as well if we did not mention your parents. Broxted thinks it best if we merely say they live retired in the country, should anyone ask.’

‘And is it the fact that my mother eloped or my father’s occupation that would be most unacceptable?’ retorted Carlotta, bridling.

‘Well, you will admit that either of those things would set tongues wagging,’ came the frank reply. ‘Any hint of gossip could be quite ruinous to your chances of making a good match. Not that I want you to lie,’ added Lady Broxted hastily. ‘That would never do. Merely that you do not offer the information.’

‘Should a gentleman show a marked interest in you, then of course it would be necessary for him to know the truth,’ put in Lord Broxted. ‘And if he is fond of you, then I am sure it will make no difference.’

Carlotta bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying she did not care what anyone said of her. After the kindness she had been shown by her aunt and uncle over the past year, it would be churlish in the extreme to admit how little she cared for anyone’s good opinion. Part of her wished she could return to her parents, but they had been so happy to think of her going into society and making a good marriage. It was what she must do to repay all their goodness to her.

She had been in London with Lord and Lady Broxted since the beginning of May; a flurry of shopping trips and visits to my lady’s dressmaker had filled her days and at last she was ready to attend her first ball. She only wished she could summon up more enthusiasm for it, but her depression was always there, just below the surface. A sadness she had tried to hard to overcome, but even now, after almost twelve months, her dreams were still haunted by a tall, handsome man with laughing, wicked eyes. Determination kept her smiling, made her hide her bleakness from her aunt and uncle. Lady Broxted was patting her hands.

‘I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to launching you into society, my love. It has been a constant sadness to Broxted and me that we did not have children and so it is doubly delightful that I have you with me now.’

Lady Broxted began hunting for her handkerchief. Lord Broxted drew out his own and handed it to her, saying as he did so, ‘We are indeed delighted to take you up, Carlotta. It is the least I can do for your poor mother. When my father disinherited her upon her marriage I was shocked, but powerless to help. Then, of course, we lost touch for so many years, but now, I believe it is in my power to reinstate you into your proper place in the world.’

In the face of such kindness Carlotta’s anger died away as quickly as it had come. Impulsively she hugged her aunt.

‘There, there, Aunt, pray do not cry—if it is your wish, then of course I shall tell no one about my parents. Let us go upstairs and you can advise me which one of my new gowns I should wear this evening.’

In an effort to give her aunt’s thoughts a more cheerful turn, Carlotta accompanied her aunt up to her bedchamber where the maid quickly brought out several of Carlotta’s new gowns for inspection. Lady Broxted discarded the pink muslin with apple-green acanthus leaves embroidered around the hem, declaring that almost every other young lady would be wearing pink. Her hand hovered over the lemon satin before settling on the white sprigged muslin.

‘This is perfect for your first appearance,’ she said. ‘You have too much of the Italian in you to appear as a typical English rose, but we must turn that to our advantage—the white muslin will accentuate your olive skin. Thank goodness you have such a flawless complexion, my love, for that means we can leave your lovely shoulders bare. My own woman shall have the dressing of your hair; when it is brushed it glows like polished mahogany and you shall have tiny white rosebuds amongst your curls. It is early for roses, I know, but the cost will be worth it and I shall have a small posy made up for your corsage, too. What do you say?’

Carlotta could not deny a small frisson of excitement at the picture her aunt had drawn. When she had been a child growing up in Rome she had never dreamed that one day she would be staying in one of the largest houses in Berkeley Square, preparing to attend a fashionable ball. The gown her aunt was holding up to her was of the finest muslin, embroidered all over with tiny exquisite white rosebuds. The tiny puff sleeves were gathered and fastened with satin ribbons and a wider satin band ran around the high waist. Little Carlotta running barefoot in her father’s studio had never imagined owning white satin slippers with leather soles so fine that they would be worn through after one outing, but such a pair was now lying in a drawer, wrapped in several layers of tissue paper. Carlotta smiled at her aunt.

‘I will look like a fairy princess,’ she murmured.

Lady Broxted handed the gown to her maid and caught Carlotta to her in a warm, scented embrace.

‘You will indeed, my love,’ she murmured, her voice breaking. ‘You will make us all so very proud of you.’

Luke glanced up at the imposing entrance of Prestbury House. Flambeaux burned on each side of the double doors and liveried servants were on hand to assist the ladies from their carriages and escort them up the shallow steps to the grand entrance hall with its soaring marbled pillars. Letitia Prestbury was a formidable hostess and invitations to her fashionable parties were jealously guarded. Luke had no giltedged card nestling in his pocket, but he was confident he would not be turned away. Giving his coat sleeves an infinitesimal tug, he joined the long line of guests processing up the grand staircase. From the reception rooms above came the sound of many voices intermingled with the scraping notes of several violins. No lone fiddler or squeaky quartet for Lady Prestbury—her guests would dance to the best musicians money could buy.

As he reached the top of the stairs he found his hostess waiting for him, smiling.

‘Well, Cousin, we are honoured to have you attend our little party.’

He bowed over her hand. ‘I promised you I would come.’

‘But you are so often enticed away by more exciting pleasures, are you not?’ She laughed at him. ‘I did not send you an invitation because I thought my society gatherings far too staid for the Wicked Baron!’

He grinned at her. ‘Perhaps I have reformed. It is not impossible, Letty.’

She twinkled up at him. ‘True, Luke, but it is highly unlikely! I know just what it is that has brought you here.’

‘You do?’

‘Aye, ‘tis curiosity, to see the latest heiress.’

He looked down so that she would not read the truth in his eyes. ‘Oh?’ he said lightly, brushing an invisible speck from his coat. ‘And who might that be, my lady?’

‘You know very well,’ she said, tapping his arm with her closed fan. ‘Broxted’s niece, Miss Rivington. We were all agog when we heard he was bringing her to town, and he has settled ten thousand pounds on the chit! If that wasn’t enough to make her a target for every young man in town, the girl is a positive beauty. But be warned, Luke, she is not for you: I have it from the countess herself that Broxted has great plans for his niece. He will be looking higher than a mere baron.’

‘And so he should, but that is no reason why I should not make her acquaintance.’

‘Very well, go on in with you.’ Lady Prestbury waved him away. ‘But you are wasting your time, Cousin.’

With another graceful bow Luke moved on. So it was already decided that the beautiful Miss Rivington was not for him; well, perhaps society’s latest débutante might think differently. He walked into the ballroom and paused near the doorway, looking around him. Lounging against one wall were several callow youths standing with their mouths open as they watched the couples go down the dance and Luke saw that their eyes were following one dainty figure in particular.

Miss Rivington, he presumed.

His heart missed a beat: he had to admit she was entrancing. Her hair was curled artlessly about her head, adorned with white rosebuds that looked like stars against the night sky of her dark hair. Her white muslin dress flowed around her as she danced, showing her slender figure to great advantage. She was laughing, her huge dark eyes positively twinkling with merriment. No matter the pain it had cost him to ride away from Malberry last September, he knew now he had been right to do so. This was where she belonged, taking her rightful place in society where everyone could admire her beauty. And she looked so happy, smiling and chattering with the other young people as the music ended. He stifled a sigh. He had told himself that she would soon forget him and so it seemed. She looked so natural here, as though she had never known any other life. He was glad for her, truly. He must give her no cause to think he wished it otherwise.

Carlotta’s confidence was growing with every dance. Her new sprigged muslin gown was light as air and the admiration of her dance partners was exhilarating. The ballroom was ablaze with light from the gleaming chandeliers. It bounced off the cream-and-blue walls and caused the gold-leaf decoration on the ceiling to glow like the setting sun. With the exception of the occasional blue or scarlet jacket of an officer, the men were dressed in dark coats, but the ladies presented a dazzling picture in an array of colourful gowns, from the bronze and emerald satins of the matrons to the paler shades deemed suitable for débutantes. Carlotta smoothed her hands down over the white muslin and realised what a good choice it had been. Not that she had any opportunity to tell her aunt so, for she had been on the dance floor almost constantly since her arrival.

After a few initial nerves she found that the dance steps came quite naturally and she was even able to take time to glance at the huge gilt-framed mirrors that adorned the walls of the ballroom. She saw herself reflected there, dancing with a series of attentive partners. Carlotta could hardly believe that she was the slender, dark-haired girl reflected in the mirrors, but so it was, and she was content to give herself up to the enjoyment of the moment.

She was so much at her ease that when Lady Broxted brought forward a lanky young man whom she introduced as Viscount Fairbridge, Carlotta gave him a friendly smile. She thought his expression rather vacuous, but she encouraged him to talk to her and soon they were on the best of terms. Truly, she thought, as he led her from the dance floor, it was impossible to be gloomy on such a happy occasion.

During a break in the music she was conversing with a group of lively young people when she heard her aunt’s voice behind her.

‘Ah, there you are, my love. Do allow me to present Lord Darvell to you.’

And the world stopped for Carlotta. The laughing, chattering crowds were forgotten. She had known this moment would come, had rehearsed it a thousand times, but still she was not prepared for the stomach-wrenching spasm that threatened to render her senseless when she heard that name. Of course, she had only known him as Major Ainslowe, but she had not been living in her aunt’s household for many weeks before she learned his full title. Gathering all her strength, she turned and dragged her eyes up from the white satin waistcoat and dazzling neckcloth to the face above. The faint hope that it might all be a mistake withered. The gentleman standing before her was achingly familiar. She did not need to cast more than a fleeting glance at his lean, handsome face—it was etched on her soul. As he bowed over her hand, she looked at the waving brown hair that curled over his collar. She recalled the silky feel of it beneath her fingers, tried desperately not to remember the touch of his lips, not on her glove, but on her own mouth, caressing, demanding—she thrust such thoughts away. They had no place in her life now. He had no place in her life now.

She forced herself to look at him. Could he have forgotten her? No, his glance told her he knew her, but there was no sign of uncertainty in his hazel eyes as he smiled. He was so sure of his welcome. How could he be so complacent—did he not know what he had done to her? But of course he did; she was aware of his reputation now. It was rumoured that France was littered with women whose hearts he had broken. A bitter wave of anger and unhappiness swept over her, but her training had been very good; she buried those feelings and presented him with a bland, polite mask. Lady Broxted was not aware of their previous meetings, and Carlotta would not have it known now. She withdrew her hand from his grasp, saying coolly, ‘My lord.’

‘Miss Rivington.’ His self-assurance made her seethe. He was laughing at her! ‘Your aunt tells me you are not engaged for the next dance. I would be honoured if you would allow me to partner you.’

Luke observed the upright little figure before him. By heaven, she was even more beautiful than he remembered: those large dark eyes—just one flashing look sent his heart soaring again—and the soft red lips that had tasted so sweet against his own. Even as his blood stirred Carlotta lowered her gaze and the dark lashes veiled her thoughts from him. She inclined her head, accepting his invitation with every appearance of maidenly modesty and with a polite bow he turned away. This was the game they must play, of course. No one must know that they had met before.

As he walked away from Carlotta, Luke allowed himself to indulge in the pleasant memory of his very first visit to Malberry twelve months earlier. He had not expected to delay his journey to Darvell Manor by more than a few nights, and he had certainly not expected to find such an angel looking down at him from top of the scaffolding that filled the entrance portico.

He had been running up the steps to the main entrance when a soft, musical voice had stopped him in his tracks.

‘Excuse me, but you cannot come in here.’ The voice had come from above.

‘Oh? And why may I not come in?’ Luke spoke to the air.

‘It is private. This house belongs to a gentleman.’

Luke spread his hands. ‘And am I not a gentleman?’ A slight movement on the platform close to the ceiling caught his eye and he observed a slight, boyish figure staring down at him.

‘Are you the owner?’

‘No,’ said Luke, ‘but I am come on his behalf.’

‘Oh. Mr Kemble is not here.’

‘So I can see. Where is he?’

‘They have all gone to the inn. It is mid-day and they are always hungry by mid-day.’

‘But not you?’

‘No, I must finish the fresco while the plaster is still wet.’

Luke shielded his eyes, trying to get a better view of the shadowy figure so high above him. ‘Are you not a little young?’

‘I am eighteen.’ The voice grew a shade deeper.

‘Come down and let me look at you,’ said Luke, intrigued.

‘No, sir. I cannot leave my painting.’

‘Then I shall come up to you.’ Luke put his foot on the ladder and heard a squeak from above. ‘Well? Will you come down now?’

‘I will, but only for a moment.’

Luke stood back and watched as the figure scrambled onto the top ladder and began to climb down. He grinned. The upper body was shrouded in a loose shirt, but the tight-fitting breeches left nothing to his admittedly rather wild imagination—the figure descending from the scaffolding was most definitely not a boy!

Moments later she stood before him, her eyes, large and dark, regarding him with a mixture of defiance and apprehension. She was very petite with a mass of gleaming near-black hair, constrained at the back of her long, slender neck by a poppy-red ribbon. A paintspattered shirt billowed from her shoulders, but could not disguise the gentle swell of her breasts, and the tight-fitting breeches were worn with a nonchalance that would have done credit to any actress at Drury Lane. He bit back an appreciative smile.

‘Well, does my brother know he has hired a lady to decorate his house?’

‘You are Mr Ainslowe’s brother?’

‘I am. And who are you, what is your name?’

‘I am Carlotta Durini.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Perhaps I should explain.’

‘Please do.’

‘My—my father is the artist commissioned to paint Malberry Court, but he has broken his leg and—and I am finishing the last frescoes for him, so that the house will be ready on time. Please, sir, you must not think that there is any plot to deceive, but there was no one else to do it, and, if it is not finished in time, Papa will not be paid the full amount, and then Mama cannot have her maid—and it is only this one ceiling—’

Laughing, he reached out and caught her hands.

‘Peace, peace, Miss Durini! Do not upset yourself.’

Her hands were very small and soft within his grasp. Smiling, he let his thumbs gently stroke her wrists, just above the palm, and he felt her agitated fingers grow still. Her lustrous dark eyes were still wary, but he detected the beginnings of a shy smile curving her mouth. Luke found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss those soft red lips. His smile deepened; he opened his mouth to charm her with a few well-chosen words, but they were never uttered. The sound of voices drifted in on the still air. He looked out across the park and saw a group of figures emerging from the trees. Something very like disappointment passed over him.

‘I think this must be the others returning now. I will talk to Kemble.’

Those dark eyes regarded him anxiously. ‘You will not turn me off?’

‘I have no power to do so. But if your work is not up to the standard…’

To his surprise, the worried look left the girl’s face.

‘It will be, sir. I have been well taught.’ She stepped back, gently pulling her hands free. ‘If you will excuse me, I must go back to my painting; if the plaster becomes too dry, the fresco will be ruined.’

Without another word she scrambled up the ladder and was soon lost to sight. With a sigh, Luke turned to meet the man who was hurrying towards him.

It was natural that Kemble, Mr James Ainslowe’s clerk of works, should want to show his employer’s brother all the renovations that had been carried out, and to assure him that the work was proceeding as scheduled. However, at length Luke could contain himself no longer.

‘Is it now the fashion, Mr Kemble, to employ female painters?’

There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘You refer, my lord, to Signor Durini’s daughter.’ Luke maintained a polite silence, and soon Kemble continued. ‘I believe she has been running wild in the signor’s workshop since she was a babe, and learned all his techniques. Howsoever that may be, when the signor’s apprentice loped off back to Italy, there was no one to take over, and with the master due back in less than three weeks, the signor was desperate for his frescoes to be finished. I admit I was not very happy at first, having the chit here, but the signor assures me she can paint, sir.’

‘But is she not…distracting?’

Mr Kemble grinned.

‘I confess I had to give a couple o’ the lads a clout ‘round the ear for staring…’

Now, in the overheated confines of Lady Prestbury’s ballroom, Luke thought that Kemble himself might stare if he could see Signor Durini’s daughter outshining every other young woman in the room.

***

Carlotta watched Luke walk away from her, then stumbled to one of the cushioned benches that lined the walls of the ballroom and sank down. She was shaking. She put her hands to her temples, trying to stop the memories, but it was no good. She was back at Malberry, climbing down from the scaffolding after completing that first fresco. Even now she could remember her satisfaction at a job well done, feel the warm sun on her back…

‘So you have come down at last.’

Carlotta jumped. With one hand still clutching the scaffolding, she looked around to see Luke sitting on the stone steps, leaning against the base of one of the pillars. His lazy smile made her tingle, right down to her toes.

‘Mr…Ainslowe.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘I was taking a stroll through the park and realised you were still here. Do you always work this late?’

‘Sometimes later.’ Carlotta eyed him warily. The workmen had all gone back to the village, and even Mr Kemble would be in his lodge behind the stable block. Luke was smiling at her now, the twinkle in his hazel eyes making it hard for her not to smile back at him.

‘I think I should escort you home.’

‘Oh. I mean, um, I—I have first to clean out my brushes,’ she said, backing away.

‘Of course.’ He nodded gravely. ‘Go along, then. I shall wait here for you.’

***

She expected him to be gone by the time she had finished putting away her paints and tidying the little paint store, but he was still sitting on the steps as she came around the side of the house, and, with a little spurt of surprise, Carlotta realised that she would have been disappointed to find him gone. He rose to his feet.

‘I was beginning to think you had run away from me.’

Carlotta’s cheeks grew hot; she had considered avoiding him and going around the far side of the house. He held out his arm, but she gave a tiny shake of her head and began to walk down the drive, keeping a good distance between them. Safe. Sensible. Yet the truth was she did not feel sensible. She felt exhilarated in his company, aware of him walking beside her, matching his step to hers. She was sorely tempted to reach out her hand and take his arm, to draw closer to him. She did not understand why she should feel like this. It was all very confusing.

‘Kemble tells me your father’s apprentice ran away, and that is why you must finish the ceiling for him.’

‘It is only two of the minor scenes. Papa has completed all the major work.’

‘Yes, I was looking at the murals in the house. They are spectacular.’

‘Papa is a much respected artist in Rome.’

‘You must be very proud of him.’

‘I am.’

‘And is that what you want to do, paint life-size murals?’

She laughed. ‘No, it would be thought improper.’ She flushed, and glanced across at him. ‘Not that my work is not perfectly good. My father would never have consented to my finishing the ceiling if he thought there would be cause for complaint.’

‘You need not worry; I have seen nothing that would make me say any such thing.’

They walked together across the grass towards the edge of the park. Through the trees a short distance away the roofs of the houses at the edge of the village could be seen. Carlotta was aware of a faint disappointment that their walk would soon be over.

The sun had set and the early summer twilight was muting the colours of the park. Once they were amongst the trees the shadows deepened. When they reached the stile he vaulted over, then turned and held out his hand. After a brief hesitation, Carlotta took it. His touch disconcerted her; as she stepped down, she stumbled and would have fallen if he had not caught her in his arms. Laughing at her own clumsiness, Carlotta looked up and found his face very close. The laughter caught in her throat as she looked into his eyes. They were no longer twinkling with humour but dark and mysterious. Her heart began to pound against her ribs. No man had ever held her, let alone like this before. Her hands were resting against him; she could feel his chest, smooth and hard beneath the silk waistcoat. Even as she was wondering what to say, his arms tightened and he was kissing her.

Carlotta was at first too shocked to react. His lips fastened on hers, and there was fluttering excitement deep within her, as if her insides were dissolving. A confusion of fear and exhilaration filled her mind, making sober thought impossible. She responded to his kiss; with none of society’s restraints holding her back, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to relax against him, her senses revelling in the feel of his arms about her. He encompassed her, mentally and physically. She was aware of his very male strength, crushing her against him. It was frightening, exciting, but there was something else awakening within her—a dark, dangerous attraction such as she had never known before. Carlotta had just decided that they should not be doing this when Luke raised his head and released her. She felt unaccountably bereft.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said contritely. ‘I did not mean to frighten you, but you looked so dashed irresistible.’

She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure. She wondered if the world would ever be the same again.

‘You did not frighten me, sir.’ Her heart was thumping so loud she thought he must surely hear it. ‘I…um…I must get home now.’

‘Will you not take my arm?’

She shook her head, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. Until that moment she had not considered how she must look, dressed in boy’s clothes, smelling of paint and resin. Mama had told her she should wrap herself in a cloak when going out, but Carlotta had always laughed at her, asking what could possibly happen to her on the short journey between Malberry Court and her home? Now she knew.

‘No. No. I think I will go on alone from here, if you please.’

He seemed to tower over her, a black shadow in the gloom. Her heart flipped as she thought he might try to kiss her again—she doubted she was strong enough to resist him and was shocked to realise that she did not want to resist him. She did not know whether she was most disappointed or relieved when he stepped away from her.

‘Of course, if that is what you wish.’

He climbed up on to the stile and sat there, smiling at her, his teeth very white in the dim light. ‘Well,’ he said as she hesitated, ‘go along with you.’

Carlotta began to walk away, her spine tingling as she imagined his eyes raking her back. As soon as a bend in the lane hid the stile from sight, she took to her heels and ran the final few yards to her home.

‘Carlotta, are you quite well?’

Carlotta blinked and looked around the crowded ballroom. Her aunt was at her side, regarding her with some concern.

‘Pray do not tell me you have the headache, when everything is going so very well. Come, child, your next dance partner will be looking for you. I am so pleased for you—all but two dances taken this evening! It can be a little difficult when one is new to town, but I knew that as soon as the gentlemen saw how well you dance they would come begging to be presented to you.’

‘And did Lord—Lord Darvell ask to be presented, Aunt?’ Carlotta tried to keep her voice casual.

‘Oh, yes. He came straight up to me and begged for an introduction.’ She dropped her voice to say confidentially, ‘Carlotta, Darvell is a very wild young man.’

‘I know that, Aunt. The Wicked Baron. I have heard all about him.’

‘Oh, well, I should not call him wicked, exactly,’ temporised Lady Broxted, determined to be fair. ‘Indeed, no one has heard anything of him for the past twelve months, but his conduct before that, when he was still in the army—well, it is not fitting that I should tell you everything, but you are best to beware of him, my love.’

‘If he is so very dangerous, I am surprised that you should introduce him to me!’

Lady Broxted sighed. ‘I know, but Broxted is well acquainted with the family and it would be very difficult not to acknowledge the connection. I think it a great pity that Darvell sold out. Mayhap he thinks to settle down.’ She tapped Carlotta’s arm with her fan. ‘He may be looking out for a rich wife, for I believe he has not a penny to his name. If so, then he may set out to charm you, Carlotta, but your uncle would not wish for a liaison there, my love.’

Carlotta gave a brittle laugh. ‘You need have no fears in that direction, Aunt!’

‘Good. However, one cannot deny that he is very engaging and will make you a handsome dance partner. By the bye, his brother James owns Malberry Court. I tell you this so that you are forewarned; we must not let slip your family’s connection with the house, must we?’

By the time Lord Darvell returned to claim his dance, Carlotta had decided she would be cool and aloof. She would treat his lordship as if they had never met. However, when he took her hand in his own firm grasp, she was not prepared for the surge of emotion that seared through her. She had closed her mind to those first long months after she had left Malberry, the lonely nights when she had cried herself to sleep. Now with one touch he had brought it all rushing back, the longing, the desire and the sheer, blinding agony of finding he had gone.

Carlotta bit on her lip; even now she could not bring herself to think too much of those dark, empty days, afraid that if she did not keep it locked away, her grief would grow and consume her. It was better to concentrate on her anger. He had betrayed her and she wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. She set her mind to consider how best to do it. Eyes glittering, she answered his attempts to converse with monosyllables, earning a frowning look from her partner. When he suggested they should sit out the second dance she silently acquiesced and accompanied him to a quiet alcove. He smiled at her as they sat down together.

‘You are looking very well, Carlotta. I hardly recognise you.’

She unfurled her fan. ‘La, I am glad of that, my lord! I vow I was such a gauche little thing when we first met.’

‘You were charming.’

Carlotta had not wasted her time at Miss Currier’s seminary. She summoned up memories of a certain rich, spoiled, young lady she had met there, and with the sole aim of distancing herself from him as soon as politely possible, she gave a very creditable titter.

‘Oh, dear me, I was utterly innocent then, and ready to make any number of mistakes. Thank heaven my uncle the earl found me when he did.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘O lord, yes! I had no polish at all, and no possibility of making a great match, but my uncle the earl says that now, with his backing, I can look very high indeed for a husband.’ Heavens, she thought, how vulgar that sounds!

‘And is that why you are in town?’

He was looking at her now with a shadow of doubt in his eyes. She summoned a dazzling smile, feeling as brittle as glass inside.

‘But of course. I am looking about me, but am in no hurry; I can take my time until the right man, and the right fortune, comes along.’ She reached out and placed one gloved hand on his sleeve. ‘Forgive me for speaking to you in this way, my lord, but I feel we are old friends.’

With bitter satisfaction she observed how he almost recoiled from her. He said stiffly, ‘You will be wondering perhaps why I did not come to see you, as I had promised, at Malberry.’

Panic flared. She dare not let him near that raw nerve. She waved her fan slowly. It is too late for explanations, she told herself. The damage is done, Carlotta. Do not let him see how much he hurt you.

‘I had quite forgotten about that,’ she said brightly. ‘When my uncle came to carry me away, it drove all other thoughts completely from my head!’

‘Thus you come to town to find a husband.’

Smile, Carlotta. A smug, self-satisfied, superior smile. Put him in his place.

‘Yes, indeed. My uncle has several eligible men in mind for me. All of them extremely rich,’ she added.

He looked at her, a tiny crease in his brows. ‘You have changed, Carlotta.’

She lifted her shoulders to give a slight shrug. ‘I am merely being practical, my lord.’

‘I thought you were above such mercenary concerns.’

‘La, only a fool would claim such a thing. I know the value of a fortune, my lord. Nothing else will do for me.’

She held her breath, forcing herself to meet his gaze with a look of arrogant unconcern. After a moment he looked away.

‘Then I wish you luck in your quest, Miss Rivington,’ he said quietly.

He rose and, with a little bow, turned and walked away. Carlotta’s expression did not change as she watched his retreating form, but inside she felt sick to her core.

Luke stormed out of the ballroom, his jaw clenched to curb his anger. He had expected to find Carlotta altered, but he had not thought she would turn into such a heartless fortune-hunter. A year living with the Broxteds had destroyed the innocent charm that had attracted him to her. Now she was no different from all the other females with their arch smiles and false laughter. He made his way down the stairs and out into the street, where he jammed his hat on his head and began to stride back towards Piccadilly. What had changed her, or had he been mistaken all along? Perhaps he had missed something when he had seen her at Malberry Court, some clue that she was not as sweet and innocent as he had thought. He remembered trying to draw her out during one of their many picnics that summer on the lawn at Malberry.

‘You are an enigma, Miss Carlotta Durini. You say you were born in Italy, and have only been here for a few years, yet your English is faultless.’

‘Mama is English.’ Her glance was pure mischief. ‘She is the daughter of a great nobleman.’

‘Oh? You intrigue me. Who?’

She laughed and shook her head. ‘I shall not tell you. Mama met my father when she was touring Italy with her family. They ran away together. Mama says it was love at first sight.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘Do you think that possible, Major Ainslowe? Can one fall in love so quickly?’

Luke had certainly thought so. Carlotta had stolen his heart within a week of their first meeting. Now as he strode away from Prestbury House he wondered if he had been mistaken in her. Perhaps there had never been anything more than a cold, calculating mind behind her sweet face.




Chapter Two


Carlotta gave herself a mental shake. This was her first ball; it would not do to cry. She put up her chin. She would not give Luke the satisfaction of seeing how close she was to dissolving into tears. Instead she summoned up her brightest smile to greet her next partner. She had already danced with Mr Woollatt earlier in the evening, and on first acquaintance she had found him rather pompous. However, his blatant admiration was balm to her wounded spirits and she treated him to an excess of charm as they danced together. After that she spent the rest of the evening dancing and laughing as though she had not a care in the world. It was only as she was waiting for her cloak that she discovered Luke had left early and had not witnessed her vivacious behaviour.

‘Well, it really does not matter,’ she told herself as she climbed into the carriage. ‘We have met, the sky did not fall and I know now that we have nothing to say to one another. I can forget all about the odious Lord Darvell.’

‘I beg your pardon, my love, did you speak?’

Lady Broxted’s gentle enquiry made her jump and she hastily disclaimed. Pulling her cloak about her, she subsided into one corner and stared disconsolately out of the window. She was determined not to think of Luke Ainslowe, but his image was as persistent as the man himself; she recalled how he had come to Malberry Court, armed with a picnic basket, and insisted that she take luncheon with him. She had refused at first, but she could still hear his voice, deep and seductive, persuading her to leave her painting and eat with him.

She was very conscious of her boy’s attire as she seated herself on the very edge of the rug, but Luke never mentioned it as he fed her tidbits of cheese and bread and fruit. She explained how his brother James had sought out her father and commissioned him to paint Malberry Court. Luke responded by telling her something of his life in the army and of the great battle that had taken place at Waterloo. Sitting out in the sunshine with the soaring white pillars of the house at their backs and the calm waters of the lake spread out before them, she soon lost her shyness. He was very easy to talk to. She liked to make him laugh and see the merry glint in his hazel eyes. It seemed quite natural to accept Luke’s invitation to join him again the next day, and the next. She was so comfortable in his company, talking of everything and nothing. They understood each other so well. Or so she had thought, until the day he had ridden out of her life forever.

With everything so new and exciting, Carlotta found much in London to divert her. Lady Broxted was determined that she should enjoy her first Season and spared no pains to keep her entertained. There were rides in the park, shopping with her aunt, promenades and balls, assemblies, masquerades and parties. Carlotta threw herself into such a round of enjoyment that she declared to her aunt she did not have a moment to think. It was not true—there was too much time to think. Even two weeks after the Prestbury ball, when she was out riding with her friends, it was so easy to allow the chatter to flow over her and to lose herself in her own thoughts, remembering how attentive Luke had been at Malberry, bringing food to share, escorting her home in the evenings—it had been an idyllic, happy interlude. She had felt safe with Luke. He had not attempted to kiss her again, even though she knew she wanted him to do so. She remembered that she had been very close to kissing him, the day he had climbed the scaffolding. She had peered over the edge of the platform to find him grinning up at her…

‘Good morning, Major—or is it past noon now?’

He made a great show of getting out his watch, saying severely, ‘It is gone three, madam. Are you so caught up in your work that you do not know the time?’

A laugh trembled on her lips but she tried to frown. ‘I am very busy, sir. Pray do not disturb me.’

‘Can you not come down?’

‘No, sir, I cannot. What are you doing?’ She laughed. ‘You cannot come up here.’

‘I can, and I will,’ he said, setting his foot on the first ladder. ‘I want to see you in your eyrie.’

She felt the platform shake as he began to climb and she quickly collected up her palette and brushes out of the way.

‘So this is where you work.’ He crawled onto the platform. ‘Good God, how do you manage?’

‘It is a little cramped, to be sure. There is no room to stand and one has to work crouching or lying down. But it is easier for me, because I am so much shorter than you.’

He pointed to the large roundel in the centre of the ceiling. ‘Is that your father’s work?’

‘Yes.’ She giggled as she watched him twisting his long frame around, trying to look at the fresco. ‘It is easier if you lie on your back, only you must not, of course. You will make your coat dirty.’

Ignoring her warning, he stretched himself out on the platform. ‘Ah, yes, I can see it much better now. A god and his attendants.’ He shifted his position. ‘And the other roundel, the smaller one at the far end?’

She slid down beside him and gazed up at the ceiling. ‘I painted that one. You are still too close to see it all properly; it will look so much better from the ground.’

‘It looks wonderful to me now,’ he said. ‘I am impressed.’ He rolled over and propped his head on his hand, smiling at her. ‘Now, when will you come down?’

The frescoes were forgotten. His face was only inches from her own. What if she was to reach out to him, to take his face in her hands and pull him down to her, to kiss him? The urge to do just that had been so strong she shivered. Such wicked thoughts!

‘Carlotta.’

She jumped. No longer was she lying beside Luke Ainslowe on the high scaffold at Malberry; she was ambling through Hyde Park on her docile little pony. The rest of her riding party had moved ahead and, to her dismay, she found Lord Darvell was beside her on a sleek, long-legged bay. Her cheeks grew hot—had she conjured him with her musings?

She had not expected him to seek her out after her performance at Prestbury House. She thought she had made her feelings perfectly clear, but here he was, smiling at her and causing her heart to flutter in the most foolish way imaginable.

‘We had no opportunity to talk, the other night,’

‘There is nothing I want to say to you, my lord.’

She urged her mount to a trot, wanting to catch up with her party, but Luke’s hand shot out and caught her bridle.

‘Not yet, Carlotta. Allow me to enjoy your company for a little while.’

She stiffened. ‘I did not give you leave to use my name.’

‘No? I told you I would do so. At Malberry, do you remember?’

She hunched a shoulder. ‘I have no wish to remember Malberry.’

‘No?’ he said again, his slow smile slicing through her defences. ‘Why should you not—did you not enjoy our time together there? Have you forgotten that I commissioned you to paint me?’

She stared ahead of her. Of course she remembered. She remembered every word he had spoken to her. She realised she would very much like to paint him, not posing statesman-like in a studio, but as he had been at Malberry Court, relaxed and reclining on the grass. For his brown hair she would use a base of raw umber and add fine brushstrokes to represent the blond sunstreaks—mixing in a little Indian yellow, perhaps. And his eyes—it would not be difficult to recreate their colour, like polished hazelnuts, but could she capture the smile that lurked in their depths, or the way his mouth quirked into a smile?

Carlotta looked away suddenly. This was too dangerous a game—she was only a memory away from crying. She assumed a haughty look and raised her brows at him.

‘You would commission me, my lord? But it is well known you have no money.’

‘That will not always be the case.’

She curled her lip at him. ‘But it is irrelevant, since I shall not be painting you. Indeed, I have no need to do anything, now.’

‘Perhaps not, but I thought painting was your passion.’

She managed a tinkling laugh. ‘Oh dear me, no. How unladylike that would be.’

She noted with satisfaction that his hand on her rein tightened, and the little mare side-stepped nervously.

‘What has happened to you, Carlotta? At Malberry you were…different.’

He was watching her intently. Carlotta knew she would have to look at him, but she would die rather than show him her true feelings. He was a rake, everyone told her so. He had been her first love—her only love—and he had broken her fragile young heart. But that was what rakes did; he could not change his nature. It had taken her months to rebuild her life—only the knowledge of how dear she was to her parents and to her aunt and uncle had given her the will to carry on. She could not let him hurt her again. She raised her chin and fixed him with cold, indifferent eyes.

‘At Malberry, my lord, I was a child, ignorant of the world. I thought fortune was not important. Now I know better.’

She forced herself not to look away, praying that he would not see past her icy, supercilious stare to the raw pain in her heart. For a long, treacherous moment he held her eyes; not by the flicker of an eyelid did she betray the anguish that was ripping her apart. She watched as his puzzlement turned to contempt. She had not thought she could feel any more miserable, but the disdain she now read in his eyes was almost unbearable. Almost.

He released her bridle and gathered up his own reins, saying curtly, ‘Then I shall leave you to your fortunehunting, Miss Rivington. Good day to you.’

Luke dug his heels into the bay’s sides and cantered away, ignoring the stares and frowns of those who considered it unseemly to move at more than a snail’s pace. Damn the chit. When he had first seen her at Malberry he had intended nothing more than a little flirtation to pass the time. By heaven, the girl had given him his own again! He scowled; it was his own fault, for he had told her of his financial problems. They had been sitting on the lawns at Malberry on one of those hot, sunny afternoons when he had persuaded her to come down from her high perch for a little while. He had been curious to know why her father was so anxious to have the frescoes finished.

‘It is most important that my father fulfils his obligations, you see,’ said Carlotta, stretching out on the grass and putting her hands behind her head. He tried not to stare at the way her paint-stained shirt settled over the gentle curves of her breast. ‘He must be paid on time.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Because there are bills outstanding, expenses to be met…As a gentleman, perhaps you would not understand.’

He grinned at that. ‘I understand only too well about debts; I have an abundance of them.’

Carlotta wrinkled her brow. ‘It must be very unpleasant to be under such an obligation, I think.’

‘But it is unavoidable,’ he said lightly. ‘Any gentleman living in town will tell you that his expenses are very high. There’s one’s house and stable to be maintained, not to mention one’s tailor.’

‘But surely you could cut back, economise…’ She bit her lip. ‘I can see that I have made you angry, I beg your pardon. The way you live is none of my business.’

‘No.’ He had not meant to sound so cold and he saw the sudden, anxious look Carlotta threw at him. When she did not speak, he said gently, ‘What, Mistress Durini? Have you no riposte for me?’ She shook her head, and looked surprised when he laughed. ‘At last I have found a woman who does not want the last word!’

Carlotta sat up. She said angrily, ‘I think you are making May-game of me, sir.’

‘No, no, pray, Miss Durini, forgive my incivility. I was jesting when I talked of the expense of town life; I have only recently returned from Paris and I have no town house to maintain—and to the best of my knowledge neither do I owe my tailor a penny. The debts I do have relate to my estate, and I plan to address that problem very soon. There, will you cry peace with me now?’

His hand tightened on the reins and the bay skittered, throwing up his head. Damnation, he had never owned as much to any woman before and what good had it done him? He had given her a stick to beat him with. A short, bitter laugh escaped him. He had been within an ace of offering for her—thank Providence it had come to nothing! What a lucky escape—he had no wish to be married to such a shallow, mercenary female.

He brought his horse to a sudden stop.

The only trouble was, he could not bear the thought of anyone else marrying her.

During the following weeks it was inevitable that Carlotta and Lord Darvell would meet frequently, but a polite, distant nod was their only acknowledgement.

‘I am surprised that Darvell does not pay you more attention,’ remarked Lady Broxted, when they saw him in Mrs Price’s drawing room one evening. ‘He is generally very appreciative of a pretty young lady…a little too appreciative in some cases,’ she added reflectively. ‘He is an incorrigible flirt.’

Carlotta glanced across the room. Luke was enjoying a lively dialogue with a very pretty blonde matron and she quickly looked away again.

‘I do not think I am quite to his taste, Aunt. I doubt I am pretty enough to tempt his lordship.’

‘Nonsense, I have received any number of compliments for you, my love,’ replied Lady Broxted. ‘But I suppose we should be thankful for Darvell’s lack of interest; your uncle has settled a generous dowry upon you, and he hopes you will contract an alliance with a gentleman of means.’

Carlotta raised her chin. ‘You need have no fear, Aunt; I shall not throw myself away upon an impoverished fortune-hunter like the Wicked Baron.’

Lady Broxted looked at her closely. ‘Oh dear, what has Lord Darvell done to deserve such vehemence? Perhaps it is his lack of attention that has piqued you. After all, you cannot deny he is very attractive. However, if you showed a partiality for him, I have no doubt Broxted—’

‘Dear ma’am, I have no partiality for him!’ cried Carlotta, an angry flush warming her cheeks. ‘I am quite thankful that he does not notice me.’

‘Well, then, there is no more to be said on the matter.’ reasoned Lady Broxted. ‘You are a very sensible little thing, Carlotta. I have no doubt we can achieve a very creditable match for you. Fairbridge seems to have taken a shine to you.’

Carlotta followed her aunt’s gaze to observe the tall, fair-haired young man standing on the far side of the room.

‘I think the viscount is more interested in our host’s daughter, ma’am. Do you see how he hovers about Miss Price, and how she blushes when he speaks to her?’

‘Perhaps you are right.’ Lady Broxted sighed. ‘Pity, for he would make you an ideal partner. His mama is well disposed towards you, too. Her late husband was a great friend of Broxted’s and I think she would like to strengthen the connection.’

‘Dear ma’am, is it not a little early to be contemplating marriage?’

‘It is never too early,’ said my lady firmly. ‘I am determined to see you well established. However, we must not repine. There is time yet.’

‘I hope so, ma’am,’ replied Carlotta, her eyes twinkling. ‘We have been in town for little more than a month!’

At that moment a young gentleman approached to claim her hand for the next set and she went off, still smiling.

The ballroom grew hotter and more crowded as the evening progressed, and in between dances Carlotta was glad to stand by one of the open windows to cool her heated cheeks. She thought with longing of her parents’ cottage in Malberry village: her mother’s last letter had been full of trifles such as her success in the herb garden and the diligence of the new maid, as well as news of her latest commission and her father’s progress at Malberry Court. He was now decorating the little temples that littered the gardens. Carlotta wished she could be with them, but it was not possible. She was fanning herself gently when Julia Price came to join her. Carlotta said in her open, friendly way, ‘Your mama must be very pleased with the success of her party, Miss Price.’

‘Yes, I think she is. It is always a concern that no one will come, for there are so many concerts and entertainments.’

‘Well, I think you need have no worries, your rooms are full to overflowing. Is this what they call a sad crush?’ Carlotta asked. ‘I believe that means it is a great success.’

She must remember to put it all into her next letter to her parents; Mama enjoyed reading about the parties and entertainments.

‘Yes.’ Miss Price was smiling at her. ‘We are very fortunate tonight, I think. Is this your first Season, Miss Rivington?’

‘It is. My aunt and uncle have been kind enough to sponsor me.’ Carlotta sighed. ‘They are very good, but it is all so new and there is so much to remember: I am in constant dread that I shall embarrass them!’

Miss Price was quick to disclaim, ‘No, no, that could not be—you always look so calm and at ease.’

‘Thank you, but I am in a perpetual quake, I assure you, Miss Price.’

‘Do, please, call me Julia.’

‘Very well, if you will call me Carlotta.’

‘That is a very pretty name.’

‘Thank you. It is—’ Carlotta became aware of someone approaching and broke off, turning to see Viscount Fairbridge at her side, his pale blue eyes fixed upon Julia. He bowed.

‘Miss Price, you p-promised me the next dance, I think…that is, if I am not interrupting…’

Carlotta smiled at him. ‘Pray, my lord, do take your partner.’

‘You shall not object if I leave you?’ asked Julia, looking anxious.

‘Not at all. Off you go and enjoy yourself.’

Carlotta stepped back, smiling, as Julia put her fingers on Lord Fairbridge’s sleeve for him to lead her away. Too late did she see Lord Darvell standing behind the viscount’s lanky form. They were only feet apart. He checked as he saw her, a slight frown in his eyes. He was already turning away when their host’s jovial voice boomed out.

‘Now, now, how fortunate is this, my lord!’ Mr Price put his hand on Darvell’s arm. ‘The next set is forming and here is Miss Rivington without a partner.’

Mortification swept over Carlotta. A glance at Lord Darvell showed her that he felt very much as she did, and for a brief moment she wondered if he would walk off, but Mr Price was clapping him on the shoulder, crying, ‘Well, go to it, man!’

Carlotta opened her mouth to protest, but she could not speak. Lord Darvell stepped forward, stony-faced. He held out his hand.

‘Will you do me the honour, Miss Rivington?’

There was no escape. To refuse would be to embarrass them all. Tentatively she put her fingers on his sleeve.

‘You are too good, my lord.’

Damnation. Luke swore under his breath. However much he tried to avoid Carlotta, it seemed she forced herself upon his notice. No, he must be honest with himself, it was not her fault. He remembered his efforts at Malberry Court, when he had realised that he was in danger of falling in love with the bewitching little sprite in her shirt and breeches. He had done his best then to keep away from her, finishing his business with the clerk of works late one afternoon and planning to set off for Darvell Manor the following morning without returning to the Court. But when he left Kemble’s lodge he found the heavy storm clouds had brought an early dusk and lightning was already splitting the sky. He saw the faint glow flickering from the windows of the house and rushed in, expecting to find flames licking at the newly painted walls. Instead he had found Carlotta.

‘What the devil are you doing in here?’

His voice, edged with irritation, vibrated against the empty walls of the drawing room.

‘I might ask you the same, sir, when you have not been near the house for days.’

Heaven and earth, the chit was challenging him!

‘I have been at the lodge with Kemble, discussing plans for moving in the furniture. I saw the light in the windows as I was about to leave and came up to see what was amiss.’

‘I am sorry, then, if you thought it was intruders.’

‘I was more concerned that the lightning had started a fire. Why are you not at home?’ he barked the question at her, frowning.

‘I wanted to have one last look at my father’s work. I beg your pardon; I never meant to disturb anyone. I will go now.’

‘Oh, no, you will not.’

She blinked.

He took off his hat and shook it, sending off tiny droplets of water that sparkled in the candlelight. ‘I mean the storm is too violent. It is not safe.’

‘Oh.’

That one little word, spoken so softly, was his undoing. His heart went out to her; she looked so vulnerable, holding aloft the candlestick with one shaking hand. He said gently, ‘You need not worry, you are perfectly safe here.’ He stepped forward and took the candlestick from her. ‘Let us look at your father’s work together.’

They wandered through the empty rooms until they found themselves in the salon, which occupied one end of the house. There was only one painted panel, set between the two marble fireplaces. The other three walls were taken up with long windows, designed to allow in maximum light, although now they only gleamed blackly as the rain spattered against the glass. Luke crossed the room, raising the candles higher as he studied the mural.

‘Your father is a great artist, Carlotta. This is really very good.’

‘Thank you. May I show you something?’ She took his arm and led him to the far corner of the panel. ‘There,’ she pointed. ‘Look closely at the decoration on the lady’s sandal.’

He peered closer. ‘A tiny snail.’

‘Yes, a lumaca’. She laughed. ‘It sounds so much prettier in Italian. It is Papa’s signature. He does not tell many people, but it is very important to him. When he was in Rome he would often paint copies of the great masters for the foreign visitors to take home and put in their grand houses. He insisted that as long as he signed them then there was no harm in it; he was not trying to trick anyone.’

‘I am honoured you should share it with me.’

He looked down at her and Carlotta smiled back at him briefly before she looked away, suddenly shy and awkward. As if to distract him, she pointed up at the chandeliers.

‘When all those candles are alight this room will glow. Can you imagine how elegant it will look, with all the ladies in their finest gowns?’ She sighed. ‘I wish I could see it.’

‘Perhaps you will.’

She laughed. ‘Perhaps! I will creep up to the windows and press my nose against the glass one night.’

The thought made him angry. ‘That is not what I meant,’ he growled. ‘You should be in here, dancing with all the other young ladies.’

‘Do not frown, sir. I do not want you to pity me.’

‘No, of course not, but I am determined you shall dance here.’ He put down the candlestick and opened his arms to her. ‘Come.’

‘You are nonsensical!’ She laughed, but did not resist as he took her hand and began to lead her around the room, humming a tune.

‘Do you waltz, Miss Durini?’

‘No, sir. I have never learned.’

‘Well, the gentleman holds the lady like this.’ He drew her towards him, pushed her cloak off her shoulders until it hung like a train behind her and slid one hand beneath it to rest on her back. Immediately her body tensed. A tremor ran through him as her breasts pressed again him, separated from his skin by only a few thin layers of silk and linen.

‘I have been told the waltz is considered by some to be improper,’ she remarked. ‘It certainly feels very daring, to be standing so close.’

She looked up at him, smiling shyly, and suddenly he could not breathe.

‘Well, sir, what next?’

‘This.’

He placed his fingers beneath her chin, tilted up her face and kissed her, very gently. She gave a faint sigh when he lifted his head, but did not move away. Tension crackled between them. Carlotta leaned against him, a tiny movement, but it was enough. With something very like a groan he swooped down on her again and his kiss this time was much more urgent. She responded, her lips parting in surrender to his demands and her body melting against him. His arms tightened. He nibbled gently at her lip and in response she put her arms around his neck.

Together they sank to their knees and he lowered Carlotta to the floor. She clung to him as he stretched out beside her, his mouth moving slowly, sensuously, over her lips while one hand slid to her breast. Luke felt her tremble, her back arched. A pulsing wave of desire swamped him. His fingers tore at her shirt, pulling it free from those soft, clinging breeches, then his hand was on skin, caressing the gentle curve of her waist. He ran his fingers over her stomach and she drew it in, gasping. He covered her face with kisses, drinking in the sweet taste of her, a taste of summer flowers and new-mown hay. His senses reeled. He had known many women, but never had the urge to possess and protect been so strong. She moaned softly and his touch faltered. He was overwhelmed with tenderness. She was such an innocent, it was important not to hurt her, not to frighten her. He knew the heady heights that love-making could achieve, but for her it would be new, strange and bewildering. Suddenly he was aware of their surroundings, lying on the cold, hard floor. By God it was not even his house!

He raised his head and stared down at her. Carlotta gazed up at him so trustingly and with a sudden, startling clarity he knew it would not do. This was not how he would show his love to Carlotta.

‘This has gone far enough,’ he muttered, almost to himself.

He got to his feet and held out his hand. Her brows contracted and she looked at him with bewildered, frightened eyes.

‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘Have I done something wrong?’

His smile was strained as he pulled her to her feet.

‘Not you, sweetheart.’ He brushed his lips against her mouth in a fleeting, butterfly kiss. ‘You are everything I could wish for, but this is not right, not here, on the bare floor of an empty house. You deserve so much more than that.’ He looked towards the window. ‘I think the rain has stopped. We must get you home.’

There was an uncomfortable silence. Carlotta did not move.

‘I thought you were going to teach me to waltz.’

She sounded so lost that he had to stifle the temptation to take her in his arms again. He reached out to pull her cloak back over her shoulders.

‘I am no saint, Carlotta.’ He bent to pick up the candlestick.

‘You are not angry with me?’

He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss into the palm. ‘No, love. I am not angry with you.’

No, he had not been angry with her then, but now, as he led Carlotta on to the crowded dance floor, it occurred to him that he had been wrong about her; even then she had been trying to catch herself a rich husband.

With all the pleasure of someone walking to the scaffold, Carlotta accompanied Lord Darvell onto the dance floor. His hand beneath her arm was stiff; indeed, she thought his whole body was rigid with disapproval. She summoned up all her courage to help her through this ordeal. Anger came to her aid. What right had he to disapprove of her? When they took their places in the set she put up her chin and gazed steadily at some point over his shoulder. The music began; they held hands, moved forward until they were almost touching, the delicate flowers of her corsage trembling within an inch of his waistcoat. She must concentrate on her steps and forget her partner. There was no need for them to talk, after all. However, she soon discovered that Luke had other ideas.

‘Why did you change your name to Rivington?’ he asked her suddenly.

‘It is in deference to my aunt and uncle. They have been very good to me.’

‘And perhaps you are ashamed of your origins.’

‘I am not! It is not unusual to take the name of one’s benefactor.’ She almost snatched her hand away as the dance parted them. Insufferable man! He was determined to think badly of her. Carlotta’s head came up: she would not court his good opinion.

Luke fought down his anger. Damnation, one could not have an argument in the middle of a ballroom. The movement of the dance took him past his partner and he almost laughed aloud at the fury of her look. One had to admit those dark eyes flashed magnificently when she was angry. It seemed she planned to ignore him for the duration of the dance, but he would have none of it. The chit should learn that she must at least show him society manners.

‘How are you enjoying London, Miss Rivington?’

‘Very well, I thank you.’

He waited, and when she did not continue he raised his brows. ‘Is that all? Have you no praises to heap upon the entertainments and the shopping to be had in town?’

‘If I did so, you would write me down as a thoughtless, frippery creature.’

‘You would prefer me to think you sullen, and above being pleased.’

‘I do not care what you think of me,’ she told him in a low voice.

Luke growled with frustration. Blast it, why should the chit anger him so? He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Be careful with your scowls, Carlotta,’ he hissed as they parted again. ‘The wind may change and you will never smile again.’

Carlotta reined in her irritation. All around her the dancers were laughing and enjoying themselves. It would not do to let the world see she was arguing with her partner. As they came back together she said sweetly, ‘Thank you for the timely reminder, my lord. Because you cannot help your temper, it is no reason for me to lose mine.’

His smile was as false as her own, but his eyes glittered dangerously. She sought for something commonplace to say.

‘We are very fortunate with the weather, are we not? It is warm enough to make fires unnecessary, yet still cool enough to make dancing a pleasure.’ He did not reply. She thought he looked very much as if he was grinding his teeth. Carlotta raised her brows. ‘Come, my lord. When I go to such trouble to converse, surely you can make the effort to respond.’

‘Since we are now at the end of the dance I am spared the necessity.’

She put her fingers on his arm and allowed him to lead her off the floor. ‘We are both spared,’ she muttered. ‘We need no longer be polite to one another.’

‘I noticed no politeness, Miss Rivington.’

Carlotta’s eyes narrowed, but there was no opportunity to reply, since they had reached Lady Broxted, who was deep in conversation with her hostess. Lord Darvell left them without a word, but to Carlotta’s relief her aunt did not appear to notice. Instead she caught Carlotta’s hand and pulled her closer.

‘My dear, we are discussing the most delightful scheme. Mrs Price informs me that Madame Saqui is performing at Vauxhall next week and we are minded to get up a party—what do you think of that?’

‘Madame Saqui?’

‘She is a rope walker,’ explained Mrs Price. ‘Quite a sensation. She first performed at Vauxhall last year and was so successful that she had been retained.’

‘Well, Carlotta, would you like to see her?’

‘Very much, Aunt, thank you.’

Mrs Price clapped her hands.

‘Then it is settled. We shall all go together. And I shall find two young gentlemen to accompany us, for I am sure you and Julia will enjoy yourselves much more if you each have a handsome escort.’ A commotion at the door caused her to look up. ‘Now, who is this come in at this late hour? I had not expected anyone else to turn up—good heavens, it is Ainslowe and his new wife!’

As Mrs Price hurried away, Carlotta stood on tiptoe to see the couple at the door. Even from a distance she recognised James Ainslowe. He was not quite as tall as his brother, but he had the same nut-brown hair and an ease of manner that expressed itself in the charming smile he now bent upon his hostess. Carlotta could imagine him apologising for his late arrival, treating Mrs Price to the same glinting smile that Luke had shown her when they had been together at Malberry. The memory gave her an empty, hollow feeling inside. She instantly quashed it and turned her attention to Mrs James Ainslowe. She was a lively brunette with a generous figure that was shown to advantage in a lowcut gown of bronze broché silk and a matching jockey cap over her glossy curls. A gold tassel on the cap swung to and fro as she carried on an animated conversation with her hostess. Carlotta heard Lady Broxted’s smothered exclamation.

‘Is anything wrong, Aunt?’

‘I could wish they had stayed in Berkshire a little longer,’ muttered Lady Broxted. ‘What if they should recognise you?’

Carlotta laughed at that. ‘That is not possible! They were on the Continent when I was at Malberry.’

‘You must be very careful, Carlotta, not to disclose your real name.’

‘I thought we had already agreed that, ma’am.’ She hesitated. ‘Would it be so very dreadful, Aunt, if it were known that my father was an artist?’

‘It would be embarrassing for your uncle, my dear, and for me. So much better that no one asks about your parents.’

Carlotta felt a little tremor of unease. ‘Perhaps then it would be best if we lived a little more retired. Surely there is no need for you to puff me off quite so much.’

Lady Broxted stared at her. ‘Do you not wish to go about, my love?’

Carlotta hesitated. Looking into her aunt’s anxious face, she realised that her aunt’s pleasure in the balls and parties they attended was more than equal to her own and she could not disappoint her.

‘Yes, of course I do, Aunt, but I would not embarrass you for the world. Perhaps we could avoid Mr and Mrs Ainslowe…’

‘No, I am afraid that is impossible; they will be seen everywhere and you must be seen everywhere, too.’ My lady drew herself up to her full, if diminutive, height. ‘We must hope that your identity is not discovered, at least until we have you safely married. There is no reason why we should not carry it off. After all, there is no one here who knows you, is there?’

Carlotta knew that this was the moment to confess the truth, but she remained silent. She watched Lord Darvell cross the room to greet the new arrivals and her heart sank. It was clear that Luke was on very good terms with his brother and sister-in-law; doubtless he would tell them all about his dalliance with the painter’s daughter. It seemed very likely that by the end of the evening all Lady Broxted’s hopes for her would be at an end.

***

Luke gripped his brother’s hand. ‘James! When did you arrive in town?’

‘This morning. Adele was desperate to buy new gowns.’

‘Nonsense!’ cried his wife, turning from Mrs Price. ‘You were just as anxious to get to town. Luke, my dear, how are you? As handsome as ever, I see.’

‘And you are even more enchanting,’ replied Luke, kissing her hand. ‘How did you find the Court?’

‘It is beautiful; thank you for your efforts. Kemble told us you were at Malberry for weeks.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said James. ‘I really did not expect you to do more than look in on the place once or twice.’

‘Poor Luke,’ said Adele. ‘Was it very tedious for you?’

Luke wanted to say that, surprisingly, it had been some of the happiest weeks of his life, but that would invite questions, and Adele was damnably perceptive. He dared not risk it.

‘I endured it as long as I could,’ he replied coolly. ‘However, I thought you would stay there longer.’

Adele shook her head, sighing. ‘We have had nothing but each other’s company for the best part of a month.’

‘An ideal arrangement,’ murmured Luke, grinning, and earned for himself a sharp tap on the arm from Adele’s fan.

‘You may stop those knowing looks at once! James and I are very much in need of company before we murder one another.’

‘Aye.’ Her loving husband smiled. ‘So we thought we would come to town for a few weeks, then take a party back to the Court with us for the summer.’

‘You will come, won’t you, Luke?’

‘Of course, Adele. That is, unless anything better comes along.’

She gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘How I have missed your teasing! We have been abroad for so long, and everyone there was so serious.’ She tucked her hand in his arm. ‘Come, we have not seen you since Paris. One can never say everything properly in a letter, so you must tell me all you have been doing and then we will arrange for you to accompany me to Bond Street.’

‘Surely that is your husband’s duty.’

She waved one gloved hand. ‘Alas, James has no eye for colour.’

Luke began to back away. ‘I regret, Adele, that I have a great many engagements—’

‘Nonsense, you cannot be too busy to take me shopping.’

He cast a despairing look at James, who merely laughed.

‘No use appealing to me, Luke. I’ve come to town for my own amusement. You are always at your ease with the ladies, you will enjoy yourself!’




Chapter Three


Lady Broxted emerged from the milliner’s shop and stopped, blinking in the sunlight. ‘Well, Carlotta, where shall we go now?’

Following her aunt out on to the flag way, Carlotta gave a little sigh. ‘Must we go anywhere else, Aunt? We have bought so many gloves and shoes and hats that I dare not think what my uncle will say.’

‘Tush, child, what should he say? Broxted knows how it is in town. One’s gloves soon become soiled and the dirty streets quite ruin one’s shoes.’

‘And the bonnets, ma’am?’ asked Carlotta, regarding the hatboxes carried by a wooden-faced footman.

‘One can never have too many hats,’ opined Lady Broxted firmly. ‘Now, let us go in here, for, having seen how well you look in green, I am determined that you shall have a new silk dress for the evenings.’

‘Pray, ma’am, do not go in,’ begged Carlotta. ‘I have been sized up, measured and pulled this way and that until I am quite exhausted with it—’ She broke off, realising that Lady Broxted was not listening.

Following her aunt’s intent gaze, she saw Mrs Adele Ainslowe approaching. However, when she observed Adele’s escort she was aware of a sudden feeling of breathlessness—her heart seemed to be fighting to escape her body.

‘Dear me,’ muttered Lady Broxted, ‘how did she persuade Darvell to come shopping with her? Mrs Ainslowe, Lord Darvell, how do you do?’

Adele stopped and gave them her wide smile. ‘Good day to you, Lady Broxted, and this must be your pretty niece that everyone is talking of. Pray won’t you introduce us? I heard that you were at the Prices’ assembly, Miss Rivington,’ she continued once this office had been performed. ‘I am ashamed to admit that James and I came in very late, and there was not time to meet everyone.’

Carlotta answered as best she could. She was very much aware of Luke standing behind his sister-in-law. She was also a little overawed by Mrs Ainslowe’s vivacity. She had thought her very good-natured when she had first seen her and now, at such close proximity, her impression was confirmed; she could see the humour twinkling in her green eyes. Adele was looking past her, taking in the parcels piled up in the arms of Lady Broxted’s hapless footmen.

‘So,’ she continued, ‘we are on the same errand, I collect. We have been shopping all morning. Poor Darvell is quite out of patience with me. Tell me, is that little Frenchwoman still trading at the end of the street? Madame Beaufaire, the milliner. I was always able to find something I liked there, but last Season she was talking of returning to Paris, now the war is over.’

‘Yes, yes, Madame Beaufaire is still there,’ replied Lady Broxted, adding with a triumphant little smile, ‘we have just purchased a new bonnet of leghorn straw from her for Carlotta…’

Mrs Ainslowe laughed gaily. ‘Then you will be all the rage, my dear, and we shall all be looking daggers at you when you wear it! But this is your first time in London, is it not, Miss Rivington? Tell me how you find Bond Street.’

‘Exhausting,’ Lady Broxted answered before Carlotta could speak. ‘My poor niece is crying quits before we have completed even one side of the street, which is a great shame, because I did so want to visit the silk mercers of Covent Garden.’

Carlotta gave a rueful smile. ‘I am sure one soon grows accustomed, but it is all so new to me. You must forgive me; my senses are quite overcome by so many shops, so many wonderful things displayed. I am very much afraid that if I have to make one more purchase, I shall be completely undone.’

‘Well, then, I have the very thing,’ cried Mrs Ainslowe. ‘We shall change partners. Lady Broxted and I will finish our shopping together while Darvell escorts Miss Rivington back to Berkeley Square.’

‘Oh, no, ma’am!’ cried Carlotta, appalled. ‘Truly I am not tired, I was merely funning.’

Luke bent a frowning look upon his sister-in-law. ‘Pray, Adele, do not be so overbearing.’

She gave him a mischievous smile, but turned to address Carlotta. ‘My dear Miss Rivington, I can see that you are quite done up. You must accept this opportunity to rest. Let Darvell take you home; he dislikes shopping as much as you and has been wishing himself elsewhere for the past hour. Your aunt and I can enjoy ourselves for a while longer, then we shall follow you. What do you say, Lady Broxted?’

‘You are looking a little tired, Carlotta.’

‘No, really, I couldn’t leave you, Aunt—’

Mrs Ainslowe raised her hand. ‘Do not think we are putting ourselves out for you, Miss Rivington. This arrangement will suit us all. And you need not fear any impropriety; one of Lady Broxted’s footmen shall walk behind you.’

‘Well, if Lord Darvell does not object to taking my niece home…’

Carlotta could see that her aunt was weakening. ‘No, really, I could not impose upon Lord Darvell!’

She was ignored. Lord Darvell was bowing.

‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, ma’am.’ He spoke with studied indifference and Carlotta cringed. ‘Well, Miss Rivington, shall we leave these ladies to their hedonistic pursuits?’

She was trapped. There was nothing she could say that would not sound churlish and ungrateful.

‘There, now!’ cried Mrs Ainslowe, beaming. ‘Take good care of her, Luke. Tell James I shall send for the carriage later to collect me from Broxted House.’

The two parties went their separate ways. Carlotta stared ahead of her. At Malberry she had wanted nothing more than to be alone with Luke but here, even with Lady Broxted’s footman walking a few paces behind, she felt very tense. It was as though she was walking beside a wild beast. A tiger, perhaps, that might pounce on her at any moment. However, when he spoke, Luke’s tone was perfectly polite.

‘My new sister is a minx,’ he remarked. ‘She likes to organise everyone her own way. I must apologise for her.’

‘Not at all,’ murmured Carlotta cautiously. ‘I like her; she is very…very refreshing.’

He laughed. ‘When you have known her a little longer, you will call her exhausting. She has so much energy to expend on her friends, especially when it comes to matchmaking. Tell Adele your requirements, Miss Rivington, and she will have you fixed up with a rich husband before you can blink an eye.’

Hellfire! Luke swore under his breath. What had made him say that? He had been surprised at the lightness of spirit he felt at the prospect of having Carlotta to himself for the short walk to Berkeley Square. She looked so pretty with that straw bonnet framing her face, the dark brown ribbons matching her eyes. He wanted to put their quarrel behind them, but his joking remark had come too soon. He sensed her drawing away from him.

‘I beg your pardon, I—’

She waved her hand, saying airily, ‘Pray do not apologise, my lord, it is an excellent notion. I am sure Mrs Ainslowe must know all the most eligible gentlemen in town. And she will not be shocked by my ambition—after all, your brother married her for her fortune, did he not?’

Luke ground his teeth. ‘I’ll have you know that James is very much in love with his wife!’

‘I am sure he is,’ came the honey-sweet reply. ‘But I’d wager the fortune does not detract from their happiness. Perhaps we could ask him, for he is even now approaching us.’

‘We shall do no such thing,’ he retorted as James hailed them from across the street.

‘Luke, well met!’

James tossed a coin to the crossing sweeper and came up to them, a look of enquiry upon his features. Luke performed the introduction almost reluctantly and Carlotta held out her hand.

‘Mr Ainslowe, how do you do, sir? I was speaking to your wife but ten minutes since.’

Luke glanced down at the little figure beside him. She was smiling shyly up at James, showing no sign of the scheming minx he knew her to be. James, damn him, was beaming back at her, obviously enchanted.

‘Were you, by Gad? I thought she had prevailed upon Luke here to take her shopping.’

‘She did, but she has met a kindred spirit in Lady Broxted,’ explained Luke. ‘Miss Rivington, however, has made her purchases and I am escorting her back to Broxted House. Where are you going, brother? I did not know you would be coming out today or I would have let you escort your own wife.’

‘It wasn’t my plan to come this way, but I was at Brooks’s last evening with a party of friends, and I am now off to collect my winnings from Sir Gilbert Mattingwood. Quite rolled up, he is. Poor Gil, almost lost his boots last night and did not have the means to pay me, so he told me to call on him today at his lodgings in Dean Street, which is where I am going now.’ He took out his watch and studied it. ‘By Jove, is that the time? I had best get on; there is a house sale in Curzon Street later today and I thought I might give it a look. I fancy there are one or two nice pieces of Sèvres that would look very well at Malberry Court. So—your servant, Miss Rivington; good day to you, Luke.’

James strode away and Luke set off again. He was aware that Carlotta was watching him and said irritably, ‘Very well, I will admit that James could not be fitting out his house in such grand style if Adele had not brought a fortune with her. But there is a very strong affection between them.’

‘I am sure there is,’ was all she would say, but her soothing tones made his fingers itch to strangle her.

He took his leave of her at the door of Lord Broxted’s residence, but as he bowed over her hand, a thought struck him. ‘Tell me, Miss Rivington, once you have married your fortune, how do you propose to enjoy it, if you are so ill disposed to shop?’

There was a flash of anger in her eyes but it was gone in a moment. She said haughtily, ‘It is the proximity of all those other shoppers that disgusts me, my lord. When I have my fortune, then the merchants will come to me.’

As the door closed behind her, Carlotta felt an immediate surge of remorse that her antipathy for Lord Darvell had prompted her to utter such an ill-bred comment. She ran up to her room, trying to shut out the look of surprised contempt that she had seen in his face at her words. It was the second time she had seen that look in his eyes and it hurt, even though she knew she deserved it. She sat before her mirror and tried to tidy her curls, which had been sadly flattened by her bonnet.

‘What if he does think me mercenary?’ she asked her reflection. ‘I do not care a fig for his opinion!’

Nevertheless, the feeling of guilt persisted, even though she tempered it with anger at Darvell for being so easily persuaded to think ill of her. Had he learned nothing of her character in those weeks at Malberry Court? It was bad enough that he should consider her capable of chasing a rich husband, unforgivable that he should think that she, with so little herself, should be disdainful of others.

Such reflections made Carlotta more conscious of her behaviour, so that when Mrs Price sent a note to inform them of her plans for their visit to Vauxhall Gardens she was careful not to utter one word of dissent.

‘There are to be eight of us,’ remarked Lady Broxted, scanning the letter. ‘That will be a squeeze at supper, but we shall manage.’

‘Who is going, Aunt?’

‘Let me see…Mr and Mrs Price, naturally, and Mrs Price depends upon my bringing Broxted. I shall have to work on him, for in general he is not fond of such entertainments, which is why it is such a joy for me to have you here, my love, to share in my pleasure. Then there is Julia, and you…oh, and she has engaged Lord Fairbridge and Mr Woollatt to join us. Splendid. How merry we shall be.’

‘Yes, splendid.’

Carlotta smiled and tried to sound enthusiastic. Mr and Mrs Price’s boisterous spirits would more than compensate for her uncle’s retiring nature. She suspected that Julia and Lord Fairbridge would wish for nothing better than to spend an evening together, and Mr Woollatt might be a little dull, but he was perfectly respectable. Besides, there would be Madame Saqui and the fireworks to entertain them all. She told herself it would indeed be a splendid party.

An unseasonably cold spell of weather on the appointed day persuaded Lady Broxted to advise Carlotta to wear her new round gown of blue bombazine with a matching pelisse.

‘I had thought it would not be needed until much later in the year, but it will not do for you to catch a chill, my love.’ Lady Broxted watched her niece putting the final touches to her dress. ‘And you should wear your new kid boots, too, for the rain has left the ground very wet underfoot.’ She went to the door. ‘Mrs Price says we are to take the water to Vauxhall rather than the new bridge—will that not be a treat?’

Carlotta agreed and hurried downstairs to join her aunt and uncle in the carriage that would take them to the river. They found the rest of the party waiting from them on the quay and they all set off in high good humour for Vauxhall.

‘This is your first visit to the gardens, Miss Rivington?’ asked Mr Woollatt as they alighted on the far side of the river.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then I think you will enjoy the spectacle. The Grove, you see, is before us—that large rectangle, enclosed by trees and colonnades. Mr Price has hired a supper box for us on the far side, I believe, from where you will be able to watch and listen to the orchestra while we eat. Before that, of course, there is the cascade to be seen, and later, we have the funambulist.’ He smiled at her look of surprise. ‘Madame Saqui, the tight-rope walker—more properly called a funambulist.’

‘Oh,’ said Carlotta.

His smile widened. ‘You see, Miss Rivington,’ he continued, ‘I will endeavour to fill your evening with education as well as entertainment.’

‘Oh,’ she said again.

‘For example, did you know that there are over one hundred supper boxes in these gardens?’

‘Yes, so shall we find ours?’ put in Mrs Price, coming up. ‘It is far too bright yet to see the walks at their best. Instead, we shall all enjoy a cup of arrack punch.’

Carlotta made haste to agree, thinking she would need something if she was to endure Mr Woollatt’s rather pompous lectures for the whole evening.




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