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The Housemaid’s Scandalous Secret
Helen Dickson


‘Your discretion and good behaviour would be most appreciated…’ Returning to Castonbury Park is just another job for Colonel Ross Montague. With his family in disarray, he promises to do his utmost to see order and decorum restored once more. That is until he’s sidetracked by the beguiling eyes of Castonbury’s newest maid –Lisette.An affair would be most improper…but when neither can deny their blazing desire, all society’s rules are discarded. So, in a house where gossip is rife, Lisette must try her best to keep her salacious liaison a secret…!










Castonbury Park

A Regency Upstairs Downstairs



Survival of the fittest is fine, so long as you’re the one on top … but the family that has everything is about to lose it all …

The Montagues have found themselves at the centre of the ton’s rumour mill, with lords and ladies alike claiming the family is not what it used to be.

The mysterious death of the heir to the Dukedom, and the arrival of an unknown woman claiming he fathered her son, is only the tip of the iceberg in a family where scandal upstairs and downstairs threatens the very foundations of their once powerful and revered dynasty …

August 2012

THE WICKED LORD MONTAGUE – Carole Mortimer

September 2012

THE HOUSEMAID’S SCANDALOUS SECRET – Helen Dickson

October 2012

THE LADY WHO BROKE THE RULES – Marguerite Kaye

November 2012

LADY OF SHAME – Ann Lethbridge

December 2012

THE ILLEGITIMATE MONTAGUE – Sarah Mallory

January 2013

UNBEFITTING A LADY – Bronwyn Scott

February 2013

REDEMPTION OF A FALLEN WOMAN– Joanna Fulford

March 2013

A STRANGER AT CASTONBURY– Amanda McCabe









Duke of Rothermere

Castonbury Park

Dear Ross,

Nephew, I hesitate to ask, because I know you are busy and your life is currently in India, but I would really appreciate your calm head and guidance at this trying time. As you know, we have been led to believe that my dear son Jamie is dead, but to complicate matters I have just this morning received a letter informing us that Jamie was married, and that his new wife and young son are in the grounds of Castonbury Park. The truth is yet to be determined, for I thought I knew my son better. But, Ross, I would be most grateful if you could return to help your family and use your persuasive nature to discover what this woman wants and what indeed did happen. I believe she may be able to shed some light.

But please, however, be discreet. We cannot afford any more scandal to be unearthed whilst you are here.

Yours,

Rothermere









About the Author


HELEN DICKSON was born and lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.



Previous novels by the same author:

A SCOUNDREL OF CONSEQUENCE

FORBIDDEN LORD

SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE

FROM GOVERNESS TO SOCIETY BRIDE

MISTRESS BELOW DECK

THE BRIDE WORE SCANDAL

DESTITUTE ON HIS DOORSTEP

SEDUCING MISS LOCKWOOD

MARRYING MISS MONKTON

BEAUTY IN BREECHES

MISS CAMERON’S FALL FROM GRACE

And in Mills & Boon


HistoricalUndone!eBooks:

ONE RECKLESS NIGHT



Did you know that some of these novels are

also available as eBooks?

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk


The

Housemaid’s

Scandalous Secret





Helen Dickson
















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


For my husband, George, with love—

he has provided unconditional support and

encouragement throughout.




Prologue


Cholera had killed Lisette’s parents. Suddenly, at nineteen years old, she found herself homeless, penniless, with no family and no purpose in life. She was adrift but she would survive. She could survive anywhere, but she belonged nowhere.

Unable to remain in her beloved India, she was to travel to Bombay, where she hoped to work her passage on board a ship bound for England.

Lisette had enjoyed living in an Anglo-Indian society in Delhi. Her father had been an eccentric academic, a linguist and a botanist, working for the University of Oxford in India. It was through her father’s friendship with the Rajah Jahana Sumana of the state of Rhuna that she had met and become a close friend of the Rajah’s daughter, Princess Messalina.

Messalina was being escorted to her wedding in Bhopal and suggested Lisette travel part of the way with her as one of her attendants. Not wishing to draw attention to herself Lisette was dressed as a native girl, for to travel openly as an unescorted English girl was unthinkable.

Lisette had parted from her friend when the rains came. It was a light sprinkling at first that washed the dust from the air. Then, as the lightning pranced closer in a flashing, sizzling display of the storm’s power, a torrential downpour marched across the land, turning the roads to mud and causing the rivers to overflow. The people Lisette was travelling with reached the banks of a wide, fast-flowing river at the only point of safe crossing for twenty miles upstream and down. Usually the banks here were lined with dhobis busy with piles of washing, mahouts bathing their elephants and children playing and splashing in the shallows.

The rain had stopped some time ago. The last rays of the sinking sun catching the river glittered on the rushing water in a haze of gold. The bridge creaked and swayed with the pull of the current. It was almost dark, but rather than wait until morning by which time the bridge could have been washed away or become impossible to cross, the travellers decided not to postpone their crossing.

There were so many people and conveyances and bullocks milling about the bridgehead that Lisette was in danger of being crushed to death. Panicking she tried to turn back but she was carried forward by the frenzied crowd. She saw the red uniforms of British soldiers trying to bring some kind of order to the chaos but to no avail. One of them, an exceedingly handsome and masculine British officer, was familiar to her, although they had never been introduced. He and his orderly had ridden part of the way with the rajah’s procession—the presence of British soldiers had provided added protection against marauding bandits.

Trying to keep his horse from bolting from the melee ahead, Colonel Ross Montague watched the unruly multitude push onto the bridge. Light was fading fast but when he caught sight of a star-spangled bright pink sari he was transfixed. He recognised it as belonging to one of Princess Messalina’s attendants. He could just make out her slender figure crushed against the rails and trying desperately to hang on. What she was doing there he did not stop to wonder at, for at that moment she was in serious danger of falling off the bridge that was dipping precariously under the weight of the crowd.

The next minute, to her horror, Lisette found herself flung into the raging torrent. With night drawing in it was difficult for the majority on the bridge to see what had happened, but looking down on the scene, Ross had a clear picture of it and immediately flung himself out of the saddle, quickly shedding his red jacket.

‘Leave her, man,’ his companion shouted above the din. ‘There’ll be many more in the water before this evening’s done.’

‘Hold my horse, Blackstock. The life of a soldier calls for a far greater degree of proficiency in dealing with the unexpected than is required of the average man.’

‘But to jump into a fast-flowing river is in excess of your official duties. It’s insane—suicidal.’

With a grin, Ross tossed him the reins and his jacket. ‘I’ll be back.’

Pushing his way towards the bridge, he shouted to make himself heard above the tumult of yelling voices and the thunder of the water rushing below.

The current sucked Lisette deep into the river. Breaking the surface, choking in the thick, muddy water, she didn’t see the figure that dove off the bridge after her. She tried to swim but hampered by the weight of her sari it was impossible. Desperately she tried to grasp at anything that would prevent her from being washed away, but the force of the water defeated her and swept her a hundred yards or more downstream until she crashed into a tree. The bank had been washed away but mercifully the tree’s roots were still secured. Grabbing at a branch she groaned when it cracked and gave way. Somehow she managed to grab another, but the long green leaves slipped between her fingers. Her heart wrenched with despair. She couldn’t drown, not when she had come so far.

Suddenly she felt something slide about her waist, then knock against her legs. For one horrified second she thought she was about to be eaten by a crocodile, but then hope flared when she felt a hard body pressed to her own.

‘Cling on to me,’ a voice yelled in Urdu above the roar of the water.

Spluttering and thrashing Lisette desperately tried to do as he asked. Again she reached out to take a fresh grip on the tree and this time she managed to grasp a branch and hold on. Dragging herself and her companion towards it she emerged through a canopy of leaves, her sopping wet veil wrapped around her, half covering her face. The man managed to half drag himself into the branches and hauled her up beside him. Exhausted from their exertions and panting for breath, they were still for a moment. Then, seeing she was in danger of slipping back into the water, the man’s arms were about her once more.

Eventually he managed to edge along the tree towards the bank. Feeling sand beneath his feet, he pulled the woman he had rescued along with him and lay down with her on the sandbank, out of the water. The night was now pitch-black and he daren’t move any further. His breathing was laboured and his arms and legs ached, his body battered and bruised.

The woman clung to him in a frenzy of terror. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his mouth close to her ear.

Though she made no sound he could feel the rise and fall of her breast against his own, while the feel of her warm, wet body and every slender curve and line of it spoke eloquently of a woman, not a child.

‘Are you hurt?’

She did not reply, but she shook her head in a helpless gesture that might have been either agreement or dissent, and for some reason, that small despairing gesture cut him to the heart and he tightened his arms about her, whispering foolish words of comfort. For a moment her body shuddered and she lay her head against his shoulder. Wrapped together, the darkness of the night and the danger of falling back into the river forced them to remain where they were. The night wind arose and blew strongly off the water, and the girl in his arms began to shiver in the cold air.

After a while Lisette ceased to shiver. It was strangely comforting to lean her aching head against her rescuer’s shoulder. With his arms tight about her, she was conscious only of an unfamiliar and inexplicable feeling of being safe—a feeling she had longed for since the day her parents had died and she had left the safe and familiar walls of her home. She did not know why the presence and the touch of this man should give her this warm feeling of safety, and she was too battered and bruised and physically exhausted to figure it out. It was enough to feel protected.

In fact, the closeness of him was dizzying, so much so that she hardly knew her own thoughts. She felt pleasurably wanton feelings rippling through her, and instead of trying hard to stifle the feelings, she allowed them to flood through her. They were overwhelming sensations, so new and strong that they frightened her. She moved slightly, as though to pull away from him, and his arms tightened in response.

It was a long time since Ross had held a woman in his arms, and though he could not see her face distinctly, the feel of her firm young body moulded against his made his blood throb through his veins. ‘Hold still, my lovely. It’s not safe for us to move until we have light. Until then we have no choice but to cling on to each other and keep ourselves warm.’

Had it not been for that softly rich voice, Lisette would not have relaxed into his secure embrace once more, little realising the devastating effect her thinly clad body was having on him. Her heart was racing now, part of his heart, his body … Her face was uplifted and she strained her eyes to see her rescuer. His lean features were starkly etched, his eyes translucent in the ghostly light. It was impossible to make out anything more, but she knew it was the soldier who had accompanied the rajah’s procession.

Ross held her firm. He felt the softness of her silken hair, the stirring pressure of her small, round breasts against his chest, and even in this dire situation, he ached to sample this woman more thoroughly.

Lisette’s mind reeled and the next moment she felt the warmth of his mouth on hers. She gave herself up to this, her first kiss, savouring it with a sensual awakening as the stranger’s arms held her captive. It lasted no more than a moment, but it was enough to stir the strange feelings until she became acutely conscious of her innocence. The trembling weakness in her body attested to its potency. She found her lips entrapped with his once more, and though they were soft and gentle, they flamed with a fiery heat that warmed her whole body. Her eyes closed, and the strength of his embrace, the hard pressure of his loins and his hand cupping her breast made her all too aware that this was a strong, living, healthy man, and that he was treating her like a woman, indeed desiring her.

In that moment Lisette tried to still the violent tremor that had seized her, but his powerful, animal-like masculinity was an assault on her senses. She was unable to resist him and she felt her body offer itself to this man, this stranger, and in that instant they both acknowledged the forbidden flame that had ignited between them. Right there, with the river raging all around them, they exchanged a carnal promise as binding as any spoken vow.

When her leg slid sideways and she felt the cold lap of water against her flesh, reason flooded back to her. She had no doubt that this man would take her there and then if she did not halt things now. Having been properly brought up and having consorted with an Indian princess, no one should treat her like this. This man thought she was a native girl, so as a native girl she must behave.

Sliding her lips away from his, with her mouth against his ear she managed to say, ‘Please don’t do this. Would you take advantage of an innocent woman when she has nothing with which to defend herself? Am I fair sport to be ravished like this? Would you make me an outcast for the rest of my days?’

Hearing her words Ross shook his head and gathered her to him again. With an effort he restrained the urge to take her lips once more for he must not. ‘You are right. I have no wish to take you—not here, not like this—delightful though the prospect might be. I go too fast. What you are doing away from the royal procession is not my concern—and you do seem to have a penchant for getting yourself into trouble—but now that I have found you I contemplate a much grander bedding for you and me. We will talk about it when we get out of this damned river.’

Hearing the male arrogance edging his voice, Lisette swallowed drily. ‘Then tell me where you plan this bedding so that I can avoid it,’ she exclaimed, knowing that what he was saying was wrong … and yet it was so wickedly exciting, like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Ross gave a small sensual laugh, sending shivering pulse beats through her body. ‘Nay, my lovely girl. Do not think you can avoid your destiny. I am a soldier, but I have been in India long enough to know your culture is full of the mysteries of destiny and fate and other fantasies. When we kissed I felt the desire in you. Deny it if you can.’

Lisette was helpless in denying it. How could she, when she had felt it too?

‘Rest easy,’ Ross said, his arms gathering her against him, ‘while we wait out the night.’

With nowhere to rest her arm Lisette placed it around his waist and closed her eyes.

As the water continued to rush around them, Ross did the same, knowing there was the danger of the water rising. If it did, they would not survive the night.

When dawn broke up the darkness of the sky, Ross opened his eyes to find his arms empty of his companion’s soft warmth. Panic seized him and he cursed himself for allowing himself to fall asleep, but he had truly believed she would be safe in his arms. Standing up, his eyes did a frantic search of the water round about, but there was no sign of her.

Thankfully the river level had fallen during the night and the bridge hadn’t been washed away. Without any difficulty he managed to make it to the bank. On reaching it and looking at the ground, he saw the small footprints of a woman coming out of the river. This in itself put paid to the theory that she had been washed away. But there the trail ended. She had vanished as if spirited into thin air.

He was astounded at the strength of his relief that she was alive, but then he felt a strange sensation come over him and he could hardly believe it himself when he realised it was pique and a helpless, futile sick anger against fate and himself and the foolish instinct of his kind that had driven him to leap unthinkingly to the rescue of a drowning native girl. And now the ungrateful girl had simply got up and left him; the sense of loss and disappointment would come later.

He was affronted because having endangered his life to rescue her, she had left without so much as a farewell, slipped from his hands as unexpectedly as she had been placed into them. He set off to look for his horse and young Blackstock, determined to banish the native girl from his mind. But all the way to Bombay he did not stop looking for the girl in the pink, star-spangled sari.

The events of that night were a hideous jumble in Lisette’s mind, and reaction had her in its grip. On opening her eyes and seeing the river level had fallen, careful not to disturb her companion, she had gotten to her feet and looked down into his deeply tanned and undeniably good-looking face. His closed eyes were fringed with black lashes and he was tall, his chest broad and hard muscled. His luxuriant dark brown hair and clean-shaven face enhanced his masculine good looks.

Her heart stirred. How she would like to get to know him better, but there was something inside her telling her to flee, not to become entangled with this man whose only thought when they had been locked together had been to bed her. And so, shaking so violently she could barely walk, troubled by doubts and fears and a haunting sense of insecurity, she had left her handsome rescuer and made it to the riverbank.

Fortunately she spotted the people she was travelling with encamped on the other side of the river. Reclaiming her bundle she carried on with her journey to Bombay.




Chapter One


Surviving tropical storms, pirates and a thousand other discomforts in the cramped quarters allotted to her on board ship, Lisette was relieved when she arrived in England, a country of bucks and beaux, Corinthians and macaronis. It was said that the old King George III had lapsed into incurable madness and his son ‘Prinny’ had been made regent. As the ship made its way up the river Thames, she went on deck. Against a marbled sky of grey and white, London was spread out before her—streets and houses, church spires and the dome of St Paul’s.

Lisette felt no attachment to England. It was a long way from the India that she loved, with its tiger hunts and elephants, oriental princes and potentates glittering with fabulous jewels living in medieval state in fantastic marble palaces. India had been her world for so long that England on this grey morning was a pale comparison. A swift vision of that lovely, mysterious country with all its smells, its vibrancy and blistering heat sprang into her mind with a mixture of pleasure and pain and she choked a little, and then swallowed. It was no time to be self-pitying, when she was on the brink of a new life.

Stepping onto dry land her legs shook like those of a newborn colt. After the relative quiet of the small cabin, the noise and bustle of the East India dock was jarring and chaotic. The Company was rich and powerful and well organised, owning the largest ships that used the port of London. The dock was a scene of great variety. The smell of tar and coffee beans, timber and hemp, permeated the air, along with other aromas which titillated her nostrils. Another ship of the fleet, the Diligence, had already docked and its cargo of tea, silks and spices from India and porcelain from China was being unloaded.

Although Lisette had seen many a dark face in Bombay and heard all manner of languages spoken, she was dazzled by the spectacle of foreigners and shouting sailors, uniformed men and those in styles of dress she had never seen before. That was the moment that the enormity of her undertaking came over her. She was in a country that held nothing for her. Even the faces looked alien. Fear sank into her but it was too late to do anything about it.

Stevedores carrying crates and trunks swarmed up and down the gangplank. One of them struggled to carry a barrel. On reaching the bottom of the gangplank he lost the battle and it rolled away in the direction of a prancing horse. The horse sidestepped to avoid it, causing its young handler to leap back or risk being struck by a flying hoof. The horse rose up on its hind legs with a snort of alarm, dragging the short rein from the man’s grip. Finding itself unexpectedly free, with stirrups dancing, it then began to rear and prance with its hooves flailing, scattering everyone in its path. Raising a noisy furore amongst the crowds it was heading straight for Lisette.

She watched as it came closer. The horse had its ears back and nostrils flared, but it seemed to her that its head was still well up, which was a sign that it was not completely out of control. The only thing she could think of was to try to slow the horse. Unafraid, stepping into its path she began to walk towards the charging beast, holding her arms wide. When it was close she uttered a gasp of admiration, for it was the most beautiful chestnut horse and it was galloping straight at her.

‘Oh, my God! Get back, woman! Get back!’ the horse’s handler shouted.

Standing only a few feet from the danger, Lisette heard the warning but stood her ground, not out of bravado but from sheer fascination as the magnificent animal reared up. ‘Oh, you beautiful creature!’ she whispered. Then, as if she were urging a child to do her bidding, ‘Stop, stop, you’ll hurt yourself if you’re not careful.’

Reaching into her pocket for a sugared sweet, she held out a flat palm to the horse, which ground to a halt, snorting wildly and rolling big hazel eyes. ‘Come on, you adorable thing. I’m sure you’re going to like it.’ The horse decided he would. He accepted the sweet as Lisette calmly took hold of the short rein and proceeded to stroke his quivering, satiny neck. With huge hindquarters and a barrel chest, he was a splendid sight. ‘You’re so lovely.’ She sighed as the horse nudged her pocket for another sweet. ‘But where have you come from?’

Suddenly a swift, agile figure appeared from nowhere.

‘It’s all right, Blackstock,’ the figure shouted to the man who had brought the horse off the ship. ‘I’ll handle him. Give me that horse,’ he demanded of Lisette, holding out his hand for the rein. But as he made to grab it, the horse flattened his ears, stamped his foot and lunged at him, knocking the man sideways so that he collided with Lisette and she started to topple back. Acting so swiftly his movement was a blur, he gripped her upper arms and hauled her forward.

She landed against him, her breasts pressed to his chest, her hips welded to his hard thighs which felt as resilient as tempered steel. The breath was knocked out of her, leaving her gasping. His hands held her upright, his long fingers gripping her arms. His lips thinned, the austere planes of his face hardened and his fingers tightened about her arms. To Lisette’s stunned amazement, he lifted her easily and carefully set her down a couple of feet away from him. When he released her arms she turned to the restless horse.

‘Stop that,’ she scolded, reaching out and jerking the rein reprovingly. ‘You mustn’t stamp your feet. Here, have another sweet.’ The man, a soldier, stared at her. The expression his eyes contained—intensely concentrated—sent a most peculiar thrill through her. She blinked and stared back, and then it was as if she was seeing a dream awake before her. She knew this man. Her body and all its senses remembered him. She knew him by the rich, hypnotically deep voice, and the icy, needle-like chills that were her own response to him.

‘Stepping in front of an out of control horse is a dangerous and extremely foolish thing to do,’ he reproached sternly. ‘Do you make a habit of it?’

‘No, and nor do I make a habit of talking to strangers—and never to gentlemen in uniform,’ she replied, her light mockery laced with gentle humour.

He scowled down at her averted face. ‘And that is your rule, is it?’

For the first time she turned her head and faced him fully. A salvo was fired. It struck home with a crushing weight. Lisette couldn’t have realised that Ross Montague could not trust himself to speak. Her beauty was such that his breath caught in his chest. It brought home to him the starvation of his need to feel a woman’s touch.

‘Oh, absolutely,’ she replied calmly.

With a will of iron, Ross clamped a grip upon himself. ‘Rules are made to be broken—at least mine are. By me,’ he said with an ease he little felt. ‘You could have been maimed for life or worse. But it is clear that you seem to have a way with horses.’

‘I was brought up with them in India where I have lived since I was a child. I love them and they seem to like me—and this is such a beautiful horse. If he’s been confined on board ship for weeks on end no wonder he bolted like he did. I would say he could do with a good gallop.’

Beginning to relax as he looked at this enticing young woman in a dark grey, unadorned gown, his interest growing by the second, Ross gave her a slow smile. ‘I agree, but he will have to be patient a while longer.’ Having witnessed the entire incident and relieved no one had been hurt, this girl had amazed him. ‘I’ve never seen anyone stand in front of a charging horse before. I am impressed. But you do realise that the horse could have killed you, don’t you?’ She gave him a look that was almost condescending, a look that told him she had known precisely what she was doing and that she was more than capable of dealing with a runaway horse. He was indeed relieved that she was unharmed, though he was a little surprised at the strength of his emotions.

Taking the rein, the horse jerked back and for a moment he wrestled with the animal, speaking to him in a soothing voice until he calmed down. Fascinated, Lisette watched him. She didn’t know men could move like that. His coordination was faultless. He was so tall, large and lean but strongly muscled beneath the splendid scarlet-and-gold regimentals that hugged his broad shoulders and narrow waist without a wrinkle or a crease. She felt she should leave him now, this stranger—yet he wasn’t a stranger, not to her. Was this really the same man who had saved her life, the man in whose arms she had spent an entire night, clinging on to him for dear life lest she fall into a raging river?

Tall and arrogant looking, he was olive skinned, almost the colour of a native of India. His hair was dark brown, thick and curling vigorously at the nape of his neck. His eyebrows were inclined to dip in a frown of perplexity over eyes that were watchful. It was his eyes that held her. They were vivid and startling blue, a shade of blue she had never seen on a man or woman before. It was the deep blue of the Indian Ocean—or was it the colour of the peacocks’ feathers that strutted cocksure in the grounds of the rajah’s palace? His face was too strong, his jaw too stubborn and too arrogant to be called classically handsome. His features were clear cut, hard edged. Only his lips, with a hint of humour to relieve their austerity, his intelligence and the wickedness that lit his blue eyes, gave any hint of mortal personality.

‘His name is Bengal,’ Ross informed her, ‘and he was given to me by a maharajah of that place. Sometimes I wonder if he’s a horse at all and not Nimrod in disguise. The Hindus believe in the transmigration of souls and I’m not convinced that in some previous incarnation this horse wasn’t a noble prince dedicated to hunting wild boar.’

‘Then for the love of his sins it would appear he has now descended into the body of a horse with his love of the chase unaltered,’ Lisette said laughingly as the horse nuzzled at her pocket.

Ross met her wide gaze and looked at her long and deliberately, studying the young and guarded face, noting the wariness and schooled immobility with interest. There was something about her, something vaguely familiar that attracted his attention. He had the impression that he had seen her before, but he could not imagine where. He saw a girl slightly above average height, graceful and as slender as a young willow. Beneath her bonnet her blue-black hair was drawn straight back and confined in a black net so that its shining, luxuriant weight tilted her little pointed chin up as though with pride.

When he looked into her eyes which were surrounded by a thick fringe of jet-black lashes, he felt an unexplainable pang of desire. They were intense, large eyes of an unusual honey-gold colour—or was it amber?—and they gave her whole face a magical look. In them were golden flecks of light, reminding him of the tigers of India. She had also acquired the lovely honey-gold skin that no longer looked quite English, yet could never be termed foreign. In fact, she seemed to radiate a feminine perfection, with all the qualities he most admired. Her soft pink lips were tantalising and gracefully curved, full and simply begged to be kissed—in fact, he’d come within a whisker of kissing them already today, but kissing a young woman before being properly introduced was simply not good form.

A flush of colour rose into Lisette’s cheeks, embarrassed as this man studied her with such cool and speculative interest.

‘So you have just returned from India.’

‘Yes. My mistress has instructed me to look for a conveyance. Her husband, Mr Arbuthnot, has recently retired as a factor from the Company.’

‘I see. And you are?’

‘Lisette Napier. I am lady’s maid to Mrs Arbuthnot.’

‘And where is home, Lisette Napier?’ Ross was intrigued and he wondered why, for he didn’t often make conversation with maids.

‘Wherever I happen to be—with my work, you understand.’ Her voice was low and somewhat strained. ‘Before that I lived with my parents in India since I was a small child. But after India—well …’

She felt his interest quicken. Ross bent his head to look into her face. ‘Yes?’

‘Well—it will be … different here in London.’

His teeth flashed in a sudden infectious grin. ‘You will find it very different indeed from India’s hot clime.’

‘Yes,’ she said, trying not to let herself sound too regretful.

‘And your employer? Does she live in London?’

She nodded. ‘Somewhere in Chelsea, I believe.’

He grinned. ‘You will find it dull in comparison to India.’ Ross knew he should take his horse and move on but he was curiously reluctant to do so. Goodness, what was wrong with him, standing here talking to a servant girl when he had things to do. Again his horse nudged the girl’s pocket and with a laugh she produced another sweet, her hand stroking his neck to the horse’s evident delight.

‘You’ll spoil the beast,’ Ross found himself saying.

Lisette saw that in the place of idle amusement was a look of awakened concentration. As their eyes met she shivered with an involuntary surge of excitement. She felt that this was the moment when she should remind him of their previous encounter, and with a multitude of ways of doing so on the tip of her tongue, thought better of it and bit back the words. Explaining her reasons for travelling to Bombay dressed as an Indian girl might prove difficult and tedious, and since they were unlikely to meet again there was nothing to be gained by doing so.

‘He deserves to be made a fuss of after enduring such a long journey. I knew someone who had a similar horse once. She …’

Her voice trailed away. Ross waited for her to speak, to tell him more, but she didn’t. She merely stared into the distance as though she were alone, or he were no more important than his horse. Less so, for she evidently loved horses. He felt a strange sensation come over him and he could hardly believe it himself when he realised he was affronted because she was unconcerned whether he moved on or stayed.

He tried again. ‘How long have you been a lady’s maid?’ he asked, doing his best to be patient, though it was not really in his nature. He had her attention again and she smiled.

‘Oh—long enough,’ she replied, studying him covertly, her gaze sliding over him.

Ross felt the touch of her gaze, felt the hunter within him rise in response to that artless glance. He almost groaned. ‘And is it your intention to always be a lady’s maid? Would you not like to return to India?’

A glow appeared in her eyes. ‘Oh, yes—and perhaps I will, one day, but I have to make my own way in the world, sir …’

‘Colonel. Colonel Ross Montague.’

Ross studied her for a moment, frowning. She was looking at him, silent and unblinking, in the same way the dark-eyed Indian women stared in that unfathomable way. Having lived there for some considerable time, he suspected it was something she had developed almost unconsciously over the years, through her association with some of those doe-eyed women.

Spending many years in India had shaped Ross’s ideal of feminine beauty. He was no great admirer of European standards—the pink and white belles who had begun to invade India, accompanying parents attached in some form to the East India Company. With their insipid colouring, their simpering ways and carefully arranged ringlets, they set their caps at him, attracting him not one whit.

Ross sought his pleasures with the dusky, dark-eyed maidens, who offered a chance of escape from the stifling rounds of British social life, although there had been singularly few of late. This, it may be added, was not from lack of opportunity. Ross Montague was no celibate, but two things obsessed him—India, with its beauty and glamour and its cruel mystery, and the East India Company, with its precious collection of merchant traders from London who were conquering a subcontinent and maintained their own army administering justice and laws to the Indians.

In India fortune had done nothing but smile on Ross. Young men with ambition and ability could go far. He had served with distinction; working his way up through the ranks he had now been rewarded with a promotion to colonel. But on receiving a letter from home, he had felt the sands of his good fortune were running out.

One of his cousins had been killed in the bloody shambles of the battle at Waterloo and another of his cousins, the heir to the Montague dukedom, had been listed as missing somewhere in Spain. Bound by the ties of present and future relationships to the house of Montague, Ross had returned to England at a time when his presence was likely to be of great comfort to his relatives there.

But India held his heart and imagination and he had little time for anything else—and certainly not marriage. He hadn’t wanted a wife before he’d joined the army. Nothing had changed.

‘How old are you?’ he inquired abruptly.

The unexpectedness of the question appeared to take Lisette by surprise, and she answered in unconscious obedience to the authority in his voice. ‘Twenty,’ she replied, having reached that age as the ship sailed round the Cape of Africa.

He raised an intrigued eyebrow, choosing to ignore her awkward response. ‘And you have a place.’

Her mouth quivered, but then she looked away, rather awkwardly. She felt her heart tighten. ‘Not beyond three weeks. Now my employer’s husband has retired from the Company he is to move his family to Brighton where they have a full complement of staff already. I have been told I must seek another situation.’

As she stood there she looked vulnerable for the first time. Her air of impregnable self-sufficiency vanished and Ross saw her troubled and rather desperate. ‘You have references?’

‘Oh, yes—well, just the one. I can only hope it will secure me another position—even that of a scullery maid would be better than nothing at all.’

‘Even though it would be a blow to your pride?’

‘I’m truly not proud,’ she said with a bewitching smile. ‘I’m wilful, I suppose. Stubborn too. And headstrong. But not, I think, proud.’

At that moment appeared Lottie Arbuthnot, her employer’s daughter, treading with care over obstacles and holding her skirts to her sides so as not to mark them on the many barrels and casks piled up on the dock. On reaching Lisette she pricked her with her needle-like eyes.

‘Lisette! Here you are. Mama is becoming quite vexed. How long you have been in securing a carriage.’

Ross turned and looked at her with an apologetic gesture. ‘The fault is all mine—or perhaps I should say it was my horse who waylaid her. Having been released from the confines of his quarters on board, he ran amok when he reached the dock. Had Miss Napier not been so adept at handling horses there is no telling what damage he might have done.’

Staring up at the handsome colonel, Lottie disregarded his comment about Lisette and with a simpering smile fluttered her eyelashes in what Lisette consider to be an appallingly fast manner. ‘Then you are forgiven, sir. I am Miss Lottie Arbuthnot. Miss Napier is servant to my ma and me.’

‘So I understand,’ Ross replied with a wry smile, beginning to feel pity for Miss Napier.

Lottie’s arrival rudely shook Lisette out of the trance that seemed to have taken over her. It wasn’t until that moment that she realised she had lost all sense of propriety. Colonel Montague must think her forward and impertinent. Embarrassment swept over her, washing her face in colour. Lottie was a moody, spiteful girl who had made her life extremely difficult on board ship as she had tried to do her best for both her and Mrs Arbuthnot, to whom she owed much gratitude.

Mrs Arbuthnot had taught her the refinements of being a lady’s maid. She wore a smart black or dark grey dress and starched muslin apron and cap and could dip a curtsey as gracefully as a debutante. But all through the voyage she had been at the mercy of Lottie’s every whim. It must be Lisette who helped her dress, Lisette who brought her tea. Oh, that she would never have to see the girl again!

‘Lisette.’ Lottie spoke peevishly. ‘See, your face is quite red. Are you unwell?’

‘No, I—I think it must be the heat,’ she stammered. ‘Excuse me. I’ll go in search of a conveyance.’

‘Allow me,’ Ross said, handing the horse to Blackstock, who appeared at that moment. In no time at all he had secured a conveyance to take Miss Napier and the Arbuthnot family to Chelsea.

As Lottie continued to prattle on, Lisette saw Colonel Montague was watching her steadily, and she sensed the unbidden, unspoken communication between them. He knows what I’m thinking, she thought. It may be all imagination but she knew he was as bored and irritated by Lottie as she was. She felt instantly ashamed, knowing that Lottie could not help being the person she was.

Feeling in her pocket for some sweets, she handed them to him.

He smiled at her. ‘Are these for me or the horse?’

A gentle flush mantled her cheeks. ‘For Bengal, of course. If he should prove difficult you might be glad of them.’

Lowering her head she bade Colonel Montague a polite goodbye and walked back to the ship, a step behind Miss Arbuthnot. Yet she continued to feel his presence behind her, large and intensely masculine. Her senses skittered—she clamped a firm hold on them and lifted her chin, but she felt a cool tingle slither down her spine and the touch of his blue gaze on the sensitive skin on her nape.

As she walked, Ross thought she did so with the grace and presence of a dancer. As she had told him of her circumstances, he had been taken aback when her look became one of nervous apprehension. How different she’d suddenly appeared from the girl who had stepped in front of his horse, when her proud, self-possession had raised his interest. At first, not knowing what was the matter, he had thought that perhaps she was ill, but then he’d realised that she was afraid. Though her assurance and confidence had aroused him, that glimpse of vulnerability had drawn forth emotions he had only felt once before—in India—with a girl and a raging river … A girl who had also moved like a dancer.

Emerging from the river and seeing her small footprints in the mud, assured that she had survived the night, he had determined to banish the native girl from his mind. But all the way to Bombay he had not stopped looking for the girl in the pink, star-spangled sari and thick, black oiled plait hanging to her waist. The memory of that night and the girl had stayed with him, the way the hot heat of a candle flame stared at for a few moments would burn behind closed eyelids.

Those same emotions made him want to protect this girl, to keep her from harm. His fancy took flight and he imagined himself as her champion, secretly carrying her colours beneath his armour next to his heart, watching that proud smile on her face turn inward to a sweet, imploring look of appeal. Before his imagination could propel him to even more exquisitely poignant pangs of desire, Blackstock told him he would make the necessary arrangements for his baggage to be sent on to Lady Mannering’s house in Bloomsbury.

Ross immediately mounted his restive horse and nosed him away from the dock, the clip-clopping of the horse’s shoes ringing sharp and clear in the bright morning air. But he had made a mental note of where Miss Napier could be located, tucking the information into a corner of his mind to be resurrected when he so desired.

Light streaming through the long windows fell in bright shafts upon the black-and-white marble floor. Ross felt a warm glow. The house belonged to his widowed maternal aunt, Lady Grace Mannering. In his absence the house had lost neither its old appeal nor its very special associations with those happy years he had spent as a boy in London with his sister, Araminta.

Drawn by the bittersweet memories stirred by hearing lilting strains of a merry tune being played on the piano, he strode across the hall to the door of the music room and pushed it open to find Araminta seated at the instrument.

She stopped playing and turned towards the door and the man who stood there. Joyous disbelief held her immobilised for a split second, then she shouted, ‘Ross!’ and amid squeals of laughter and ecstatic shrieks, she bounced off the stool and burst into an unladylike run. Almost knocking him over she flung her arms around his neck in a fierce hug, laughing with joy and nearly choking him in her enthusiasm. Embracing her in return, a full moment passed before Araminta relaxed her stranglehold.

‘Oh, Ross, dear brother, is it really you? You look wonderful. I’ve missed you so much. I don’t know what I would have done without your letters,’ she gushed, hugging him again.

Pulling him down onto the sofa, his legs disappearing amid a flurry of skirts, all at once she launched into a torrent of questions ranging from where he had been, what he had been doing and how long was he going to stay, hardly giving him time to reply.

When he had the chance he studied her closely. Five years had gone by since he had last seen her and the girl he had known had been replaced by a lovely young woman. Her shining light brown hair was a tumble of rebellious curls and her eyes as deeply blue as his own.

‘I’m happy to see you looking so well, Araminta,’ he said, realising just how much he had missed his only sibling. ‘I hardly recognised you. Why, you must have grown taller by half a head in the time I’ve been gone. You look so mature.’

‘And you are very handsome, Ross,’ Araminta declared breathlessly, ‘and so distinguished in your military uniform. You are a colonel now?’

He nodded. ‘I was promoted just before I left India.’

‘Will you go back there?’

‘Of course. I’m home on extended leave—for how long depends on what I find when I get to Castonbury Park.’

Learning of her nephew’s arrival Lady Mannering entered. Her small, rotund figure was encased in deep rose silk and a widow’s cap was atop her sprightly brown hair liberally streaked with grey. As she went to greet her nephew, her eyes were bright with intelligence, set in a soft, lined face.

After greeting his aunt affectionately, Ross sat across from her and looked at her homely face and the light blue eyes that had scolded and teased him and Araminta and loved them so well. His look became sombre.

‘Cousin Giles wrote and told me about young Edward.’

Grace’s eyes filled with sadness. ‘Yes, it was quite dreadful when we heard he’d been killed. There was great relief when Giles came back. As you will remember Edward was so attached to his older brother, but now Giles has resigned his commission. What happened to Edward has affected him rather badly, I’m afraid. And if that weren’t bad enough Jamie is still missing.’

Ross stared at her in stunned disbelief. His cousin Jamie Montague, heir to the magnificent Castonbury Park in Derbyshire, had been listed as missing in Spain a year before Waterloo. ‘Good heavens! I was hoping he’d been found by now. Is there still no word?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘No body has been found?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s thought that he was washed away when crossing a swollen river before the push for Toulouse.’

‘Then Giles stands next in line. Knowing of his love for the military life, he will be a reluctant heir.’

‘He was in London recently. It would have been good for you to have seen him before he left for Castonbury. Still, I suppose you’ve been fighting your own battles in India.’

‘I’ll catch up with him there. Castonbury is still my home and I am eager to see my uncle. Giles must be feeling pretty wretched right now. With Edward dead and Jamie missing—and of course Harry busy with his work here in London, he’s going to need someone close.’

‘Family support is always a good thing at a time like this, Ross. All things considered, the Montagues aren’t as invincible as they thought.’

Having been raised with the Montague children, Ross had come to look on the six siblings as his brothers and sisters, and his concern over the disappearance of one and the death of another affected him deeply. Added to this was the financial crisis that had hit the family following the Napoleonic wars. Although the Montagues courted danger, they were his family, to be defended to the death.

‘On top of Jamie’s disappearance, Edward’s death will have affected my uncle very badly.’

‘I’m afraid it has. Everyone is quite worried about him. The letters that Phaedra writes to Araminta tell of his declining health and that his mind is not what it was, that at times he seems to be a little … unhinged I believe was the term she used. Which reminds me. A letter has been delivered from Castonbury Park. It’s from Giles. Would you like to read it now?’

‘I’ll do that when I go and change.’ Ross frowned with concern. ‘I shall not delay in leaving for Castonbury. But first I shall have to visit my tailor—which I shall do first thing tomorrow. After that I shall be free to go.’

‘The Season is almost over. Araminta can go with you.’

‘Are you to accompany us too, Aunt?’

‘You know how I prefer to be in town. However, I will give you the loan of my travelling chaise to take you to Castonbury. It could do with an outing and it will give the grooms something to do. Do you require a valet, Ross?’

‘I’ve brought my own man with me, Blackstock, a young subaltern in my regiment. I left him at the dock sorting out the baggage. He should be here shortly.’

In the privacy of his room, Ross opened the letter from his cousin Giles, and found he was greatly disturbed by its contents. It contained a hurried account of a mysterious woman claiming her son was Jamie’s heir, and that the family was in dire financial straits. Indeed, the news was so dire it seemed as if the house of Montague was about to come crashing down. Giles asked Ross to go and see this woman, who was in lodgings in Cheapside, for himself, and afterwards to seek out his brother Harry while he was in London and explain the situation. Ross must also emphasise to Harry the importance of finding out what had happened to Jamie, and that it was imperative that Harry left for Spain as soon as he was able.

Folding the letter, Ross sat down to draft a note to his cousin Harry.

Before sitting down to dinner, Ross sought his aunt’s company in order to see what other troubles might have befallen the Montagues in his absence. He was shocked to discover that his sister had broken her betrothal to Lord Antony Bennington, son and heir of the Earl of Cawood in Cambridgeshire. Ross was disappointed. From what he remembered of young Bennington the man was an agreeable sort. Was there any good news to be had? he wondered to himself.

‘Araminta must have had good reason to cry off her betrothal to young Bennington,’ Ross said with a troubled frown. Having played nursemaid, surrogate father and guardian to Araminta all her life, she was in part the reason why he had returned to England, to provide the final direction she needed to cross the threshold into matrimony. It would seem he was going to have his work cut out to have her settled before he could return to India. ‘How has it affected her?’

‘Araminta is a girl of too much resolution and energy of character to allow herself to dwell on useless and unseemly sorrow for the past,’ Aunt Grace said. ‘Naturally she was regretful for a while, but she has wisely turned her attention towards the future, which is vastly more important to her than pining for what is lost.’

‘Do you know what happened to make her break off the betrothal? Did she not speak of it to you?’

‘No, she did not. The only reason she would give was that they did not suit—but I heard from a reliable source that Araminta caught him in a dalliance with a young woman by the name of Elizabeth Walton.’

Ross looked at Araminta with concern when she walked in and sat beside her aunt on the sofa. Looking at her now he noted her eyes held a certain sadness, and Ross was not at all convinced that she had put her broken betrothal behind her.

‘You haven’t forgotten that we’re going shopping tomorrow, have you, Araminta?’ Grace said as they settled down to dinner. ‘I thought we might start by visiting the Exchange. Of course, all the best shops are on Bond or Bruton Street. If we have the time we can go there after.’

‘You may have to go alone. I swear I have the onset of a headache. I think I shall lie in, if you don’t mind.’

‘But I do mind. Fresh air will be more beneficial to you than lying in bed all day. I’ll send Sarah in to pamper you if you like.’

‘How very generous of you, Aunt Grace. You know I’m in need of a maid of my own, for while Sarah is diligent, she has so much to do. She is always in a hurry and knows nothing of dressing me properly. Little wonder I appear at dinner looking half dressed and my hair all mussed up,’ Araminta complained.

Ross pricked up his ears and looked at his sister, an image of the delectable Miss Napier drifting into his mind. ‘You require a maid?’

‘I most certainly do,’ Araminta replied adamantly. ‘I’ve mentioned it to Aunt Grace before but she never seems to get round to it.’

‘That’s true,’ Grace said. ‘There always seems to be so much to think about. But I agree, Araminta, you really do need a maid of your own.’

‘Then might I suggest someone?’ Ross said, feeling a strange lift to his heart. ‘I met a young woman yesterday. She’s been in India and is employed as maid to a lady and her daughter who reside in Chelsea. Her position is to be terminated in three weeks and she is looking for another post.’

‘Why?’ Araminta asked suspiciously. ‘What has she done?’

‘Nothing. Her employers are moving to Brighton and she will no longer be required.’

Ross’s suggestion cheered Araminta somewhat. She studied the almost fond smile upon her brother’s face as he spoke of the girl and noted the gleam in his eyes. He seldom smiled, she knew, unless the smile was seductive or cynical, and when he was in the presence of his uncle, the Duke of Rothermere, he rarely laughed. It was almost as though he believed sentimentality silly and anything that was silly was abhorrent and made a man vulnerable. She was intrigued. Was it possible that he’d developed a special fondness for this maid?

‘What is this extraordinary female’s name and what does she look like?’ Araminta asked, anxious to discover more about the girl who’d had such an unusual effect on her brother.

‘Her name is Lisette Napier. She is quite tall, slender and dark haired. Her speech is as cultured as yours and mine. Her manners are impeccable and she is presentable.’

‘And how old is she?’

‘I believe she is twenty.’

‘I see. Isn’t that a little young to be a lady’s maid?’

‘And will she make a suitable maid?’ Aunt Grace asked.

‘I really have no idea about such things, but I’m sure Mrs Arbuthnot would not employ her if she wasn’t any good at her job.’

‘Well, heaven forbid if she’s prettier than Araminta. It would never do for a maid to be more becoming than her mistress.’

‘Oh, that doesn’t matter,’ Araminta remarked happily, having already decided to take Miss Napier on—for her brother’s sake as well as her own need and curiosity. ‘I should very much like for you to hire her, Ross.’

‘I expect you could do worse than give her a chance—perhaps for a trial period of a month. See how she gets on.’

‘Yes—yes, I will. Decent servants are neither easy to find, cheap to train, nor simple to keep. I would like to meet her first.’

Ross nodded and began to attack the roast lamb with renewed relish. ‘I’ll do my best. I have no doubt that Mr Arbuthnot’s address can be located through East India House.’

The Arbuthnot family had been at home in Chelsea for a few days when Lottie dressed early and told Lisette to prepare for a trip to the Royal Exchange to do some shopping. There were some items she wished to purchase before she left for Brighton. Glad of the opportunity to escape the stilted confines of the house, where she found the work hard for both Mrs Arbuthnot and Lottie demanded their pound of flesh, and eager to see more of London, Lisette put on her coat and bonnet and prepared to enjoy herself for a couple of hours or so.

When the carriage turned in to Cornhill, both girls were in good spirits. They stared with excitement at the immense stone front of the facade of the Exchange with its high arcades and column and the clock tower reaching skyward.

Alighting from the carriage they went through the archway where the arcade square of the Exchange opened up before them. It was filled with merchants and traders and hawkers of wares, mingling with people of all occupations and positions and gentlemen in military uniforms. It was a fashionable place to shop and used as a rendezvous, much frequented by beaux waiting to meet a lady bent on flirtation.

‘Oh, what a wonderful place,’ Lisette murmured, breathing in the different smells that reached her, from roasting chestnuts to hot pies and horse dung. She was captivated by the sight and would have stopped, but Lottie was moving on through the yard. She hurried after her.

Taking hold of Lisette’s arm, Lottie was unable to conceal her excitement, blushing delightedly when a handsome young soldier touched his hat and winked at her. ‘I think I would like to have a look round the little stalls in the yard first but the shops upstairs are always the best.’

And so they passed a pleasant half-hour browsing among the stalls with Lottie dipping into her silk purse for coins to buy fripperies and handing them to Lisette to place in her basket. They mounted the staircase and strolled along the upper gallery. It was thronged with shoppers and Lisette found it difficult to keep Lottie within her sight at times. When she disappeared inside a shop to purchase some gloves, telling Lisette that she would probably be a while since she wished to browse, Lisette slipped in after her. She was distracted when some beautiful lace collars caught her eye. Pausing to take a look, she could only wish she had the money to buy one. It would certainly enhance the grey dress she wore day in and day out.

She had not been inside the shop very long when she had an odd feeling that she was being watched. The short hairs on the nape of her neck rose on end and her spine tingled. As she began to turn slowly to see if her suspicions were correct, she was half expecting to see Lottie behind her for she was sure now that she was only being fanciful.

Her eyes flicked round the shop and turning round she passed the stranger with hardly more than a glance, not even pausing for the sake of politeness as the man swept his hat from his dark head. Instead she lifted her skirts to descend a step.

Ross leaned back against the fixtures and smiled his appreciation as his eyes caressed her trim back. Suddenly Lisette stopped, and sensing his eyes on her she whirled to gape at him, her amber eyes wide in disbelief on finding herself face to face with Colonel Montague—tall, lean and strikingly handsome, recklessly so, with magnificent dark brows that curved neatly, a straight nose and a firm but almost sensuous mouth. The lean line of his jaw showed strength and flexed with the movement of the muscles there.

‘Colonel Montague?’ the question burst from her.

‘The same, Miss Napier.’ Now having her full attention, he held his hat before his chest in a bow of exaggerated politeness, before taking her arm and drawing her aside.

He had appeared too suddenly for Lisette to prepare herself, so the heady surge of pleasure she experienced on seeing him again was clearly evident, stamped like an unbidden confession on her lovely face. For a long, joyous interval they held each other with their eyes, savouring the moment, enjoying afresh the powerful force that sprang between them. Then he smiled.

‘Miss Napier! How odd to find you here.’ Desire was already tightening his loins—and that with just the sight of her. He didn’t understand why she had such a volatile effect on him, but he understood that he wanted her—he wanted her warm and willing in his arms, in his bed.




Chapter Two


Lisette stared at Colonel Montague, her heart doing a somersault. ‘It is?’ His smile sent a flood of warmth through her body to settle in a hot flush upon her cheeks and other, less exposed places.

‘Most certainly.’

Without relinquishing his hold on her arm, his touch igniting fires inside her, fires that flared to a startling intensity when he led her to a private place at the back of the shop. She found herself standing so close to him that she could almost hear the beating of his heart. He looked down at her so intently that he might have been trying to commit every detail of her features to memory.

As before, when he had met her on the dock, Ross felt a faint stirring of recognition, like the ghost of a memory long submerged, but it drifted away when he saw the warmth in her eyes.

He didn’t waste time on unnecessary words of politeness. ‘This is a trace of luck our meeting like this. Are you alone?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m with Miss Arbuthnot. She wandered off. I suppose I must go and find her before I lose her altogether,’ Lisette said, although she was most reluctant to do so on finding herself in the presence of Colonel Montague once more. She could not rightly say what it was about him that held her attention. She felt utterly fascinated, like a child beholding a favourite toy. He was quite unlike anything or anyone she had ever known.

Ross stared at her profile, tracing with his gaze the classically beautiful lines of her face, the unexpected brush of lustrous ebony eyelashes. He had never seen the like of her. She was quite extraordinarily lovely. She had an untamed quality running in dangerous undercurrents just below the surface, a wild freedom of spirit that found its counterpart in his own hot-blooded nature.

Something in his stare made Lisette’s fingertips tingle. The tingle crept up her arms with sweet warmth, into her chest, and straight into her breast. She did her best to ignore the sensation.

‘Tell me, Miss Napier, how are you finding London? Is it to your liking?’

‘I have seen little of it. This is the first time I’ve been away from the house, but I must confess that I am finding it all so strange—and exciting, of course, and so different from what I am used to.’

‘I imagine you are missing India.’

Lisette was spared answering his question when a pretty, fashionable young woman dressed in a beautiful blue gown with a matching hat perched atop a riot of gleaming brown curls appeared at his side.

‘Ah—so this is where you’ve got to, Ross. Little wonder I couldn’t find you when you were lurking at the back of the shop.’ Her eyes looked Lisette up and down, in an appraising way. A little smile formed on her lips. ‘And I can see why. Will you do me the honour of introducing your companion?’

‘Of course. Allow me to present to you Miss Lisette Napier. Miss Napier—my sister, Miss Araminta Montague. This is the young lady I spoke to you about, Araminta.’

Lisette bobbed a respectful curtsey, looking from one to the other. ‘For what reason did you have to discuss me, Colonel?’ she enquired, surprised and deeply touched to know he had spared her a passing thought.

‘I recall you telling me you were looking for another position. When my sister mentioned that she was in desperate need of a maid, I thought of you.’

‘And now we’ve met it will save us the trouble of writing to you,’ Araminta said.

‘Would the position be to your liking?’ Ross asked, cocking a quizzical, amused eyebrow. ‘Although, when I recall you telling me that you are wilful, stubborn and headstrong, perhaps I should question your suitability!’

His wry tone made Lisette burst out laughing, and Ross found himself captivated by the infectious joy, the beauty, of it. He’d never heard the music of her laughter before, nor seen it glowing in her magnificent eyes.

‘I also recall telling you that I am not proud, Colonel—although I would be honoured to be offered the post of your sister’s maid,’ Lisette said, fighting down a sudden absurd surge of happiness.

Standing against a backdrop of ribbons and lace, laughing up at him, Lisette Napier was unforgettable. Ross realised it as clearly as he realised that if he became her employer, there was every chance he was going to find her irresistible as well.

‘My brother tells me your present position is shortly to be terminated. Is this correct, Miss Napier?’

‘Yes. My employer will have no need of me when the family moves to Brighton.’

‘Why don’t you ask Miss Napier to come to the house, Araminta? It’s highly irregular to carry out an interview in such a place as this and for you to be doing it. Shouldn’t Aunt Grace—or is it the housekeeper who usually sees to the hiring of servants?’

Araminta gave him a cross look. ‘Usually it is but since I am the one requiring a maid I shall have a say in who is employed to see to my needs. I am in London for the Season and will shortly be leaving for our home in Derbyshire,’ she said, addressing Lisette. ‘Would you mind?’

Lisette stared at her. Mind? Of course she wouldn’t mind. From what she could recall of the English geography lessons her father had taught her, Derbyshire was miles away from London—somewhere in the north. That would suit her perfectly. Colonel Montague had thought of her when he knew his sister was requiring a maid of her own and put her name forward—like a friend would. She looked at him. Her heart was beating hard in her chest. She wanted beyond anything to accept the post since it represented decency, security, respectability and a release from the gnawing fear and uncertainty of the past months, and going to Derbyshire would certainly solve her current predicament.

‘No,’ she said. ‘That would suit me very well.’

‘Still,’ Araminta said, suffering some discomfort when she was jostled from behind by an exuberant shopper, ‘Ross is quite right. This is hardly the place, but I think you will do very well. Can you come to the house?’

Lisette shook her head. ‘Unfortunately that’s not possible. There is so much to be done before my employer leaves for Brighton. I shall be fully occupied.’

‘Then come to the house when they have left. Ross will give you directions. Present yourself to the housekeeper and we will take it from there. I shall tell her to expect you.’ Tilting her head to one side she looked at Lisette with renewed interest. ‘Did you travel from India on the same ship as my brother, Miss Napier?’

‘No. I sailed on the Portland. Colonel Montague was on the Diligence—the first vessel of the fleet to dock in London.’

Araminta’s eyes opened wider, more and more intrigued by the second. ‘Then how did you meet?’

‘My horse panicked when he was taken off the ship and Miss Napier calmed him,’ Ross explained shortly, ‘which was immensely brave of her and for which I was truly grateful.’

‘Oh, I see. You are not afraid of horses, Miss Napier?’

‘Far from it,’ Ross quipped before Lisette could open her mouth. ‘Bengal’s a peppery beast at the best of times. She handled him admirably. But I cannot see that this has anything to do with Miss Napier being your maid, Araminta.’

Araminta looked at her brother and laughed. He really did look put out by her questioning. ‘Forgive my curiosity. You know what I’m like. Now are you ready, Ross, or is there something further you wish to say to Miss Napier before we leave?’

Ross turned his back on his sister to speak to Lisette, giving her directions to his aunt’s house in Bloomsbury. Meeting her gaze he realised that when he had met her before and looked into her eyes, he had thought them strange. Now he could not understand how he had ever thought that. He now saw those astonishing eyes as the perfect expression of her unique self. Now she seemed absolutely perfect.

His voice was laced with concern when he said, ‘Will you be all right? Would you like me to wait with you until Miss Arbuthnot appears?’

‘That will not be necessary. I see Miss Arbuthnot is in the process of purchasing some ribbons. You have been most generous, Colonel, and to be sure I am grateful that you saw fit to speak of me to your sister. If she considers me suitable for the post, then I shall appreciate the shelter, protection and stability of the position and to be valued for the qualities I know I possess.’

For a moment Ross didn’t move—he studied her with speculative blue eyes, pleasuring himself with the sight of her. ‘Which I am certain you have in abundance. I’m happy to have been of help.’ He reached out and took her right hand in his firm grip. ‘I’m so glad to have met you again, Miss Napier,’ he said, shaking her hand.

With her heart racing, Lisette sucked in a breath. For one definable instant she felt trapped. ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling utterly foolish. She was so aware of the touch of him, his skin against hers, the feel of her slim hand held in his broad grasp, and as she gazed into those penetrating blue eyes, she suddenly felt herself drawn to him as if by some overwhelming magnetic force.

She opened her mouth to tell him they had met before and to thank him for saving her life, then closed it again. As much as she wanted to she could not. A ribbon and lace shop was hardly the place for such an intimate revelation. And besides, to do so would bring about a change to their relationship. He would look upon her differently—he might regret the passion they had shared, feel ashamed, even, and decide against hiring her as his sister’s maid. She desperately needed the security of this employment and would do nothing to jeopardise that. In any case, it seemed he did not recognise her as the girl he had rescued, and in the grey of London colourful, vibrant India seemed half a lifetime away.

‘I shall look forward to seeing you if not in London, then in Derbyshire.’

Lisette could find no words to say, and merely bobbed a little curtsey and picked up her basket.

‘Good day, Miss Napier.’

Leaving the shop, Ross’s lips curved in a satisfied smile. He’d sensed the awareness that had flared at his touch, the quiver of consciousness she hadn’t been able to hide. Known among his contemporaries to be single-minded in pursuit of what he wanted, he was supremely confident that in no time at all he would succeed in tempting the delectable Lisette Napier into his bed.

As Ross approached the modest lodging house in Cheapside, the only thing that occupied his mind was that even after the horrors of war were over, the Montague family was in trouble. Ross feared that the arrival of this woman, Alicia, and her child into their midst, a woman who apparently called herself the Marchioness of Hatherton, had the power to shake the foundations of Castonbury Park to the core.

On seeing her, his first impression was that she did not remotely resemble the conventional image of a noblewoman, not even a lady of fashion. Her hair was fair and neatly arranged, her gown simple and unadorned, and over her arm she carried the freshly laundered clothes of an infant. But not even her plain clothing or the fact that she had probably laundered the clothes herself could make this woman look common. Petite and slender, she held herself with a dignity, a calm intelligence and a self-assurance he had not expected. Her hair framed a face of striking beauty; her skin was creamy and glowing with health. Her eyes were light blue, with long curling lashes.

‘I owe you an apology for turning up like this,’ Ross said, having thought that by not giving notice of his visit he would put her at a disadvantage. She seemed surprised and a little agitated by his sudden arrival and her eyes darkened with anxiety, but her generous mouth curved in a smile of welcome.

‘Not at all, Colonel Montague. You are most welcome. I thank you for coming to see me. I wrote to the duke informing him of the situation, explaining to him fully, in great detail, everything that happened before Jamie was killed.’

‘My uncle had already been notified of my cousin’s disappearance by the British authorities.’

‘So I understand. I wrote telling the duke of Crispin, our son, who is the duke’s heir now Jamie is dead. I made no claim to anything for myself in my letter, only that Jamie’s son is taken care of.’

Which showed great delicacy on her part, Ross thought with cynicism. But could the family reconcile themselves to the fact that the Jamie they knew, admired and loved would marry without their blessing?

‘I—I expected someone to contact me,’ Alicia went on hesitantly, ‘but … I did not know when or who it would be. Would you like some refreshment—tea, perhaps, or coffee?’

‘No, thank you. I do not wish to put you to any trouble.’

Moving towards the fire she sat rather nervously on the edge of a chair and motioned Ross to the chair opposite. He did so, trying to read her.

‘Is there anything more I can tell you?’ she asked, trying to ease the tension in her voice.

‘What was your reason for being in Spain?’

‘I was employed as companion to a lady whose husband was out there. Sadly he was killed in action and she returned to England. Having already met Jamie by that time I remained behind and we were married. If—if you’re wondering about my suitability, I was born into a respectable family. I was an only child—my mother died when I was quite young. My father was a clergyman in the village of Shafton in Wiltshire. Unfortunately when he died I was quite impoverished and had no choice other than to seek employment, which was how I came to be a lady’s companion.’

For the next few minutes, with tactful consideration, Ross tried to test her on little things he recalled about Jamie—his appearance, things about his past he might have told her. His questioning seemed to unsettle her and he noticed how she clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling.

‘You—you must forgive me, Colonel Montague, if I appear a trifle vague,’ she said. ‘You must understand that Jamie and I were not together very long. I confess that most of his background is still unknown to me. I know he has three brothers—Giles, Harry and Edward—and that they are all military men.’

‘Forgive me. My questions were impertinent.’

She seemed to relax. ‘It all happened so quickly. Jamie had no time to write to his family to inform them of our marriage. Sadly he never saw his son.’ She lifted her head and looked at her visitor, her gaze long and searching. This time there were tears in her eyes, and it seemed to Ross he read in them a profound sadness, tinged with reserve and pride.

She rose then and crossed over to a bureau, extracting some papers from a drawer. ‘Forgive me. I am not entirely myself these days. Emotion lies too near the surface. I expect you would like to see these.’ She handed the papers to Ross. ‘You will see that one is a letter from an army chaplain confirming our marriage.’

‘And the chaplain? Where is he now?’

‘He was killed during the battle at Toulouse.’

So, Ross thought as he scanned the document, thinking it looked authentic enough, the marriage could not be confirmed or denied in person. How plausible it all sounded. But was she telling him the truth?

The other document was a birth certificate.

‘Your son has been baptised, I see.’

‘Yes, here in London.’

The birth certificate only reflected what the chaplain had been told.

‘I … also have Jamie’s ring.’

Ross took it from her. It was old, gold and engraved with the crest of the Marquis of Hatherton, one of Jamie’s titles, proof that it was his.

‘May I ask how you come to have it in your possession?’ he enquired, handing it back to her. ‘Jamie’s body has not been found and I find it difficult to imagine he would have removed it from his finger. It holds great significance and meant a good deal to him. He would not have left it lying around.’

‘You are quite right to question me about it—and to be suspicious about how I come to have it,’ she said, seemingly not in the least offended by what his words implied, but the worried look Ross had seen in her eyes earlier was still there and he suspected she would be relieved when his visit was over. ‘But when Jamie and I married he was unable to obtain a wedding band so he gave me this until the time when he could give me a proper ring.’ Looking down at it a wistful smile touched her lips. ‘It was far too big for my finger,’ she said softly, ‘but he insisted that I should take it.’

‘You will understand,’ Ross said, ‘that your letter informing my uncle of your marriage to Jamie came as a shock to him—as it did to the whole family.’

‘I can understand that,’ she replied, her voice quite calm, without surprise, as if she read his thoughts correctly. ‘If they think I wrote the letter to stake my claim, they are mistaken. Jamie’s death was a great shock to me also. Before I wrote to the duke I had already come to the conclusion that you would all be perfectly right to dislike me, and to consider me either a usurper or an imposter.’ Taking the documents from him she placed them back in the bureau. ‘I assure you I am neither of those things, Colonel Montague.’ Her eyes held her visitor’s for an instant before looking away.

Ross wished he could say making pre-conclusions were stupid, but found that he could not. Yet there was no shadow in her eye, no tone in her voice, that gave him reason to believe she was anything other than what she claimed to be. Jamie’s wife.

‘Jamie did tell me something of his home and his family. I am looking forward to meeting them.’

‘Yes, the Montagues are a fine family.’

She bent her head, and Ross had a shrewd suspicion it was to hide a smile. ‘I am sure they are, Colonel. Do you think I could pay them a courtesy visit? Would that be appropriate?’

For the first time since entering the house, Ross smiled. ‘I am sure that could be arranged.’ He got up to take his leave. ‘I shall inform my cousins of our meeting. I am sure Giles will be contacting you.’

Ross had much to think about when he left the house. His mind was split in two conflicting directions. One direction made him wonder how much it had cost her to write to his uncle, the Duke of Rothermere—to make the swing from pride to humility.

For the first time since his cousin had gone missing, he found himself blaming Jamie for Alicia’s situation. If she was indeed his wife, then considering the kind of work he was doing, surely he could have taken some thought for the future. In war sudden death could come at any time to anyone. He must have known that by making no provision, he left his wife to his family’s mercy, to their charity. A letter home to his father would have spared all this.

The other direction reminded Ross that as a born sceptic, he wasn’t entirely convinced about the validity of Alicia’s claim. There were too many questions left to be answered for his comfort. It had been obvious from her manner and speech that her background was respectable, but was she clever enough and ambitious enough to raise herself from a lady’s companion to a marchioness and ultimately a duchess? Or was she as she seemed to be—not ambitious, and innocent of any deviousness?

Another thought cast doubt. The Jamie he knew would have written to his family informing them of his intentions—could he really have been so blinded by his love for Alicia it had robbed him of all rational thought?

As soon as the Arbuthnots had left for Brighton, dressing simply and neatly in her most suitable gown and bonnet, Lisette presented herself at Mannering House in Bloomsbury. She was greeted at the door by a stiff-faced footman in dark green livery. On requesting to see the housekeeper he showed her into a glittering entry hall and told her to wait.

Feeling terribly nervous her gaze scanned the impressive hall. Never had she seen the like. This house surpassed her wildest imaginings. In magnificent splendour a marble staircase rose gracefully to the upper floors. A vase of sweet-smelling blooms beautifully matched and arranged had been placed on a side table beneath a huge gilt mirror. Folding her gloved hands at her waist, her body stiffened when, on looking up, she saw Colonel Montague.

She studied him as he slowly descended to the hall—his broad, muscular shoulders, deep chest and narrow waist—before lifting her eyes to his darkly handsome face. In a linen shirt, tight-fitting riding breeches and polished tan boots, every inch of Ross Montague’s tall frame positively radiated raw power, tough, implacable authority and leashed sensuality.

For what seemed an eternity, she stood perfectly still, existing in a state of jarring tension, struggling to appear completely calm, clinging to her composure as if it were a blanket she could use to insulate herself against this man who disturbed her like no other. His gaze was steadily fixed on her and on reaching the bottom of the stairs he paused and they stared at each other for a second, with several yards of marble hallway still between them.

She watched him in fascination as he approached her at a leisurely pace. Her heart skipped a beat. He was certainly the stuff of which young ladies’ dreams were made.

Looking down at her, Ross noted how tense she looked. Her beauty caught him like an unexpected blow to the chest. ‘Miss Lisette Napier. How very nice to see you again. You had no difficulty finding the house?’

Her eyes were alight with pleasure and she glanced around her. ‘Not at all. It is a wondrous house,’ she said softly. ‘You might have warned me.’

‘If you think this is grand, then wait until you see Castonbury Park. So you are here to take up your position as my sister’s maid?’

The deep, velvet tones of his cultured voice made her stomach flutter. ‘If I am considered suitable,’ she replied, giving a slight curtsey.

He smiled slowly. His guarded stare travelled over her, noting the gentle flush mantling her cheeks. He didn’t think he would have much persuading to do to make her succumb to his desire. The young beauty was not the expert that he was at hiding her feelings.

‘Since I am to be the man who pays your wages, Miss Napier, your interview with Mrs Whitelaw is a mere formality. It is my considered opinion that you will be perfect for the post.’ He lifted one eyebrow slightly after his words, as though challenging her to question them.

Lisette’s knees knocked beneath her skirts, threatening to give out as she faced Ross Montague in all his male magnetism. ‘I want to thank you again for thinking of me for the position,’ she murmured. ‘It was … generous of you.’

‘Generous?’ he echoed, both raven eyebrows arching high.

‘Yes.’ She nodded fervently. Something in his stare made her fingertips tingle. The tingle crept up her arms with sweet warmth into her chest. She ignored the odd sensation with a will, lowering her gaze. ‘I am extremely grateful. When Mrs Arbuthnot told me I would have to look for work elsewhere—and at such short notice—unaccustomed as I am to this huge metropolis, I confess I found the prospect of going from door to door seeking another situation extremely daunting.’ Colonel Montague shocked her when he touched her gently under her chin. She caught her breath sharply as he tilted her face upward again and looked into his eyes.

Her gratitude appeared to entertain him—his chiselled face softened considerably as he held her gaze. ‘I am happy to be of service, Miss Napier.’

Her heart pounded at the light but sure pressure of his warm fingertips against her skin.

He smiled and lowered his hand to his side. ‘The Arbuthnots have left for Brighton?’

‘Yes, this very day.’

‘And you have brought your luggage with you?’

‘Yes, sir, although I do not possess much, as you see,’ she answered, indicating her one bag by the door.

‘One of the footmen will see it is carried to your room.’

Lisette showed her surprise. ‘But I have not yet met your housekeeper. I have my reference …’

‘Which I have no doubt will give you an excellent character, but I prefer to judge for myself.’ A woman seemed to appear from nowhere. ‘Ah, here is Mrs Whitelaw. I’ll leave you in her capable hands.’

Ross entered the hallowed rooms of White’s, the gentleman’s club in St James’s, where he had arranged to meet his cousin, Lord Harry Montague. The rooms were cloaked in the quiet, restrained ambience, redolent of the masculine smells of sandalwood, leather and cigars.

He scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on a tall, dramatically dark gentleman clothed in black. He stood watching the play at the hazard table. With no wish to join in, raising a brandy to his lips, the impression Harry gave off was of bored indifference. Lifting his head, the instant he saw his cousin, his handsome countenance lightened. The two strode towards each other and they met in the doorway to the card room, where they clasped arms, laughing.

‘Good to have you home, Ross,’ Harry said. ‘Back for good, are you?’

‘No—extended leave.’ Ross took Harry’s arm and led him to a table that offered privacy.

A worried shadow darkened Harry’s eyes as he seated himself across from Ross and thought about the strangely vague note asking him to meet his cousin here. After politely enquiring about the health of Araminta and their maternal aunt, Lady Grace Mannering, he sat back and waited for Ross to enlighten him as to the purpose of this meeting.

‘Glad to learn you made it back from Waterloo, Harry, but it was bad news about Edward,’ Ross said, ordering a couple of brandies.

The emotions Harry suffered over the death of his younger brother at Waterloo and carefully concealed from others were evident now in the tautness of his clenched jaw as he glanced at his cousin. ‘It is a tragedy felt by the whole family. It was one hell of a battle, but we finally got those bastards.’ Drinking deep of his brandy he looked at Ross. ‘Anything in particular you wanted to see me about? I got the feeling there was a sense of urgency about your note.’

Meeting Harry’s arrested stare, Ross hesitated and then he said gravely, ‘I’ve received a letter from Giles. He asked me to speak to you about Jamie.’

‘Jamie’s still listed as missing.’

‘I believe he disappeared when the army made the push for Toulouse. He wasn’t with the rest of them when they crossed the river. I understand he was swept away.’

‘Jamie is … was a strong swimmer.’

‘I imagine the current was too strong, Harry.’

‘It looks like it. You know how I always looked up to Jamie.’

‘I know. There is something else—a couple of things, in fact, that make it imperative that you go to Spain, to search for Jamie’s body, or at least learn what happened to him as quickly as possible.’ Harry gave him a questioning look when he hesitated, but waited patiently for him to go on. ‘The first concerns the Montague finances. Shortly before Waterloo your father gambled on Napoleon winning the war. He sold his government bonds and lost a substantial amount of money. He took out a loan which has to be repaid.’

Harry stared at him with something like incredulity and amazement. ‘Good Lord, I had no idea.’

‘You’ve been in Spain. How could you?’

This was true, but Harry remembered the terrible rumours that had ignited London when word reached the city that Wellington had lost the battle at Waterloo, causing panic in the financial markets and the stock exchange to crash. In their desperation, London stockholders had wanted out of their investments immediately, believing they would need the money to survive. The market panic was halted when news of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo arrived, but too late for the countless innocent people who had lost their life savings, and hundreds of reputable merchants and noble families had been ruined.

‘There are many outstanding debts,’ Ross went on. ‘The creditors are being held off for now, but the deadline for repayment draws ever closer. As you know Castonbury costs a ransom to run. As things stand, its income doesn’t match its expenses by a long way. The danger is that along with the contents of the house it will have to be mortgaged to pay off some of these debts.’

Harry’s skin whitened. He was clearly shaken by this. ‘Good Lord! As bad as that?’

‘According to Giles, it is. Your father’s grief at the loss of Edward and the situation with Jamie sent him into a decline, and the guilt he feels over his haste to sell off his shares is almost too painful for him to bear. As you know, when your mother died, as the firstborn and according to her marriage settlement, her immense fortune went to Jamie. Your father is banking on the money helping the family financially if proof can be found of Jamie’s death.’

‘Well, it will all go to Giles now. You said there were two things, Ross. You have told me the first. What is the second?’

‘A short time ago a letter was delivered to your father from an unknown woman. It was sent from Spain. The woman is called Alicia Montague. She claims to be Jamie’s widow.’

Ross waited through a long moment of awful suspense, knowing exactly where Harry’s thoughts would turn next. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion, as if the words were being gouged out of him.

‘What is known about her?’

‘On Giles’s request I have been to see her.’

‘What did you make out?’

‘She is an intelligent woman—she is also likeable and quite charming. She has a child she claims is Jamie’s heir, and she also has a letter from the chaplain who performed the marriage ceremony—and Jamie’s ring.’

‘But … that is preposterous. As the heir, on a matter of such importance, it would be so unlike Jamie to commit himself to marriage without consulting with or at least informing his family first.’

‘I agree. However, having met her she could very well be the type of woman Jamie would have fallen for.’

Harry felt a prickling along his nape. His instincts urged him to use extreme caution in making any judgement. ‘What do you think, Ross? Could this woman be an imposter?’

Ross sighed and shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know that. In fact, in all honesty I don’t know what to think, which is why the truth concerning the marriage must be determined—along with the facts concerning Jamie’s demise—before disaster strikes.’

‘And if it is proven that Jamie is dead and the child is indeed his son, then as heir the estate will pass to him on father’s death. And Mother’s money too.’

‘It looks like it. And should no body be found, then it will be seven years before an act of Parliament is passed officially declaring Jamie dead. In the meantime his finances will have to remain untouched. You’ve been to Spain, Harry. You have knowledge of the country, and being attached to the diplomatic service in London means you are ideally placed to go to there and search out the truth. We need hard evidence that Jamie is dead.’

Leaning his head against the back of his chair, Harry closed his eyes and drew a long, deep breath. Spain! He didn’t want to go back. Reminders of that time evoked painful, personal memories he preferred not to recall. And now Ross was asking him to go back.

‘You are right, Ross. I must return. If this woman’s claim cannot be disproved, then her son is heir. It could be devastating to the whole Montague dynasty. Dear Lord, Ross, how has it come to this? As youths we lived like princes, champagne was drunk as though it were water and guests invited to Castonbury Park to partake of the Montague’s hospitality were open-mouthed at the liberality and display. We hunted with the best of the county, the stables filled with expensive hunters, the kennels full of hounds—the hunt servants, the display of wealth. How is it possible that it’s in danger of disappearing? It cannot happen. We cannot let it happen. We have to stop it.’

Ross knew that Harry would do everything within his power to seek out the truth. The Montagues’ attitude to family was possessive and protective. They were a warrior clan defending what was theirs at all costs, their instinct being to hold on to what they had won. ‘What are your chances, Harry?’

Harry’s eyes narrowed into a slight frown and his features took on a pensive expression. ‘The answer is that I don’t know.’ His tone implied the chances were not extremely good, but then he had contacts in Spain who might be able to help him so it was not entirely hopeless. ‘But to find out what really happened to my brother is a mission I am duty-bound to undertake—and to find out what I can about this woman and if her claim is genuine. Leave it with me. I’ll make arrangements to leave for Spain. Unfortunately I have commitments to fulfil regarding my work here in London so I am unable to leave right away. I’ll write to Giles at Castonbury informing him when I can depart and again as soon as I have anything to report.’

Although Lisette had learned to contend with the varying moods and whims of Lottie Arbuthnot, this, she feared, was a different environment and a different mistress entirely. She had complete care of Miss Araminta’s wardrobe and it was her duty to clean and repair any garment that needed it. She attended her toilet and arranged her hair—a task Lisette was taught by the maid who had attended Araminta before Lisette took up her position.

Her young mistress was a leading belle of the ton, and to Lisette’s despair she was unpredictable and problematical. But she was also warm and open and there was something about her that Lisette liked.

She had completed her first week and was arranging Miss Araminta’s hair when there was a knock on the door. Meeting Lisette’s eyes in the mirror, Araminta gave her a knowing smile.

‘That will be Ross—impatient as ever.’ She bade him enter.

Contrary to Araminta’s comment, Ross sauntered in and made himself comfortable in a chair facing his sister. He’d made it a practice to visit her in her room each day, and although he kept his visits brief, he found himself nevertheless looking forward to them because it gave him the opportunity to see Miss Napier. Out of uniform, Colonel Montague was the very epitome of an elegant gentleman. With his dark hair brushed back and shining, he was the image of relaxed elegance in his black and white evening clothes and one well-shod foot propped casually atop the opposite knee.

‘I thought I’d come and see what’s keeping you, Araminta. We’re expected at the Bosworths’ in half an hour.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry, Ross. As soon as Lisette has finished arranging my hair I’ll be ready.’

‘I’m sure they’ll understand if we’re a bit late,’ he said, content to sit and observe the delectable Miss Napier put the finishing touches to his sister’s toilet. Even his expression was casual.

Looking at Lisette through the mirror Araminta eyed her in watchful curiosity, noticing her wandering attention and the soft flush that had risen to her cheeks when Ross had entered. She wondered what lay behind her maid’s lovely face, for she really was exceptionally beautiful and in the right clothes she would be stunning.

‘Tell me, Lisette, do you speak any other languages besides English?’

‘I speak Urdu and Hindustani,’ she answered, aware of Colonel Montague’s eyes observing her every move and willing herself not to think of it. ‘My parents taught me well and were quite insistent that I learn the language in order to understand the people and the culture of India.’

‘That must have been difficult.’

‘Not really. I was young so it came naturally.’ Suddenly she felt like disappearing into the floor, for her announcement might have sounded like boasting and probably branded her a bluestocking in her mistress’s eyes. But it had done no such thing. It had only increased her mistress’s growing respect for this unusual maid of hers.

‘Do you play the pianoforte and sing too?’ Ross asked with a teasing smile.

Lisette returned his smile through the mirror and said, ‘Oh, no. I can’t do either. I gave up the piano in frustration, and when I opened my mouth to sing, to my immense relief my mother covered her ears and gave up on me.’

‘And do you like working here, Lisette?’ Araminta asked.

‘Of course. I consider myself extremely fortunate to be working for such a fine family.’

‘I am glad my brother brought you to my attention.’

‘Our meeting on the docks was brief. I’m surprised he remembered me at all.’

‘I’m not. You’re very pretty, Lisette. Exceptionally so, and never have I seen hair so dark as to be almost black—in fact, I do believe it is. It’s a beautiful shade—exotic, even, the perfect frame for your features and creamy skin. Do you not agree, Ross?’

Caught completely off guard, Ross said cautiously, ‘Forgive me, Araminta, I’m not sure what you mean?’

‘Either you’re extremely unobservant or else your eyesight is afflicted. I was talking about Lisette’s hair. It’s quite extraordinary, don’t you agree?’

‘I am sure Colonel Montague has many things to think about other than my hair, Miss Araminta,’ Lisette remarked. ‘It is black and quite ordinary, which I do not find in the least exciting and is a common shade in India.’

‘You don’t like it,’ Ross summarized.

‘Not really,’ she answered, touching Araminta’s light brown tresses with something like envy in her eyes, ‘but one must be satisfied with what one is born with. I would imagine that living in India and seeing nothing but dusky skins and black-haired natives day in and day out you would find monotonous, Colonel Montague.’

‘Not at all—quite the opposite, in fact,’ he replied, his gaze shifting to that exotic hair twisted and coiled neatly about Miss Napier’s well-shaped head, with not a hair out of place. His fingers ached to release it from the pins and to let the heavy mass tumble in waves over her shoulders and down her back, to run his fingers through the tresses and to smell its fragrance.

It began to register on Lisette that the expression on his face wasn’t dislike at all. In fact, he really did look almost admiring—and she saw something primitive flare in his eyes, which stirred her alarm and which she chose to ignore. Meeting his gaze she favoured him with an irrepressible sidewise smile. ‘You mean you really do like it?’

Ross liked it. He liked every damn thing about her. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to thrust his sister out of the room and snatch Miss Napier into his arms, to kiss the smiling mischief from her lips until she was clinging to him, melting with desire. She’d indicated a feminine concern about her hair, then calmly accepted it. This gave him the distinct impression that pretence and pretension were completely foreign to her, and that she was refreshingly unique in those ways and probably many other delightful ways as well.

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin, continuing to watch her from beneath hooded lids. ‘That is what I said.’

‘And my brother’s opinion matters,’ Araminta said smoothly, regarding Ross with fascinated disbelief. It was time for them to leave for their appointment, but there was something about the undercurrents flowing between her brother and her maid, something so very strange about everything, that she was reluctant to break the mood.

‘I am glad you think so, Araminta, since it is my opinion that Miss Napier is in need of some new dresses as befits her position—although it would be more pleasing to the eye to see her decked out in satin and lace.’ He studied Miss Napier surreptitiously. Beauty was moulded into every flawlessly sculpted feature of her face, but her allure went much deeper than that. It was in her voice and her graceful movements. There was something inside her that made her sparkle and glow, and she only needed the proper background and situation and elegant clothes to complement her alluring figure and exquisite features.

‘Really, Ross,’ Araminta chided lightly, ‘it’s very ungentlemanly of you to remark on that.’

A lazy smile transformed his harsh features. ‘Surely I haven’t done anything to give you the impression that I’m a gentleman!’

It was the exaggerated dismay in his voice that brought a smile to Araminta’s lips. ‘Nothing at all, and if you must know a trip to the modistes to purchase Lisette some new clothes is imminent—but ball gowns are quite out of the question.’

‘Of course they are,’ Lisette said quietly. ‘It’s quite ridiculous to contemplate such a thing—although Colonel Montague has my gratitude.’

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘For what?’

Those candid eyes lifted to his in the mirror, searching, delving, and Ross had the fleeting impression that with time she might see straight into his devious soul. She obviously hadn’t gotten his true measure, however, because a warm smile touched those soft lips of hers.

‘Why, for providing me with this opportunity.’

Her gratitude only made him feel guilty about everything, more of a disgusting fraud, for letting her think of him as some gallant white knight, instead of the black-hearted villain who had every intention of luring her into his bed.

Having watched the byplay between Ross and her maid and quite enthralled by this teasingly flirtatious side of her brother, Araminta’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Ross never forgets a pretty face, Lisette. I’m quite certain that if I hadn’t mentioned that I was in need of a maid, he would have concocted some other means of renewing your acquaintance.’




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