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Yes, Imogen decided, just as dawn was breaking, she would take Lord Keddinton up on his offer of assistance. With all the connections he was supposed to have, he was bound to be able to find her a post somewhere as a governess. And deal with her uncle’s objections. It would mean confiding in him something of what had happened. And her fears of creating havoc in the Herriard household. But somehow, she sensed that he was a man well used to receiving—and keeping—secrets.
She was not sure exactly when she would be able to arrange an interview with Lord Keddinton, though. She yawned. Nor how long it would take him to arrange for her departure from London.
The next morning, when she found a note from Rick beside her breakfast plate, her heart leapt into her throat. Had he challenged the viscount to a duel after all? With trembling fingers, she broke the seal, and discovered that all he wanted to tell her was that Monty was arranging a trip to the theatre for that very evening. With immense relief, she passed the note to her aunt.
‘A trip to the theatre?’ Her aunt regarded her doubtfully while Imogen fiddled nervously with her teaspoon. ‘Are you sure you are quite up to it? You had to leave Lady Carteret’s early last night. And you still look a little wan. If your head is still paining you…’
‘I am feeling much better, thank you, Aunt. And providing I have a rest this afternoon, I am sure I shall be quite well by this evening.’
She so wanted to see Rick and assure herself he was not going to get mixed up with the vile viscount. And he was not going to be in the country for very long.
‘This Monty person, whose box it is, does he come from a good family?’
‘Rick says so, Aunt. It was his curricle Rick borrowed to take me driving in the park.’
‘Must be well-to-do, if his family has a box. And his address?’
‘Hanover Square.’
‘Hmm. I suppose it can do no harm, so long as I accompany you.’
Imogen exhaled the breath she had been holding. If she had to go out anywhere tonight, she would feel far safer in the theatre, with Rick and his friends, than at some Ton gathering where she might run into the viscount again! And as the day wore on, she began to wonder if Rick’s notion—to match her up with a serving soldier who could remove her from England altogether—might not have some merit.
It would not be the match they had hoped for, but surely her aunt and uncle would prefer to tell people she was married, rather than working as a governess in some rural backwater?
And most of Rick’s friends, she suspected, would be younger sons from the kind of families that were not likely to care very much about scandals that had happened twenty years ago.
It might work! If only, she thought despondently, she could induce one of them to propose to her. She did not have much confidence in her own powers of seduction. But she only had to drop a hint to Pansy that there was likely to be a special gentleman at the theatre that night for the girl’s eyes to light up with missionary zeal. She pulled out the evening gown whose bodice was so low, Imogen had never agreed to wear it before. Even now, she eyed it with some trepidation. Then lifted her chin. Desperate straits called for desperate measures. Besides, the gown could not be as shocking as she considered it, or her aunt would never have purchased it for her.
It was not long before she was standing before the mirror, staring in shocked awe at the exposed mounds of her breasts and the shadowy outline of her legs through the diaphanous skirts. She flicked open her fan and looked at her reflection over the top of it, in the coquettish way she had seen other girls employ. Could she really bring herself to simper up at some poor unsuspecting gentleman like that?
Bother the viscount for forcing her into a situation where she felt obliged to resort to such stratagems! She snapped her fan shut and tossed it onto the bed as Pansy held out yet another brand-new pair of evening gloves. The ones she had worn the night before had been beyond repair. Ladies’ gloves, she sighed, were just not designed to withstand bouts of fisticuffs.
Only Rick’s response, when he saw her descending the stairs, managed to ease her conscience somewhat.
‘You look as pretty as a picture!’ he declared, bussing her cheek.
‘Really?’ Imogen flushed with pleasure. The gown could not be too revealing, then, or her brother would have certainly let her know. Of course, she did not really believe she was as attractive as he had implied. She was not a beauty, like her mother. But she knew she was not an antidote, either. She smiled wryly. By the end of the evening her hair would most likely have escaped the bandeau into which Pansy had restrained it, and would be rioting all over the place. But at least she could start the evening out feeling as though she looked like a fashionably eligible young lady.
‘Here, let me help you on with your cloak,’ he said, taking it from the footman who was hovering with it over his arm.
‘Your aunt about?’ he murmured into her ear as he draped the fur-lined mantle round her shoulders.
‘She will be down shortly, I expect.’ Her conscience niggled at her again. Would she be feeling so glad to be covered up, if her gown was not verging on the indecent?
‘Good. Wanted a word.’ He tugged her into the drawing room and pushed the door to. ‘It’s like this.’ He looked briefly uncomfortable. Then he took a deep breath and plunged in. ‘Glad you’ve made an extra effort tonight. With the dress, and the fancy thing in your hair, and all that. Because, you see, I was talking to Monty last night, and the upshot is, he’s willing to help you. Find a husband that is. The fellows he’s rounded up for tonight are both on the lookout for the kind of wife who would accept they have careers in the Army.’
‘He…what?’ She sat down quickly on the nearest chair. ‘Are you r-roasting me?’
‘No! Would not make a jest of a thing like that! He said he feels as though he knows you, through all those letters you used to write to me, and that you deserve to find happiness with a man who will appreciate you, rather than some fashionable—’ he broke off, looking guiltily towards the door, through which her aunt might enter at any moment. ‘You ain’t angry with me, with us, are you? Just trying to help.’
‘No, oh, no, I am not in the least angry,’ she exclaimed as she gave him a fierce hug. ‘How can I thank you! Best of my brothers!’
His cheeks flushed. ‘It is nothing. Sure Gerry would do something, if he were here. So would Nick, if you could get his nose out of his books long enough to alert him to the fact that all’s not right with you.’
No, she sighed. Neither of them would ever be likely to stir themselves on her behalf. Rick was the best of her brothers. He had always been the one to check her over for broken bones when she fell out of a tree, while Nick would cluck his tongue impatiently and Gerry would roar with laughter.
Before either of them could say another word, they heard her aunt coming down the stairs. They went to join her in the hall, and embarked on the kind of light-hearted chatter suitable for a party bound on an evening of pleasure. All the way to the theatre, she felt as though she was floating on air. This was the first stroke of good luck she’d had in an age. Even if the gentlemen she met tonight did not take to her, it sounded as though Monty would be prepared to help her find the kind of man she could enjoy being married to. Perhaps, he might even take one look at her, and…Her heart skipped a beat. How wonderful it would be if Monty himself, the hero of all her girlhood dreams, took a shine to her. If he proposed and whisked her away from London, just when she was most in need of rescue!
She could not stop smiling, all the way up the stairs to the upper tiers. Though her heart was beating so fast that it made her feel a little shaky. By the time they reached the door to Monty’s private box, she was clinging to Rick’s arm for all she was worth.
And it was just as well. For the first person she saw, when the door swung open, was none other than Viscount Mildenhall. He was lounging against one of the pillars that supported the gilded ceiling. Very soberly dressed, for him, in a dark coat, plain waistcoat and only one ring adorning his little finger.
The castles she had been building in the air came crashing down about her in ruins. However much Monty might want to help her, the Viscount would prevent any man he considered a friend from getting entangled with her!
Viscount Mildenhall met her horrified gaze with lowered brows. Then he looked at Rick. Then at the way she was clinging to his arm. Then back at Rick.
‘Rick,’ he drawled, pushing himself off the pillar and coming forward with his hand outstretched. ‘Welcome. And this is?’ His eyes flicked to Imogen again, his features now fixed in an expression of polite enquiry.
‘My sister!’ said Rick, as though it must be obvious.
‘Your sister,’ he repeated, looking at her long and hard.
Imogen bristled. What was he doing acting as though he was the host tonight, the arrogant pig! It was Monty who had invited them! And then, to her horror, Rick said, ‘She has been really looking forward to meeting you properly, at last.’
Imogen felt heat flood to her cheeks. If that was not enough to destroy her reputation in this man’s eyes, she did not know what would. He had already accused her of pursuing him. Though nobody else seemed aware anything was wrong, she could tell from the way his eyes glittered he thought she was so brassy she had even roped her brother into her schemes.
She lifted her chin and glared at him. ‘I was not in the least keen to meet you, Viscount Mildenhall. My brother told me he was to introduce me to an exofficer from his regiment.’ She scanned the other occupants of the box again, wondering which one of the young gentlemen it could be. Neither of them looked in the least like the Monty of her imagination.
‘You already know each other?’ Rick asked, glancing down at her in surprise.
‘We have crossed each other’s paths, once or twice. But we have never been formally introduced,’ said the viscount.
‘Well, then, Monty, let me do the honours. This is my sister, Midge. Well, my stepsister, Miss Imogen Hebden, I suppose I should say, to be perfectly accurate. And her maternal aunt, Lady Callandar.’
‘M-Monty?’ Imogen’s eyes swivelled back to Viscount Mildenhall and widened in horror. ‘You are Monty? B-but—’
At exactly the same time, Lady Callandar rounded on her. ‘This is your brother’s friend Monty?’
Finally, even Rick picked up on the fact there was something amiss.
‘Oh, ah, well, suppose I should have explained he’s Viscount Mildenhall, nowadays.’
‘The family name is Claremont, as I am sure you are aware, madam,’ he said to Lady Callandar, bowing stiffly from the waist. ‘My brother officers still tend to use the name by which they have always known me. I started off as Lieutenant Monty, then Captain Monty, and so on. In Captain Bredon’s defence, we have not seen each other since I took the title after my older brother died last year.’
Lady Callandar began to talk to him. About what, Imogen did not know. There was a funny roaring sound in her ears.
Rick led her to a chair at the front of the box, then helped her off with her cloak, while Viscount Mildenhall performed the same office for her aunt.
She felt naked without her cloak. Even more so when the viscount’s eyes swept over the curves of her exposed bosom, reminding her of the way his hands had stroked there, to such devastating effect, only the night before. He looked up, then, and their eyes met.
Imogen gasped at what she saw in them. He was remembering too!
He had raised his hand to his jaw, and was fingering his lower lip, drawing her horrified attention to the raised scab, and the purplish bruise she had put there.
She tore her eyes from his and gazed dizzily down into the stalls below. She had never been scared of heights before, but now she felt as though she was teetering right on the brink of an abyss.
All the viscount had to do was give her one little push, and she would go plunging down into social ruin.
Chapter Four
Nothing on the stage could hold Imogen’s attention. There was far too much drama playing out right there in the darkened box.
After the initial shock of meeting her, the viscount recovered his customary aplomb remarkably swiftly, introducing her to his other guests—the men she now had no hope of marrying—as though nothing was amiss.
Only she noticed something odd in the way he did not give her full name, but instead presented her as ‘The sister of my good friend, Captain Alaric Bredon,’ before correctly introducing her aunt as Lady Callandar.
He did it to prevent them knowing Rick was related to the scandalous Miss Hebden, no doubt. And she was, reluctantly, grateful to him.
Though he was still furious with her. She could tell by the way the air between them seemed to positively thrum whenever she glanced his way.
When the curtain fell for the interval and everyone rose and began to chat to each other, he took the opportunity to draw her aside.
‘You will not say one word to your brother about what has passed between us,’ he bit out. ‘He has introduced you to me, in all good faith, believing you to be the innocent young creature who grew up with him in Staffordshire. He has no idea how much you have changed, and I have no intention of being the man to disabuse him.’
She felt an overwhelming sense of relief that he was going to put aside his desire for vengeance because of his friendship with Rick.
‘Thank you,’ she breathed. ‘I would not have Rick hurt for the world. Indeed, I would never have come tonight and put him in this situation, had I known that you were Monty.’ She took a good, long look at him then, riddled with confusion. She would never have guessed that Monty could be the same man as Viscount Mildenhall. The Monty Rick had written about had been dashing, courageous and honourable. Whatever could have happened, to turn him into this vain, rude, slimy…
His eyes narrowed under her scrutiny. She wondered if he could tell what she was thinking about him. But then he nodded and said, ‘I believe you. For my part, I never connected the sister Rick described to me with the Miss Hebden I know. Why is your name Hebden—’ he frowned ‘—and not Bredon?’
‘Because Rick’s father did not care to adopt me and give me his name.’ She stared past him, to where Rick was chatting happily with one of the other young men. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her aunt quizzing the other. ‘Well,’ she added bitterly, ‘I should think you can understand that. You, above all people, know the kind of things that are said about my parents.’
When they all took their seats again, after the interval was over, Imogen found to her dismay that she had been manoeuvred into a chair next to Viscount Mildenhall.
He ignored her for the entire second act with magnificent disdain. Every time she glanced up at him, his face was turned towards the stage, his whole demeanour indicating that the actors were far more interesting than the presumptuous female who had inveigled her way into his box.
While, to her growing annoyance, Imogen could think of nothing but him. Even though he was a despicable worm, being able to feel the heat of his body—so close to hers—and smell the indefinable scent of him made her whole being thrum with awareness. She could not stop thinking about the way his tongue had swept into her mouth, the way he had held her, dominated her. It made her stomach turn over and her heart speed up. When she knew a well-brought-up young lady would feel nothing but revulsion for a man who had treated her so insultingly, it was galling to admit that merely sitting next to him in the dark was making her hanker for more of the same.
She squirmed in her chair, a seething mass of insecurity and thwarted longing, counting the minutes until she could escape from the arrogant, handsome brute lounging in the chair next to hers. As soon as the last curtain came down, she leapt to her feet and made for the sanctuary of Rick’s side.
There was the inevitable hiatus before they could leave, during which Viscount Mildenhall came across to where she was standing clinging to Rick’s arm, and said, ‘I shall call to take you for a drive tomorrow, Miss Hebden.’
Imogen’s heart sank. The expression on his face was so forbidding she could see that while he tooled his vehicle round the park he fully intended to give her a stern lecture upon her manners and morals, before warning her to forget any notion she might have of marrying any of his friends!
But she would have to endure the scold, if that was what it took to get him to abandon any plans he had to ruin her socially. And it seemed, from what he had just said, that he might let her off the hook, for the sake of his friendship with Rick.
‘Very well,’ she said, lifting her chin defiantly. ‘I shall be ready.’
Rick looked at her quizzically while he escorted her down the stairs to the exit. ‘Is something wrong, Midge? Did you not hit it off with Monty? I must say, he seemed quite taken with you.’
Yes, the viscount was a consummate actor! She knew what he thought of her. He had made it quite plain. And yet tonight, with Rick watching, he had behaved like a perfect gentleman, according her consideration and courtesy. Even the way he had occasionally looked at her, with an intensity that made her feel like a specimen under a microscope, could be interpreted by others as genuine interest in her as a woman.
‘Did he?’ she managed airily. ‘I cannot think why. When he is so handsome I dare swear he could have any female for the crooking of his finger.’ She dived into the waiting coach with more haste than grace, and flung herself into the seat corner.
Rick poked his head through the open door. ‘But he is calling on you tomorrow…’
‘I am sure it is out of courtesy to you, Rick,’ she muttered, tossing her reticule onto the seat next to her, and bending to extricate the flounce of her skirt, which had caught in the heel of her shoe. ‘There is nothing about me that would attract a man like him.’
‘Oh, I would not be so sure,’ said Rick thoughtfully. ‘He said a lot of very complimentary things about you when I met him in Limmer’s last night. Said he felt as though he knew you well, through the letters you used to write me. Said any man would be lucky to get a girl like you for a wife. A girl with integrity and loyalty and…’
That had been before he found out her name was Hebden, though. She shook her head, saying firmly, ‘I am not at all the kind of girl a future earl ought to marry.’ As if to prove her point, the flounce parted from both her heel and the body of her skirt simultaneously.
‘Well, that was what I thought at first,’ Rick mused. ‘For he only said he was going to help you find a husband. But once he clapped eyes on you, he did not let any of the other fellows come near you!’
No, he had not. But it was not because he felt anything like admiration for her! With fingers that were shaking with chagrin, she tied the trailing length of lace into a knot so that it would not trip her up when she got out of the coach later.
‘You know, Midge,’ Rick persisted, ‘since your aunt has had the dressing of you—’ he ran his eyes down her slender frame ‘—you look far prettier than you used to.’
Imogen managed to raise a wan smile. In truth, his blind refusal to look at her as other men did warmed her to the core. ‘When I was running about the fields in your cast-off breeches, with my hair in plaits, you mean?’
Rick grinned. ‘With your front tooth missing and a black eye from falling out of a tree. Monty should have seen you then!’ He laughed.
Imogen laughed too, but she could not think how Rick did not hear how false it sounded.
He would be so disappointed if he ever found out what his friend really thought of her.
But then, she sighed, slumping into the corner, Rick was only the latest in a long line of people she had disappointed, one way or another. Before she had become such a trial to her aunt and uncle, she had proved unworthy of inclusion in Hugh Bredon’s will. But worst of all, the deepest hurt she had to live with was knowing that she had not even been of any great comfort to her own mother.
Amanda had spent all her life in mourning. She had found some compensation in nurturing Hugh’s boys, but now it dawned on Imogen, on a fresh wave of pain: Imogen had survived babyhood, grown and thrived, yet had never been any consolation at all. Having a mere daughter had never made up for Amanda’s loss of her sons.
Imogen rubbed at a tension spot forming between her brows. Seeing how much her mother had loved Hugh’s sons, had she tried to be just like them, so that her mother would love her too? Not that it had done her any good. Her mother had focussed all her attention on them, even making Imogen promise, while she had nursed her during her final illness, that she would take care of them in her stead.
And now here she was, dressed by her aunt to resemble a young lady of fashion. With everyone expecting her to marry well. While inside she was still that girl Rick had just described. A scruffy, grubby, unwanted by-product of a loveless marriage. Desperately hoping somebody might take to her just as she was.
She almost groaned aloud. She had spent so long trying to prove she was just as good as a boy, that she had never learned properly how to be a girl. It was not just the viscount she repelled. She had already learned, from the year she had spent observing the interaction between the sexes in polite Society, that no man would want to marry such an awkward female. She may as well accept it. She had always been a misfit, and now it looked as though she always would be.
Her aunt bustled up to the carriage then, so Rick was obliged to stand aside.
‘What a stroke of luck!’ her aunt beamed as soon as the door closed and they were on their way. ‘That Viscount Mildenhall should turn out to be a friend of Captain Bredon’s. And that he is prepared to take you out for a drive tomorrow. Only think what this will mean!’
‘Aunt, please, do not get your hopes up too high. It is just a drive in the park—’
‘Yes, but with Viscount Mildenhall! Everyone will know he has forgiven you for the Champagne Incident. If he could, perhaps, be persuaded to stand up with you, for a dance or two, as well—which he might since he seems on such good terms with Captain Bredon—well, it will do wonders for your social standing!’
Imogen sucked in a sharp breath. This was an aspect to the case she had not considered. Just being seen driven about the park by the viscount would indeed be something of a coup. Her aunt would make sure everyone knew about his friendship with her stepbrother. Perhaps being considered a connection of his would outweigh the handicap of her heritage.
For once, she entered wholeheartedly into her aunt’s enthusiastic preparations for the drive the next day. So much hinged on persuading Viscount Mildenhall to put aside his animosity towards her.
They had both noticed that the viscount seemed to favour the colour green; determined to curry favour with him, Lady Callandar dressed Imogen in a carriage dress and topcoat in that colour.
Her aunt regarded the finished effect with pursed lips.
‘My chinchilla furs,’ she said, snapping her fingers at Pansy, who ran to fetch them. ‘You want to look as though you have every right to be riding next to a man renowned for the elegance of his attire,’ she finished, draping the luxurious furs round Imogen’s shoulders.
Of course, when Viscount Mildenhall arrived, he completely eclipsed her, in his voluminous driving coat, fastened with enormous mother-of-pearl buttons, and a curly brimmed beaver hat set at a rakish angle on his golden locks. But at least she knew she looked remarkably elegant, for once, rather than the hoyden he thought her!