The Society Catch

‘How many other experiences do you think you might sample out of interest? You are playing with fire!’

‘Nonsense!’ Joanna got to her feet shakily. She felt as if her legs were going to give way at any moment, and she grabbed hold of the chair-back.

‘Nonsense? Joanna, I do not believe for one moment that you have any idea of the danger you are in when you trustingly let yourself be kissed. And don’t stand there looking at me like that with those big hazel eyes: there is just so much a man can take.’

‘You are trying to scare me for my own good,’ she retorted. ‘I don’t believe for one moment I am in any danger from you, Giles. I trust you.’

Giles stood looking at the defiant, piquant face. Her eyes were huge in the firelight, and the shadows flickered over her mouth, swollen from the pressure of his. Her hair fell like black silk, rising and falling with her rapid breathing, and she said she trusted him!

Praise for

Louise Allen

The Earl’s Intended Wife

“Well-developed characters…an appealing sensual

and emotionally rich love story.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

“I liked the unusual location of Malta in this sweet book.

I look forward to what Ms. Allen will write next.”

—Rakehell

“A sweet romance and an engaging story…

the sort of book to get lost in on a lazy afternoon.”

—All About Romance

The Society Catch

Louise Allen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Cover

Praise

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Copyright

Chapter One

The encounter that led directly to Colonel Gregory being disinherited by his father and to Miss Joanna Fulgrave running away from home in disgrace took place at the Duchess of Bridlington’s dress ball on the sixth of June.

It was a very splendid occasion. As her Grace fully intended, it succeeded in both marking the approaching end of the Season and ensuring that any other function held between then and the dispersal of the ton from town seemed sadly flat in comparison.

Joanna progressed as gracefully to the receiving line outside the ballroom at Bridlington House as the necessity to halt on every step and to guard her skirts from being trodden upon allowed. Beside her Mrs Fulgrave mounted the famous double staircase with equal patience. The Fulgrave ladies had ample opportunity to exchange smiles and bows with friends and acquaintances, caught up as they all were in the slow-moving crush.

As always, mothers of less satisfactory débutantes observed her progress, and in undertones reminded their daughters to observe Miss Fulgrave’s impeccable deportment, her exquisitely correct appearance and her perfectly modulated and charming manner.

If Joanna had not combined these enviable virtues with a natural warmth and friendliness, the young ladies so addressed would have long since begun to dislike her heartily. As it was, they forgave her for her perfections while their mothers poured balm upon each other’s wounds with reminders that this was Miss Fulgrave’s second Season now drawing to a close and she was still unattached.

That was a matter very much upon her fond mama’s mind. No one, Mrs Fulgrave knew, could hope for a more dutiful, lovely, conformable daughter as Joanna. Yet not one, but seven, eligible gentlemen had presented themselves to Mr Fulgrave, were permitted to pay their addresses to Joanna and went away, their pretensions dismissed kindly but firmly. In every case Miss Joanna was unable, or unwilling, to provide her harassed parent with any explanation, other than to say she did not think the gentleman would suit.

However, that very morning Joanna had refused to receive the son of her mama’s dearest school friend, a gentleman of such excellent endowments of birth, fortune and looks that her father had rapidly moved from astonishment to incredulous displeasure and Joanna discovered the limits of parental tolerance at last.

‘How can you say you will refuse Rufus?’ her mother had demanded. ‘What can I say to Elizabeth when she discovers you have spurned her son out of hand?’

‘I hardly know him,’ Joanna had said placatingly, only to meet with a snort from her parent. ‘You hardly know him: why, you said yourself that you had not met his mama for over ten years.’

‘You met Rufus Carstairs when you were six.’

‘He pulled my pigtails and took my ball.’

‘When he was ten! Really Joanna, to turn down the Earl of Clifton because of some childish squabble is beyond everything foolish.’

Joanna had bitten her lip, her eyes downcast as she searched for some acceptable excuse. To tell the truth, the reason why she would have turned down anyone from a Duke to the richest nabob, was quite out of the question, but she was hesitant to wound her mama with the specific reason why she would not have considered Rufus Carstairs in any case.

‘Well?’

‘I do not like him, Mama, really I do not. There is something in his eyes when he looks at me…’ Her voice trailed off. Those penetrating blue eyes were the only clue to something burning inside the polite, elegant exterior that filled her with a profound mistrust. ‘It is as though I have no clothes on,’ she finally blurted out.

‘Joanna! Of all the improper things…I can only hope that your natural innocence has led you to mistake the perfectly understandable ardour of a young man in love for something which I sincerely trust you know nothing about!’ Mrs Fulgrave had broken off to compose herself. ‘Has he said anything to put you to the blush? No. Has he acted in any improper manner? No, I thought not. This is another of your whims and your papa and I are reaching the end of our patience with you.’

Pausing yet again on the stairs, Joanna closed her eyes momentarily at the memory of her mother’s voice, normally so calm and indulgent. ‘You could not hope for a more eligible or flattering offer. I suggest you think very seriously indeed about your position. If you think that your papa can afford to support you in an endless round of dances and parties and new dresses while you amuse yourself toying with the affections of decent young men, you are much mistaken.’

‘Mama, I am not toying with Lord Clifton’s affections,’ she had protested. ‘I hardly know him—he cannot love me! I have not seen him since we were children…’ But her mama had swept out, throwing back over her shoulder the observation that it was fortunate that the earl would not be able to attend the ball that evening and risk a rebuff before Joanna had a chance to come to her senses.

They climbed another two steps and came to a halt again. Mrs Fulgrave exchanged bows with Lady Bulstrode, taking the opportunity to study her daughter’s calm profile. What a countess she would make, if only she would come to her senses!

Long straight black hair coiled at the back of her head and held by pearl-headed pins; elegantly arched brows, which only she knew were the result of painful work with the tweezers; wide hazel eyes, which magically changed from brown to green in extremes of unhappiness or joy, and a tall, slender figure. Mrs Fulgrave could never decide whether Joanna’s white shoulders or her pretty bosom were the best features of her figure, but both were a joy to her modiste.

Madame de Montaigne, as the modiste in question styled herself, had excelled with tonight’s gown. An underskirt of a pale almond green was covered by a creamy gauze with the hem thickly worked with faux pearls. The bodice crossed in front in a mass of intricate pleating, which was carried through to the full puffed sleeves, and the back dipped to a deep V-shape, which showed off Joanna’s white skin to perfection. Her papa had presented her with pearl earrings, necklace and bracelets for her recent twentieth birthday and those completed an ensemble that, in Mrs Fulgrave’s eyes, combined simple elegance with the restraint necessary for an unmarried lady.

It was no wonder that the earl, who could hope to engage the interest of any young lady who took his fancy, should be so taken with the daughter of his mother’s old friend. He had seen her again for the first time as adults on his return from a continental tour where he had been acquiring classical statuary for what was already becoming known as a superb art collection. Joanna might not be a brilliant match, but she was well bred, well connected, adequately dowered and lovely enough to turn any man’s head.

Joanna herself was engaged, not in wondering how her gown compared with anyone else’s, nor in dwelling on that morning’s unpleasantness, but in discreetly scanning the throng on both wings of the staircase for one particular man. She had no idea whether he would be there tonight, or even if he was in the country, yet she hoped that he would be, as she had at every function she had attended since her come-out more than two years ago.

The man Joanna was looking for was her future husband, Colonel Giles Gregory, and for his sake she had spent almost three years preparing herself to be the ideal wife for a career soldier. A career soldier, moreover, who would one day become a general, would be elevated far above his own father’s barony and would doubtless, like the Duke of Wellington, become a diplomat and statesman of renown.

She had fallen in love with Giles Gregory when she was only seventeen and just out of the schoolroom. She was already causing her anxious mother to worry that when she came out she would prove to be a flirt and a handful. Unlike her calm, biddable sister Grace, who had become engaged to Sir Frederick Willington in her first Season, Joanna showed every inclination to throw herself into any scrape that presented itself.

Then their cousin Hebe had arrived from Malta to plunge the family headlong into her incredible and improbable romance with the Earl of Tasborough. As the earl was in deep mourning and had just inherited his title and estates, yet insisted that his Hebe marry him within three weeks, preparations were hurried and unconventional. As groomsman, the earl’s friend Major Gregory found himself thrown into the role of go-between and supporter of the Fulgrave family as they coped with the marriage preparations.

Much of his time had been taken up amusing young William Fulgrave, freeing William’s mama from at least one concern as she made her preparations. Army-mad William had plagued the tall major for stories and neither appeared to take much notice of sister Joanna, who would quietly come into the room in her brother’s turbulent wake and listen silently from a corner.

Joanna moved up a few more steps, her eyes on the black-clad shoulders of the gentleman in front of her, her mind back in the tranquil front room of the house in Charles Street. The sedate parlour had become full of vivid and exciting pictures as Giles held William spellbound with his stories of life on campaign. She had soon realised that, whatever William’s blandishments, his hero never talked about himself but always about his soldiers or his friends. Insidiously the qualities that meant that his men would follow their major into hell and back, and then go again if he asked, drew Joanna deeper and deeper into love with him.

She understood very clearly that she was too young and that he would not even think of the gauche schoolroom miss that she was now in any other light than as a little sister. But she would be out that Season and then she could begin to learn. And there was so much to learn if she was going to be the perfect wife that Giles deserved. And the wife she knew with blind faith he would recognise as perfect the moment he saw her again.

Almost overnight Mrs Fulgrave’s younger daughter became biddable, attentive and well behaved. From plucking her dark brows into submission to mastering the precise depth of a curtsy to a duchess or a rural dean, Joanna applied herself. Her parents were too delighted in the transformation in their harum-scarum child to question what had provoked this miracle, and no probing questions disturbed Joanna’s single-minded quest for perfection.

And month after month the army kept Major, then Colonel, Gregory abroad. Joanna never gave up her calm expectation that they would meet again soon, although every day, as soon as her father put down his Times, she would scan the announcements with care, searching anxiously for the one thing that would have shattered her world. It never occurred to her that Giles might be wounded, let alone killed, for she believed that no such fate would intervene in his pre-destined path to greatness. But there was another danger always present and each morning Joanna breathed again when the announcement of Colonel Gregory’s engagement to some eligible lady failed to appear.

Mother and daughter finally reached the top of the stairs and Joanna sought diligently for something appropriate to say to the duchess. It would be important as the wife of a senior officer to say the right things to all manner of people. The Duchess of Bridlington, Joanna recalled, liked to be in the forefront of fashion, setting it, not following. She eyed the unusual floral decorations thoughtfully.

‘Mrs Fulgrave, Miss Fulgrave.’ Her Grace was gracious. She liked pretty girls who would enjoy themselves, flirt with the men and make her parties a success, and Miss Fulgrave, although not a flirt, was certainly a pretty girl who was never above being pleased with her company. ‘A dreadful squeeze, is it not, my dear?’ She smiled at Joanna.

‘Not at all, your Grace.’ Joanna smiled back, dropping a perfectly judged curtsy. ‘It was delightful to have the opportunity to admire the floral decorations as we came up the stairs. How wonderful those palms and pineapples look, and how original: why, I have never seen anything like it.’

‘Dear child,’ the duchess responded, patting her cheek, highly pleased at the compliment. Her gardeners had grumbled about stripping out the succession houses, but she had insisted and indeed the exotic look had succeeded to admiration.

Joanna and Mrs Fulgrave passed on into the ballroom, its pillared, mirrored walls already reverberating with the hum of conversation, the laughter of nervous débutantes and the faint sounds of the orchestra playing light airs before the dancing began.

As she always did, Joanna began to scan the room, her heart almost stopping at the sight of each red coat before passing on. She must not let her anxiety show, she knew. An officer’s wife must be calm and not reveal her feelings whatever the circumstances. A small knot of officers was surveyed and dismissed and then, suddenly, half a head above those surrounding him, was a man with hair the colour of dark honey. A man whose scarlet coat sat across broad shoulders strapped with muscle and whose crimson sash crossed a chest decorated with medal ribbons on the left breast.

‘Giles!’ Joanna had no idea she spoke aloud, and indeed her voice was only a whisper. It was he, and three years of waiting, of loving, of hard work and passionate belief were at an end.

He was making his way slowly up the opposite side of the dance floor, stopping to talk to friends here and there, bowing to young ladies and now and again, she could see, asking for a dance. Joanna’s hand closed hard over her unfilled dance card, which dangled from her wrist on its satin ribbon. As it did so a voice beside her said, ‘Miss Fulgrave! May I beg the honour of the first waltz?’

It was a round-faced young man with red hair. Joanna smiled but shook her head. ‘I am so sorry, Lord Sutton, I will not be waltzing this evening. Would you excuse me? I have to speak to someone at the other end of the room.’

She began to move slowly but purposefully through the crowd, her eyes on Giles’s head, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. Why was he in London? She had seen no mention of it in the Gazette. Anxiously she studied the tall figure. Her heart was pounding frantically and she did not know that all the colour had ebbed from her face. She felt no doubts: this was her destiny. This was Giles’s destiny.

He had almost reached the head of the room now. Joanna fended off three more requests for dances. Her entire card had to be free for whenever Giles wanted to dance. Or would they just sit and talk? Would he recognise her immediately or would she have to contrive an introduction?

She was almost there. She calmed her breathing. It was essential that his first impression was entirely favourable. She could see his face clearly now. He was very tanned, white lines showing round his eyes where laughter had creased the skin. He looked harder, fitter, even more exciting than she remembered him. Ten more steps…

Giles Gregory turned his head as though someone had spoken to him, hesitated and stepped back. Joanna saw him push aside the curtain that was partly draped over an archway and enter the room beyond.

The crowd was thick at that end of the room where circulating guests from both directions met and spoke before moving on their way. She was held up by the crush and it took her perhaps three minutes to reach the same archway.

When she finally lifted the curtain she found herself alone in a little lobby and looked around, confused for a moment. Then she heard his voice, unmistakably Giles’s voice. Deep, lazily amused, caressing her senses like warm honey over a spoon. She stepped forward and saw into the next room where Giles was standing…smiling down into the upturned face of the exquisite young lady clasped in his arms.

‘So you will talk to Papa, Giles darling? Promise?’ she was saying, her blue eyes wide on his face.

‘Yes, Suzy, my angel, I promise I will talk to him tomorrow.’ Giles’s voice was indulgent, warm, loving. Joanna’s hand grasped the curtain without her realising it; her eyes, her every sense, were fixed on the couple in the candlelit chamber.

‘Oh, Giles, I do love you.’ The young lady suddenly laughed up at him and Joanna’s numbed mind realised who she was. Lady Suzanne Hall was the loveliest, the most eligible, the wealthiest débutante of that Season. Niece of her Grace the Duchess of Bridlington, eldest and most indulged daughter of the Marquis of Olney, blonde, petite, spirited and the most outrageous flirt, she had a fortune that turned heads, but, even penniless, she would have drawn men after her like iron filings to a magnet.

Why does she want Giles? Joanna screamed inwardly. He is mine!

‘Oh, it is such an age since I have seen you! Do you truly love me, Giles, my darling?’ Suzanne said, her arms entwined round his neck, his hands linked behind her tiny waist.

‘You know I do, Suzy,’ he replied, smiling down at her. ‘You are my first, my only, my special love.’ And then he bent his head and kissed her.

The world went black, yet Joanna found she was still on her feet, clutching the curtain. Vision closed in until all she could see was a tiny image of the entwined lovers as though spied down the wrong end of a telescope. Blindly she turned and walked out. By some miracle she was still on her feet although she could see nothing now: it was as though she had fainted, yet retained every sense but sight.

Outside the archway she remembered there had been chairs, fragile affairs of gilt wood. Joanna put out a hand and found one, thankfully unoccupied. She sat, clasped her hands in her lap and managed to smile brightly. Would anyone notice?

Gradually sight returned, although her head spun. No one was sitting next to her, no one had noticed. She tried to make sense of what had happened. Giles was here, and Giles was in love with Lady Suzanne.

She had read—for she read everything that she could find on military matters—that it was possible to receive a mortal wound and yet feel no pain, to continue for some time until suddenly one dropped dead of it. Shock, the doctors called it, a far more serious and deadly thing than the everyday shocks of ordinary life. Perhaps that was what she was feeling: shock.

Joanna was conscious of a swirl of bluebell skirts by her shoulder and Lady Suzanne appeared, hesitated for a moment and plunged into the throng. Her voice came back clearly. ‘Freddie! I would love to waltz with you, but I have not got a single dance on my card left. No, I am not teasing you, look…’

Joanna found she could not manage to keep the smile on her lips. Her hands began to tremble and she clasped them together in her lap. Any minute now someone was going to notice her and start to fuss. She had to get herself under control.

‘Madam, are you unwell?’ The deep voice came from close beside her. Joanna started violently, dropping her fan, and instantly Colonel Gregory was on one knee before her. ‘Here, I do not think it is damaged.’

She began to stammer a word of thanks, then their eyes met and he exclaimed, ‘But it is Miss Joanna Fulgrave, is it not?’ Joanna nodded mutely, taking the fan from his outstretched fingers, using exaggerated care not to touch him. ‘May I sit down?’ Taking her silence for assent, he took the chair next to her, his big frame absurdly out of place on the fragile-looking object.

‘Thank you, Colonel.’ She had managed a coherent sentence, but it was not enough to convince him that all was well with her. Joanna fixed her gaze on her clasped hands, yet she utterly aware of him beside her, his body turned to her, his eyes on her face.

‘You are not well, Miss Fulgrave. May I fetch someone to you? Is your mother here, perhaps?’

‘I need no one, I thank you,’ she managed to whisper. ‘I am quite well, Colonel.’

‘I beg leave to differ, Miss Fulgrave. You are as white as a sheet.’

‘I…I have had an unexpected and unwelcome encounter, that is all.’ Her voice sounded a little stronger, and emboldened she added, ‘It was a shock: I will be better presently, Colonel.’ Please leave me, she prayed, please go before I break down and turn sobbing into your arms in front of all these people.

Giles Gregory was on his feet, but not in answer to her silent pleas. ‘Has a gentleman here offered you some insult?’ he asked, keeping his voice low and his body between her and the throng around the dance floor.

‘Oh, no, nothing like that,’ Joanna assured him. She forced herself to look up. The grey eyes with their intriguing black flecks regarded her seriously, and, she realised, with some disbelief at her protestations.