An excellent student…

In the art of flirtation

Caroline Yaxley has always been in love with her best friend, James Dunstable, Duke of Heydon. After years of waiting for him, she’s finally admitted defeat and decided to find a husband. James suggests she practice her nonexistent flirtation skills on him, which seems like a good idea—until she must pull away to avoid a shattered heart. Their pretend attraction has begun to feel alarmingly real!

LAURA MARTIN writes historical romances with an adventurous undercurrent. When not writing she spends her time working as a doctor in Cambridgeshire, where she lives with her husband. In her spare moments Laura loves to lose herself in a book, and has been known to read from cover to cover in a single day when the story is particularly gripping. She also loves to travel—especially to visit historical sites and far-flung shores.

Also by Laura Martin

A Ring for the Pregnant Debutante

An Unlikely Debutante

An Earl to Save Her Reputation

The Viscount’s Runaway Wife

The Brooding Earl’s Proposition

The Eastway Cousins miniseries

An Earl in Want of a Wife

Heiress on the Run

Scandalous Australian Bachelors miniseries

Courting the Forbidden Debutante

Reunited with His Long-Lost Cinderella

Her Rags-to-Riches Christmas

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Her Best Friend, the Duke

Laura Martin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90148-6

HER BEST FRIEND, THE DUKE

© 2020 Laura Martin

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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To Luke, for fourteen years of love and friendship.

And for everyone who married their best friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

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

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Walking quickly, Caroline ducked behind a group of middle-aged women, straining her ears to hear the conversation between the two young debutantes just to her left.

‘It’s not that she’s ugly,’ Rebecca Preston said with an air of authority. Caroline could imagine the quizzical tilt of the girl’s pretty head as she searched for the right way to describe her.

‘No,’ Sophie Saltwell agreed, ‘not ugly as such.’

Caroline grimaced. At least she wasn’t out-and-out ugly.

‘Just a little angular. And old.’

‘Far too old.’

That she couldn’t argue with. At twenty-four years old she was well past her prime in the eyes of potential suitors.

‘If it were me, I would bow out gracefully,’ Miss Preston said and Caroline had to smother a laugh. Miss Preston was considered the diamond of the Season and, with her thick golden hair and brilliant blue eyes, it didn’t seem to matter to the eligible gentlemen that she was cruel and shallow. She would be inundated with proposals by Christmas and no doubt be married to someone titled and wealthy by spring. The idea of her bowing out of the search for a husband was absurd.

‘Isn’t she connected to the Duke of Heydon somehow?’ Even above the din of the ball Caroline could hear the wistful sigh at the mention of James.

‘Not romantically.’

Normally Caroline would step out at this point, fix the gossiping girls with a hard stare and make some acerbic comment to throw them off balance, but their words had been a bit too close to the uncomfortable truth and instead she found herself just wanting to slip away.

Quietly she turned, not wanting to hear what they were about to say regarding her relationship with James. Her very firmly platonic relationship. A wonderful friendship, but definitely nothing more.

With her head down she hurried from the ballroom, avoiding eye contact with the people she had grown to know so well these past few years. The same few attended each ball, each evening at the opera, each dinner party. It was suffocating rather than comforting and she had an intense desire to keep walking out of the front door and never look back.

She stilled that impulse, reaching instead for one of the doors that led off the grand hallway and slipping into the semi-darkness.

The ball was an annual event held by Lord and Lady Strand a week before the proper start of the Season in London. Caroline had been attending for seven years and knew the house well by now. She had escaped to the library which led to a small terrace at the back of the house. The terrace wasn’t accessible from the rest of the garden so unless anyone else came in through the library she knew she would get a few minutes alone.

Caroline shivered as she stepped out into the cool air, wishing she had something to put round her shoulders. It was only October, and a mild October at that, but this evening felt cold and crisp and seemed to signify the end of summer.

There were no chairs on the terrace, just a low stone balustrade running around the edge that Caroline pulled herself up on to, lying back so she could look up at the stars. The sky was clear and even here in London it was easy to pick out the constellations.

‘You’re a fool,’ she muttered to herself, as she replayed Miss Preston’s words. They had been unkind, but not untruthful. She was too old to be searching for a first husband. Most of her friends were married and producing their second or third child by now. A couple had even been widowed and were approaching the Season with the hope of finding husband number two.

‘Not a fool,’ a low voice said from behind her. Caroline jolted upright, forgetting for a moment she was lying on the narrow balustrade and nearly flying into the garden below.

Strong hands gripped her and pulled her to safety, only letting go when she was steady on her feet. In her chest her heart was pounding and she felt the familiar rush of desire and hopelessness and comfort all at the same time.

‘James.’ She regarded him for a moment, watching as he opened his arms before moving in to embrace him. She had to suppress a sigh as he wrapped his arms around her body, giving her a little squeeze before releasing her. ‘I didn’t know you were back.’ Quickly she stepped away. She wasn’t worried about anyone seeing them, more about her reaction to being so close to him.

‘I wanted to surprise you.’

‘You did. I nearly ended up in the flowerbeds.’

‘That would have given the gossips something to talk about.’

Caroline grimaced—they didn’t need any more fodder.

‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ she said, feeling the warmth swell inside her as she always did when James was close.

He stepped to the stone balustrade, swinging a leg over and sitting on the edge, his feet dangling in the void below. ‘Come sit with me, we have a few minutes until you’re missed.’

‘I think they’ll miss you before me,’ Caroline said grimly. She was a mere Miss, a spinster, inconsequential to most people in the ballroom. James was a duke, an unmarried duke, and as such was always trailed by a horde of hopeful young women and their mothers, besieged everywhere he went.

‘I was rather stealthy,’ James said with a grin. ‘I’d only just arrived when I saw you escaping out here. Hardly anyone could have seen me.’

‘It only takes one…’

He laughed, the sound cutting through to Caroline’s core and piercing her heart. She steeled her mind, reminding herself it was always like this when James first came back. She just needed some time to adjust, some time to get used to him being close again. In a few weeks she wouldn’t feel as though her heart were about to rip apart every time she saw him smile, knowing he would never look at her with anything more than a friendly regard.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked.

He’d written, but he was a poor correspondent. She’d received one letter eight months ago telling her about his time in Rome and another two months later detailing his travels to Naples. Then nothing, a whole six months with no word from him.

‘Italy. Venice, Rome, Naples, Sicily. It was wonderful, Cara. The people, the culture, the food. It’s divine. You should go, you would love it.’

‘I think the only way my family would allow me to travel to Italy would be if I announced I was joining a convent.’

‘A legitimate life choice.’

‘I don’t look good in black.’

‘Perhaps your abbess could give you special dispensation to wear blue.’

‘Clothing aside, I’m not sure I have the right disposition to become a nun.’

He regarded her, a mock-serious expression on his face, ‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘Too mischievous. That wouldn’t do.’

She sighed. Perhaps she would find a husband who liked to travel. A man who could show her the canals of Venice and the Colosseum in Rome.

‘You weren’t enjoying the ball?’ He leaned in a little closer so Caroline caught a hint of his scent, a blend of lavender and citrus—the cologne she had presented him with two years ago at Christmas.

‘I wasn’t.’

‘It’s the first of the Season, a novelty still surely after the long summer in Hampshire.’

‘Can you imagine doing the same thing over and over again, year after year?’ Caroline asked quietly. ‘I go to the same balls, see the same people, dance with the same gentlemen. There’s no variety, there’s no freedom.’ She eyed him, watching as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

‘You should have been born a man.’

She closed her eyes, imagining having the endless options afforded men of her class.

‘I’m too old,’ she said quietly. It wasn’t something she’d admitted to anyone else, not even her mother, who grew increasingly desperate each Season as it came and went without a single marriage proposal. At first Caroline had purposely scared any potential suitors away. She hadn’t wanted to be tied to some old goat of a man, losing what little power she had over her own life. Then she’d gained a reputation for being a little too forthright, a little too free with her opinions.

And now…well, now she was wondering if she hadn’t been too quick to decide she didn’t want the same life all her friends had settled into.

‘Too old? You’re twenty-four, Cara, not sixty. Too old for what?’

‘For this.’ She looked at him in the moonlight, her expression grave. ‘Most of those girls in there are seventeen or eighteen. They’re young, they’re nubile, they’re impressionable. Who would choose me over someone like Miss Preston or Miss Saltwell?’

‘Anyone with half a brain.’

Caroline shivered as a breeze caught the material of her skirt, rippling it against her legs. James shrugged off his evening jacket and draped it around her shoulders, his hands brushing against her bare skin and sending sparks of heat through her body.

‘Where has all this come from?’ James turned to face her. ‘I thought you didn’t want to marry.’

She grimaced. It had been what she’d said for so many years. For so long she’d been convinced having no one was better than settling for second-best. The man she loved would never think of her in the same way, so she’d decided she would grow old a spinster.

‘I didn’t. I don’t…’ She paused, knowing she should guard her feelings, keep her secrets, but as always James’s eyes found hers and the words started to spill out. ‘I’m twenty-four. Most women in my family live well into their sixties. That’s forty years of solitude. Of returning home each night to a quiet house, to seeing all my friends dote on their children and one day their grandchildren. I don’t want a husband, but I do want to be married.’

James sat there looking at her, blinking rapidly as if he thought a bandit had stolen the woman he knew and replaced her with an impostor.

‘Any man would be lucky to have you,’ he said eventually. ‘More than lucky.’

Caroline scoffed. ‘If you could just remind the eligible gentlemen of that fact, I’d greatly appreciate it.’

James opened his mouth as if he were about to say more when they both stiffened. The door to the library was opening, letting in a swell of music from the ballroom for a couple of seconds before dying away. She squinted into the darkness, trying to make out who was walking silently through the library.

They couldn’t be caught together, not like this. The members of the ton were aware of Caroline and James’s unique relationship. An unlikely friendship she’d heard it touted by some of the more polite gossips. Still, she was an unmarried woman and he a single gentleman. They had to be cautious and being found together with no chaperon on a private terrace would cause a grand scandal.

Caroline closed her eyes for a second, imagining the pain and humiliation that would follow if James was forced to marry her. He would, of course, he was a gentleman and, more than that, he cared for her, just not in the way she wanted. Still, it would be painful, knowing he’d been forced into the one thing she wished for every day.

‘Arrivederci,’ James whispered, then launched himself off the wall into the flowerbeds below. Caroline slipped off his jacket and dropped it down to him, then he was gone, blending into the darkness as he disappeared into the bushes.

‘Miss Yaxley.’ It was Rebecca Preston, her face a picture of suspicious confusion as she stepped on to the terrace.

‘Miss Preston.’

‘Are you out here alone?’

‘Of course,’ Caroline said sweetly. ‘The ballroom was a little too hot for my liking. I thought some fresh air would be pleasant.’ She swung her legs back over the balustrade and stood to face Miss Preston.

‘I thought…’ Miss Preston began, stepping up to the balustrade and peering over suspiciously. ‘Have you seen the Duke of Heydon?’

‘No, not for some months. I believe he’s still in Italy. Why do you ask?’

‘No matter.’ She waved a dismissive hand, then turned slyly to Caroline. ‘You two are friends, aren’t you?’

‘We are.’

‘Perhaps you could introduce me to the Duke. I would love to make his acquaintance.’

Caroline looked at her, blinking in amazement at the request. A wave of nausea roiled through her as she imagined pretty Miss Preston fluttering her eyelashes at James, before she quickly reminded herself that one of his strengths was an ability to see past an attractive façade to the person underneath.

‘I’d be delighted to introduce you,’ she said, knowing she should stop there, but unable to help herself. ‘He is quite a particular man, though, and can be a little abrupt if you stray from the topics of conversation he is interested in.’

‘Oh?’ Miss Preston leaned forward as if eager to snatch the knowledge from Caroline.

‘He loves to talk about the weather, he’s quite an expert, and he is very interested in fashion and clothing, both men’s and women’s.’

‘Really? How extraordinary.’

‘He’s an extraordinary man.’

‘Thank you, Miss Yaxley, I shall await the introduction with anticipation.’ Miss Preston paused, her lips forming into a rosy pout that Caroline would wager the young woman practised in the mirror to make sure she got it just right. ‘Of course, if you need any introductions from me then it would be my pleasure. It may be my first Season, but I seem to be inundated with invitations already.’

‘You’re too kind, Miss Preston.’

She inclined her head and then turned, heading back out through the library and to the ballroom. Caroline knew she should follow her—by now her mother would have noticed her absence and would be growing frantic—but before she moved she took a moment to peer wistfully into the darkness of the garden below. It was too much to hope that James had waited, hiding himself in the bushes somewhere. He was a duke, not accustomed to having to creep around in the shadows, and no doubt he was striding through the ballroom leaving a trail of hopeful young debutantes behind him.

‘Enough,’ she said firmly. This dreaming would have to stop. She’d decided to find a husband this Season and spending her time obsessing about James wasn’t going to help her achieve that aim. From this moment on he would occupy her thoughts only when he was in the direct vicinity.

Turning, she walked back through the library, hearing the music that signalled a waltz as she opened the door to the hall and slipped back into the crowd.

Chapter Two

‘Have you met my daughter?’ Mrs Wilson said, gripping a petrified-looking girl who didn’t look as though she should be out of the schoolroom. James inclined his head, murmuring all the right words as his eyes searched subtly for a way to escape. He would swear the debutantes were getting younger and grimaced at the recognition it was most likely just him growing older in comparison.

Artfully he slipped away. He’d spent a lifetime being accosted by hopeful mothers and shy daughters and knew how to take his leave without causing any offence. He was used to being the most eligible bachelor present and over the years had honed the skills that meant he could enjoy a social occasion without it being all about the women who wished to marry him despite not knowing him at all.

His eyes were on the slim figure on the other side of the ballroom and he walked briskly to try to avoid anyone else interrupting his passage.

‘Miss Yaxley,’ he said as he came up behind her. She was with her mother and another middle-aged woman, her eyes darting around the ballroom in her customary fashion as if looking for a means of escape.

She turned to him, the smile on her face full of pure happiness for a second before she remembered her surroundings and set her lips into a more demure half-smile.

It was always like this when he came home. Caroline was his closest friend, despite the outward observation that they had little in common. They’d become unlikely friends when he had proposed to her friend Lady Georgina several years ago. After Lady Georgina had left him on their wedding day to run off to Australia with an ex-convict, he and Caroline had drifted closer and he’d found her wry humour uplifting ever since.

In public, though, they had to remain cordially distant. He would bow and she would curtsy. He would ask for a dance, at most two. They might spend a couple of minutes conversing in plain view of all the other guests, but certainly no more. Anything more than that would invite gossip, even scandal, and they had been careful to avoid any hint of that throughout their friendship.

Not that there was anything inappropriate about their relationship. They might embrace on meeting in private, but there wasn’t ever anything more than that. They were blessed with that strikingly rare thing—a friendship between a man and a woman that was strictly platonic, with no desire for anything more on either of their parts. It was one of the things James was most grateful for in his life.

‘Lady Yaxley, Lady Whittaker.’ He inclined his head to each of the older women.

Lady Yaxley smiled at him, the warmth radiating from her. Over the years he’d been a regular guest at Rosling Manor in Hampshire and James suspected Lady Yaxley viewed him as the son she’d never had.

‘Might I request the pleasure of a dance with your daughter?’

‘Of course, Your Grace, it is wonderful to have you back in the country.’

‘You must meet my daughter, Your Grace,’ Lady Whittaker said as he took Caroline by the arm. He smiled non-committally and whisked Caroline off before he had to supply an answer.

‘Smoothly done, Your Grace,’ Caroline said, laughing at his haughty expression.

‘You may have been playing this game for seven years, Cara, but I’ve been attending balls for almost two decades.’ It was a sobering thought.

‘Two decades,’ Caroline mused. ‘You’d have thought you’d have perfected a simple waltz by now…’

‘Cheeky minx. I’ll have you know I’m the most sought-after dance partner in the northern hemisphere.’

‘I’ve always said the women of Europe are fools.’

He slipped his hand around her waist, maintaining exactly the correct distance from her slender body. She looked elegant tonight in a light blue gown made of silk, embroidered with silver flowers and with a dark blue sash around her waist. As usual her blonde hair was swept back, revealing the delicate skin of her neck. She was tall and slim, but not in the gangly way some tall women seemed to be. Her height suited her and she glided gracefully around the ballroom as if she were floating a few inches from the ground.

‘No one saw you in the garden?’ Caroline’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

‘I was as stealthy as a mouse.’

‘Mice aren’t very stealthy. We had a bit of an infestation one summer when I was seven or eight at Rosling Manor and they were surprisingly bold and quite loud for their little size. I even saw one climbing the curtains and doing a rather impressive jump from one curtain pole to the next.’

‘Acrobatic mice?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I’m not sure I believe you. Surely they would have been collected and placed into a tiny mouse circus if they were that impressive.’

She rolled her eyes at him as he swept her into a turn and he found himself grinning. England had lost some of its appeal these last few years and he found himself spending more and more time abroad, but one thing he did miss whenever he went away was Caroline. He didn’t have any close family and almost everyone else was dazzled by his title and wealth. They were polite, sometimes gratingly so, but it meant meaningful connections were hard to make.

Caroline treated him as though he were an unruly friend or a brother, with healthy doses of sarcasm, and never seemed to feel the need to agree with him just because he was a duke.

‘What do you deem stealthy, then?’

She chewed on her bottom lip as she always did when she was thinking. ‘A lioness.’

‘A lioness rather than a lion?’

‘The females do all the work to bring in the food,’ she said with a certainty that told him it was something she’d read about extensively in the huge library at Rosling Manor.

‘Do they now?’

‘I’d have thought with your years of education you would at least know a little about the animal kingdom.’

‘It was a subject sadly lacking at Eton.’

He spun her again, exerting just a little extra pressure to bring her in closer as they changed direction. They must have danced together a hundred times, perhaps more, and he could anticipate her every step.

Suddenly Caroline’s body stiffened in his arms and he felt her miss a step. It was unusual—she was an excellent dancer—and he found himself turning slightly to see what had caused her to stumble.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ Caroline said, her voice with too cheery a lilt to it. It sounded false and he turned again to try to catch what she was looking at. ‘Stop it,’ she whispered furiously.

‘Tell me what you’re looking at, then I can be more discreet.’

‘I’m not looking at anything.’

He made to turn again and saw her teeth clench together, the minuscule movement of her jaw giving away the inner tension.

‘Fine. Just stop it and dance normally.’

He obliged, sweeping her across the dance floor as he waited for her to speak.

‘It was Lord Mottringham,’ she said eventually, not meeting his eye.

‘Lord Mottringham?’ From what James could remember the man was well into his sixties and had been balding for quite some years. Not the sort of man who would normally make a young woman swoon.

‘Yes.’

‘Cara, you’re going to have to tell me more than that. Do you have a tendre for Lord Mottringham?’

She pulled a face, scrunching up her nose.

‘What then?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.

‘Of course it does.’

‘Father said he has expressed interest in marrying me previously,’ Caroline said, not meeting his eye.

‘Then you’ll laugh off the idea, remind your father you’re twenty-four, not sixty, and forget about Lord Mottringham and his shiny pate.’

Glancing down, he saw her cheeks were flushing. Caroline did not blush, even when she’d fallen through the ice two winters ago skating on the Serpentine and had to be hauled out by three young men who got more than a passing glance at her undergarments. Or when an elderly acquaintance had assumed he and Caroline were married when they were out walking together and had congratulated them loudly and enthusiastically. Nothing made her blush, which made the pink hue of her cheeks all the more fascinating.

‘You’re blushing.’

She glared at him, missing her step again and stamping on his toe—this time most certainly on purpose.

‘Before I lose a limb will you just tell me what is going on?’

Caroline inhaled deeply, then looked up at him. ‘I’m going to get married.’

‘You said so on the terrace, but surely not to Mottringham?’ His voice was louder than it should be when he spoke, so Caroline shot him a warning glance and pressed him to continue dancing.

‘Yes. No. Maybe.’

He blinked. ‘You must know.’

‘If he offers. If anyone vaguely suitable offers. The person doesn’t much matter,’ she informed him.

‘Your husband doesn’t much matter?’

She shrugged. ‘I wish to get married. I doubt I will find someone who makes my heart flutter and my head swoon. As long as he is kind enough then, no, I don’t think his actual identity is all that important.’

James stopped, aware of the other couples spinning around them, but unable to take in everything she was saying. It was such a reversal of everything she’d ever expressed before.

‘You never wanted to marry. Now you’ll accept any old fool?’

‘I didn’t wish to marry. Now I do, that’s all there is to it.’

Insistently she tugged on his hand, trying to get him moving again.

‘Dance,’ she whispered, ‘Everyone is staring at us.’

He raised his arms again and took her back into the hold, letting his body remember the steps so his mind could try to piece together the shocking news Caroline had just delivered.

She’d always been insistent that she didn’t want to settle. Time and time again she’d told him of her friends’ miserable lives, saddled with husbands they could not stand and no freedom to make their own decisions. Of course there were exceptions. Lady Georgina, the friend who was like a sister to her, had found true love with her Australian and now lived in wedded bliss on the other side of the world, but it wasn’t love Caroline was thinking about. It was marriage. A loveless marriage, probably arranged by her father to a man she had only ever made polite conversation with.

It was one of the things that bound her and James together. Both of them were growing older, unattached when the world thought they should be married. It had always been for different reasons—in James’s case he’d always been holding out for love, that lightning strike of a moment his parents had always talked about. For Caroline it was a desire to maintain her freedom, her ability to have some control over her life. It might have been for different reasons, but as the years had passed and one after another all their friends had married, it’d been something they had shared.

The last notes of the waltz swelled, then faded and Caroline was quick to pull him from the dance floor before the couples could take their places for the next dance.

‘Close your mouth,’ she muttered as she led him to the edge of the ballroom. ‘I don’t know why you’re so shocked, it’s not as if I’ve just announced I’m running away to do missionary work in Africa.’

James rallied. She was right. In anyone else he would think it the most normal of suggestions.

‘Cara—’ he began, but was interrupted by a pretty young woman positioning herself in between him and Caroline. There was a momentary flash of irritation on Caroline’s face before she recovered her normal composure.

‘Miss Yaxley, you were saying earlier you wanted to introduce me to the Duke of Heydon,’ the debutante said with a flutter of her eyelashes.

‘So I did.’ Her voice was flat and from her body language James knew she didn’t much like this young woman. ‘Your Grace, this is Miss Preston. Miss Preston, it is my pleasure to introduce the Duke of Heydon.’

‘Delighted,’ James murmured, wishing the young women would move on so he could get back to questioning where Caroline had lost her senses.

‘Miss Yaxley is a dear friend,’ Miss Preston said, clutching hold of Caroline’s arm, ‘and she’s said on more than one occasion she wished we could meet.’

‘Mmm.’ Often in these situations he found it easiest to use as few words as possible.

‘I saw you dancing a moment ago. You dance very well, Your Grace.’

She stood there, looking at him expectantly. Of course she was angling for a dance and it would be supremely rude of him not to offer. Still, he considered staying quiet, not least because it looked as though Caroline could not stand the woman beside her.

In the end manners won out, ‘Would you care to dance, Miss Preston?’

A hand went to her chest in a move he would wager she’d practised in front of a mirror. ‘I’d be delighted, Your Grace. It would be an honour.’

‘Perhaps…’ He’d been about to suggest he pencil in his name on her dance card for one of the dances later in the evening just as the music for the next dance began.

Quickly she linked her arm through his and angled herself towards the dance floor. James shot a look back over his shoulder at Caroline, wanting to call out and tell her to wait for him so they could discuss her announcement further, but she was already disappearing into the crowds.

The dance passed in a blur, with Miss Preston doing her best to engage him on the mundane subjects of the weather and men’s fashion. He was glad of the quick pace of the dance and used every turn as an opportunity to search the ballroom for a sign of Caroline. With her height and the striking blue ballgown she should be easy to pick out, but despite his best efforts she had disappeared. At the end of the dance he bowed to Miss Preston, resisted her efforts to take a stroll in the gardens, and searched in earnest for Caroline. After ten minutes it was clear she’d left the ball and he retreated to the gentlemen’s sanctuary—the card room—to mull over the evening’s events while playing a few hands.

Chapter Three

‘Slow down, Bertie,’ Caroline called, laughing as the dog pulled harder on the lead in response to her pleas. He was pulling so hard she was almost running and, despite the overcast skies, there were still plenty of people in Hyde Park to see her unladylike conduct. She could imagine her mother’s face and almost hear the lecture about the proper way to walk when out in public. It would not include a fast trot.

Bertie had his nose to the ground and was following some invisible scent, pulling Caroline off her normal route and taking her deeper into the park. Not that she minded. Four hours she’d spent that morning at the dressmaker’s, being pushed and pulled and prodded as she was fitted for a wardrobe of new gowns.

She closed her eyes as she remembered her mother’s face when she had announced last night she had finally decided she wished to marry. Lady Yaxley had crumpled with joy, the tears falling without check. Seven years Caroline had been out in society but never before had she suggested she wished to truly start to look for a husband.

Her mother had embraced her, whispering into her ear that she would find Caroline a suitable husband before the year was out.

Caroline had smiled weakly, wondering if she already regretted her decision. This morning her mother had woken her at the crack of dawn, announcing Caroline would need a new wardrobe for the Season, something fitting for a woman looking to attract a husband. Then she’d bustled Caroline off for a whole morning at the dressmaker’s, overseeing as the seamstress brought out reel after reel of material.

Bertie barked, a sound of joy, and pulled even more, wrenching the lead out of Caroline’s hand. She stiffened on the spot for a moment, unable to believe the brown streak already a hundred feet away was her dog. Hitching her skirts up, she began to run after him, keeping her head bowed in the hope no one would see her on this most unladylike dash through the park.

She followed Bertie down the path and around a bend, past a dense copse of trees, having to follow the bark now he’d disappeared from view. With a curse under her breath she ran faster. Bertie loved to swim and the last thing she wanted was to reach the Serpentine to find him terrorising the ducks.

Caroline had her head bent low and the first thing she saw as she rounded another bend was an expensive pair of boots. Too late she tried to slow herself, instead hurtling into the solid body. She felt arms wrap around her, steadying her for just a second before setting her back on her feet.

Bertie was sitting on the path, wagging his tail in delight, looking as though he were the most well-behaved dog in the world.

‘I see you haven’t got very far with training Bertie this past year,’ James said, reaching down and stroking the bloodhound’s silky ears.

‘Father says he’s untrainable,’ Caroline said, looking into the dog’s deep brown eyes. ‘Either that or there’s a problem with his owner.’

James picked up Bertie’s lead, then offered her his arm. They hadn’t arranged to meet, not directly, but when James was home they often orchestrated a pleasing half an hour together strolling through Hyde Park around this time in the afternoon. After his reaction the night before Caroline had been tempted not to come, but the desire to see him again, to feel her body brush innocuously against his as they walked arm in arm, to hear his deep chuckle and listen to tales of his latest adventures through Europe had proved too much.

‘I thought you might not come. Not after you left so abruptly last night.’

‘I didn’t leave abruptly.’

‘If you’d moved any faster, you would have been running.’

‘You had the pretty Miss Preston to entertain you.’

‘Yes, she is pretty, isn’t she…’ James mused. ‘Shame about her rather terrible conversational skills. For some reason she seemed intent on twittering on about nothing but the weather and fashion.’

Caroline let a little giggle escape.

‘I’m guessing that was your handiwork?’

‘I might have dropped a few hints about your favourite conversational topics, but she is awful. I couldn’t help myself.’

Bertie was walking sedately for James, allowing the lead to go slack as he trotted contentedly alongside them, sniffing the path as he went, but not haring off after every scent as he would if Caroline was holding his lead.

‘Miss Preston was under the impression you were the closest of friends. She informed me a grand total of nine times how close you were.’

Caroline snorted. ‘Yesterday was the first time she’s ever spoken to me. I’ve received my fair share of disparaging remarks from her before, but she only struck up a conversation when she knew you were back in the country.’

‘So I’m to thank for your blossoming friendship.’

‘More like to blame.’

They walked a little way in silence, Caroline’s revelation the evening before hanging between them.

‘Have you a moment to sit with me, Cara?’ James motioned to a bench. He was the only person in the world who called her Cara. To most she was Miss Yaxley, and to those close to her Caroline—even her mother didn’t shorten her name—but James knew the truth. One day a few years ago she’d confided that she disliked Caroline and he’d spent half an hour suggesting alternatives until they had settled on one they both liked. So now he called her Cara. She was sure James knew the meaning behind the name—it meant beloved—but he couldn’t know how much she wished it were true, that she was his beloved.

She nodded, allowing him to lead her across the grass, perching on the cold stone of the bench.

‘Your announcement yesterday took me rather by surprise,’ he said quietly. His dark eyes were fixed on hers and Caroline found it hard to concentrate on his words. To the world their bent heads and relaxed manner would signify intimacy and inside that was what Caroline really yearned for.

Quickly she pushed away the fantasy, hastily looking up and focusing on a spot in the distance.

‘I think I may have reacted poorly. I wanted to apologise.’ He tapped her lightly on the hand, as ever oblivious to the effect of his touch.

‘There’s no need. I can see why you would be surprised.’

‘I do understand, Cara, I understand the desire to share your life with someone, the allure of waking up next to a warm body every morning, to have someone you can discuss affairs with over a leisurely breakfast.’

‘It’s not just that.’

He looked at her and nodded his understanding. ‘Children.’

‘Yes. Although I suppose I would be lying if I said that was everything I yearn for. I think it’s different for women. As a man if you are single you still live in your own house, follow your own rules. As a spinster I’m expected to stay in the care of my parents until they die and then I will probably be saddled with some elderly relative as a companion.’

‘I can see how that could feel oppressive, but you’ve always said you wouldn’t want to give up your freedom, not to a husband who will make all your decisions for you.’

‘Perhaps I just need to find the right man. Someone mild in manner and not overly interested in what I am doing.’

‘Someone who marries you just for your dowry?’

‘You make it sound so tawdry,’ Caroline said with a flash of heat in her voice. ‘That is what most marriages are, James. Hardly anyone marries for love. A few lucky people might find it unexpectedly along the way, but love matches are few and far between.’

‘I know. Of course I know that. Look at me, just the wrong side of forty and still holding out for something that occurs in one relationship in a thousand. Perhaps you have the right idea of it.’

‘You were tempted to settle once, too,’ Caroline reminded him gently.

‘Lady Georgina.’

‘She would have made you happy.’

‘I’m sure, but I would have always had that doubt. Wondering whether the next woman I met would be the one I fell completely and hopelessly in love with, miserable because I couldn’t do anything about it.’

Caroline had never met James’s parents, but knew they were the ones responsible for his completely absurd notions of love. His father had been a duke, his mother a governess, and they had fallen in love at first sight. From the way James told the story they had been perfect for one another, never arguing, always in complete harmony. Caroline suspected he was remembering with a child’s nostalgia, but she couldn’t deny their marriage had stayed strong despite society’s disapproval. All his life James had been waiting for the same thunderbolt of love to strike him.

‘It may be a moot point anyway, I have to find a suitable man willing to marry me. No one has offered yet.’ Caroline picked at the embroidery on the hem of her coat. This was one of the issues that had been eating away at her, this fear that she would declare herself finally ready to marry and no one would step forward and offer to take her.

‘Don’t be absurd, of course they will.’ He patted her hand again as if she was an elderly spinster aunt and quickly she withdrew it.

‘Seven years I’ve been out in society, James, and I’ve not had a single offer.’

‘Not one?’

‘Not one. Not even from a lecherous old man or a penniless fortune-hunter.’

‘Why ever not?’ He sounded genuinely astonished.

‘Perhaps I’m unmarriageable.’

‘I’m being serious, Cara. You’re intelligent, funny, can make conversation about more than just the weather, and you’ve got a decent dowry and good family connections. The gentlemen should be lining up to ask for your hand in marriage.’

‘I lack a certain vital ingredient,’ she said softly, noticing he hadn’t commented on her appearance.

‘What?’

‘Beauty.’

‘Nonsense. You’re a fine-looking woman, Cara.’

Fine was not beautiful.

‘Besides, beauty doesn’t come into it most of the time. As you said yourself, the majority of matches are business transactions.’

She sighed—she knew it was true. The most likely reason she’d not received a single proposal was because she’d so adamantly not wanted to be proposed to. Over the years she’d actively discouraged courtship from any man who’d shown an interest in her and no one had been interested enough to fight through that discouragement.

‘I don’t think I know how to encourage a gentleman’s suit,’ she said softly.

‘You don’t know how to flirt?’

She shook her head. ‘I think I did once, but years of trying to discourage gentlemen has left me unable to remember how to.’

Caroline thought back to the giddy couple of years after she’d made her debut. She and Georgina had revelled in the attention they’d received, enjoying the dancing and socialising at balls and always having full dance cards. Still, she had always been careful not to encourage anyone too much, to keep everyone at a distance until she had worked out what she wanted. Even from a young age Caroline had been wary of the marriages of the ton. Although her parents were happy, you only had to look around to see the number of couples who disliked each other, who avoided one another all evening or even lived most of their lives apart. It had never been what she wanted.

‘Go on,’ James urged, grinning. ‘Flirt with me.’

‘I most definitely will not.’

‘It’s the only way you’ll learn.’

‘I hardly think this will help.’

‘Won’t it? You said yourself you used to be able to—perhaps it is all about practice.’

Caroline felt her heart begin to pound in her chest at the idea of looking into the eyes of the man she loved and casually flirting with him.

‘No,’ she said, standing abruptly.

James caught her by the hand, holding on to it long enough for her to relent and sit back down. He looked at her earnestly, his rich brown eyes burning into hers.

‘I want you to be happy, Cara.’ He was still holding her hand and Caroline was finding it hard to concentrate as his fingers moved against hers. ‘And if this is what you think will make you happy, then I will do whatever I can to help.’

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘But I think you may have a point. For so long you’ve pushed eligible gentlemen away, instead choosing to dance with the husbands of friends or the men you know have their sights set on someone else. You’ve shied away from interacting with the men who might view you as a potential wife and as such you’ve forgotten how to talk to them, how to make them want to bring you flowers and write terrible poetry extolling your beauty.’

Quietly she pressed her lips together. She knew where this was leading and already she wanted to stop him. It would be far too heartbreaking.

‘Let me help you. I’ll introduce you to all my eligible friends, of course, dance with you at the balls, extol your virtues at dinner parties, but let me do more than that. Let me be your teacher.’

‘My teacher?’ Caroline repeated weakly.

‘Twenty years I’ve had women flirt with me—some are bold, some are timid, some are downright bizarre—but I’ve experienced a whole range of tactics and behaviour from women who would like to become my wife. I’m perfectly placed to know what works and what doesn’t.’

It made sense. Women threw themselves at James wherever he walked, fluttering their eyelashes or trying to engage him in deep conversations. Even so Caroline wasn’t sure her heart could withstand the man she loved tutoring her on how to catch the attention of another.

‘I’ll make it fun.’

Closing her eyes, Caroline nodded. It was a mistake, of course it was. It would mean weeks spent in James’s company, more than she had ever done before.

Your last chance, she reasoned with herself. Whoever she married wouldn’t be happy about her spending time with an unmarried man. These next couple of months would be the last time she and James would be able to be together without a disapproving spouse getting in the way.

‘Wonderful, I’ll draw up a lesson plan tonight,’ James said with a little too much glee in his voice. ‘We can start tomorrow.’

Weakly Caroline nodded. ‘Tomorrow we will start, but for today can we talk of other things?’

James stood, giving her the lopsided grin she loved so much, and offered her his arm once again. She knew this was the side that only a treasured few got to see. In public, when surrounded by others, James was reserved and kept his wicked sense of humour hidden. He was the epitome of a perfect duke, almost regal in his bearing and demeanour. In private he was a different man, a man who spun riveting tales out of the smallest adventure, who laughed and teased and found light in any situation.

‘Did I tell you about my dip in the English Channel on my way home?’ he queried as they began the stroll back towards the Serpentine.

‘You know you haven’t.’ Caroline was smiling already.

‘It was a dark and stormy night…’

Caroline whacked him on the arm lightly.

‘Fine, it was a mildly blustery afternoon and I was taking a stroll about the deck. Every time I climb aboard a ship I have this notion that I will learn a little about sailing during the voyage, but in truth all I ever manage to do is get in the way.’

‘I’m imagining you in a jaunty seaman’s outfit, telescope in hand.’

‘You mock, but I’ve always had a hankering to run away to sea. Although I think they’d take one look at me and tell me I was far too old and far too soft to be of any use.’

Never too soft. James might have been raised to command, but Caroline knew he kept himself in peak physical condition, sparring regularly at his boxing club and riding for at least an hour a day while in England.

‘Anyway, I paused to look at the horizon, fancying I could see England. My eyes were fixed on the dark shadow in the distance and I didn’t see the coil of rope at my feet.’

‘You tripped?’

‘I tripped. In quite a spectacular fashion. It was at exactly the same moment the ship crested a wave and I—’ He was cut off by an insistent voice from somewhere to their left.

‘Your Grace! Your Grace!’

Together they turned, Caroline recognising the voice immediately and finding it hard to fix anything more than a grimace on her face.

‘Miss Preston,’ James groaned under his breath, ‘come to regale me with more snippets from the world of fashion, no doubt.’

‘We could run,’ Caroline murmured.

James glanced at the wide open space around them and the water of the Serpentine just in front as if actually contemplating the idea.

‘Or set Bertie upon her.’

They looked down at the placid dog, thumping his tail happily on the grass.

‘He could lick her to death, I suppose.’ Caroline took a small step to her left, putting just a little more distance between her and James before Miss Preston could reach them.

‘Miss Preston, how delightful to see you again so soon,’ James said, no hint of the exasperation from a second ago in his voice.

‘It’s as though we were fated to be thrown together again,’ she twittered prettily.

Caroline snorted, having to turn the sound into a rather unconvincing cough.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Yaxley.’

‘Good afternoon.’

Only now did Caroline see Sophie Saltwell trailing behind her friend and she marvelled at how fast Miss Preston must have moved to intercept them.

‘I did enjoy our dance last night,’ Miss Preston said, moving in closer and trying to angle herself so she cut Caroline out of the conversation.

‘Indeed,’ James murmured.

Caroline was thankful James was a sensible man. She’d long ago resigned herself to the fact he would never think of her romantically, but a small part of her had always worried he would fall in love with someone completely horrible. She wanted James to be happy, of course she did, but the thought of him marrying someone like Miss Preston made her shudder. Luckily he was an astute judge of character and was practised at seeing who was only interested in his title and his wealth.

‘I hope we will get chance to dance again soon. Will you be attending the Tevershams’ ball tomorrow?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘I do hope so. It would make my evening.’ Her voice was sickly sweet and Caroline found herself trying to mimic the coy little half-smile and failing miserably.

Miss Saltwell finally arrived by her friend’s side, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving. She looked expectantly at Miss Preston, who sighed before deigning to introduce her.

‘This is Miss Saltwell, Your Grace.’

‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Saltwell.’

Caroline felt Bertie shift on the end of his lead and braced herself. He was a strong dog and when he caught the scent of something he liked there was no stopping him. The last thing she needed was for him to pull her into the Serpentine while Miss Preston looked on, an expression of mock horror on her face.

‘Sit, Bertie,’ she whispered, trying to instil a forcefulness in her voice in the hope the bloodhound might choose this moment to listen.

Bertie strained forward and she gripped the lead with both hands, willing James to find some way to extricate them from the two eager young ladies.

‘Such a pleasant autumn day for a stroll,’ Miss Preston was saying. ‘A little blustery, but the clouds are so interesting.’

‘Sit, Bertie,’ Caroline commanded a little louder.

James turned just as Bertie pulled. He lunged for the lead as it was wrenched from Caroline’s hands, his fingers grasping the very end, but it wasn’t enough. Bertie leaped, his tail wagging as he dashed between Miss Preston and Miss Saltwell, making both totter as he bounded past their skirts.

Caroline gasped as he went at full pelt into the Serpentine, sending a huge splash of water in their direction. It was only luck that saved Miss Preston and Miss Saltwell from being covered in muddy water.

‘Scandalous,’ Miss Preston muttered, shaking her head as if Caroline had urged her dog to be so unruly.

Next to her she heard James suppress a laugh as Bertie paddled through the water, making his way for the family of ducks swimming serenely a few feet out from the bank.

‘That dog is fascinated by ducks,’ James said, shaking his head.

It was true, Bertie loved them. He barked madly every time he saw a duck and was forever trying to pull Caroline off to inspect them whenever they passed by water on one of their walks. It wasn’t the first time he’d jumped into a body of water to investigate further, but the other times it had been when they were safely private in the grounds of Rosling Manor.

‘Bertie, come here,’ Caroline shouted, trying to make her voce as authoritative as possible.

He ignored her.

‘Bertie,’ James called, his voice firm.

Of course the dog turned, then serenely began to paddle back.

‘Even my dog prefers you to me,’ Caroline murmured, watching as Bertie emerged from the water dripping and muddy.

He paused, legs apart, on the banks of the Serpentine and with a gasp of horror Caroline watched as he began to shake. She ducked behind James, peeking out to see the droplets of muddy water flying through the air, splattering over the rest of their party. Bertie had short hair, but even so he managed to cover them with an impressive amount of water.

For a moment no one moved and no one uttered a sound. Caroline didn’t dare look up and instead gripped James’s arm fiercely.

‘How refreshing,’ James said, pulling gently on her hand to bring her back round to his side.

Miss Preston was standing there completely still, the look of horrified shock on her face quickly replaced by a surge of white-hot anger. She looked down at her mud-spattered dress, her eyes wide, her mouth opening with no sound coming out.

‘What an unfortunate accident,’ James said, sweeping forward and taking both ladies by the elbows, turning them slightly so their focus wouldn’t be on Caroline. ‘Let me escort you home.’

Miss Preston flashed a look of contempt over her shoulder at Caroline, but allowed herself to be guided away from the water and the still-muddy dog.

As Caroline knelt down beside Bertie, picking up the soggy lead, she saw James look back and give her a wink that made her heart contract.

‘Come on, Bertie,’ she said softly. ‘Time to go home.’

Chapter Four

Relaxing back in his chair, James regarded the smoky room, taking in the three men playing cards at the next table, the few lone gentlemen perusing the pages of the newspapers and the two having a quiet but heated argument in the corner.

‘We thought you might be gone for good this time,’ Milton said, pulling James back into the conversation.

‘I was convinced you’d found yourself some pretty little Italian heiress and settled down in a vineyard somewhere,’ West chuckled.

‘If only,’ James murmured.

Milton, also known as the Earl of Hauxton, and Lord West, a very wealthy baron, had been his friends for almost a decade. They were influential men, with large estates and much sway in the world of politics, but James still saw them as the youths he’d known years earlier. West was the same age as him, they’d been contemporaries at Eton, although only friends long after they’d left school. Milton was about ten years younger, but easily the most serious of their little group. James had known Milton’s older brothers before they had both tragically died young, but despite the age difference it was Milton he would turn to if he ever found himself with a practical or moral dilemma to solve.

‘How is your wife?’

West groaned, as if wishing to talk about anything but domestic matters.

‘She was so beautiful,’ he lamented. ‘And sweet as an angel.’

‘She’s still beautiful.’ James swirled his brandy around in his glass before taking a sip.

‘But she’s not sweet. Nothing is right. Nothing I do, nothing I say. You’d think I make her live in squalor.’

West had married the diamond of the Season five years ago, a pretty and accomplished young woman he’d spoken to only on a handful of occasions before declaring she would do for his wife. She’d come with a hefty dowry, but they seemed poorly suited and West had lost some of his spark and humour in the past few years.

‘It’s probably your fault,’ Milton said sagely. He was always abrupt and to the point, but the harsh words were accompanied by a genuinely caring nature.

‘How is it my fault?’

‘Think of what young ladies are told to expect from a marriage,’ Milton said quietly. ‘Romance, an attentive husband, pleasant domesticity twinned with the occasional adventure. Then they’re saddled with a man who’d rather be out drinking with his friends than conversing with someone he doesn’t share any interests with.’

‘That’s not my fault. It is society’s, giving them unrealistic expectations.’

James laughed at the exchange between his friends, but as always felt a little as though he were on the outside looking in. Both men had experiences he did not. Milton was a widower, married for four years to a wonderful woman he’d known since childhood. And West might gripe about his marriage, but he was a husband and a father, unlike James who might never be either of those things.

‘Stop moaning or you’ll put Heydon off marriage once and for all.’

His two friends eyed him for a moment as they often did when the subject of marriage arose.

‘No young ladies have caught your eye?’ West reclined back in his chair as he spoke.

‘No.’

‘I think you should just marry that Miss Yaxley of yours and have done with it.’ Milton held his eye, showing James it was not a humorous suggestion.

‘She is looking for a husband.’ James swirled his drink round in his glass again and considered the idea, not for the first time. She’d make a fine wife. She was good-humoured and down-to-earth and fun to be with. There wouldn’t be any wondering if they would sit in uncomfortable silence at the dinner table, or if she would be a well-mannered duchess. He knew her better than he knew anyone else. Often he had wondered if they should just marry one another and be done with it. He knew they’d be happy, but there was always that niggling doubt at the back of his mind. What if he married her and then the next day the woman he was truly meant to be with came along? The one who made his heart sing, the one he was destined to be with?

‘She’s not bad looking,’ West said, staring into the distance as if weighing up Caroline’s physical attributes.

‘And more importantly you enjoy being with her. The passion, well, that can come later. Learn a lesson from West’s marriage—don’t marry a stranger you have nothing in common with.’

James shrugged. Perhaps if they were still both unwed in five years’ time he’d suggest the match to Caroline. She’d probably laugh him out of the room.

‘If you don’t marry her, then someone else will,’ Milton said, pushing his chair back and brushing down his jacket.

West stood as well, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece, mumbling something about his wife. James bade them farewell, watching the two men as they shrugged on their coats and disappeared out into the night.

James sat for a few minutes longer, enjoying the warmth of the club and the soft burn of the brandy in his throat. He wasn’t going to propose to Caroline, but Milton was right, soon their relationship would change irrevocably. Despite her misgivings Caroline would find a husband this Season. She was from a good family, had a decent dowry and was personable and kind. Their friendship was not the norm among the members of the ton. In general, women were friends with women and men with men. Theirs crossed this boundary and to guard Caroline’s reputation they’d had to be very careful with how they’d conducted themselves, but somehow it worked.

It wouldn’t when she had a husband to answer to, a family of her own to put first. They might still talk a little at social occasions, but the walks in the park and the long, easy conversations would end. James was surprised to realise what a hole that would leave in his life. He often left England for months at a time, travelling around Europe, but when he returned Caroline was always there, ready to pick up their friendship where they’d left off.

‘Don’t be selfish,’ he murmured to himself. He wanted her to be happy, but at the same time he didn’t want to lose her.

‘Excuse me, Your Grace,’ a man well into his fifties said quietly, as if not sure he wished to interrupt James’s thoughts.

James looked up, recognising the face of the balding man in front of him, but grasping for the name that was just out of reach.

‘Lord Whittaker, Your Grace, we met a few years ago.’

‘Of course. Forgive me.’

‘Nothing to forgive. Forgive me for interrupting.’ Lord Whittaker looked uncertainly at the empty chair across from him where Milton had been sitting a few minutes earlier.

‘Please, sit.’

‘Thank you. I won’t take up much of your time.’

James felt his stomach sinking as he realised why Whittaker had sought him out. The mild-mannered man looked as though he didn’t really want to be here, but something was driving him on.

‘I believe you are acquainted with my daughter,’ Lord Whittaker said, flashing what appeared to be an apologetic smile. ‘Miss Rebecca Preston.’

‘We were introduced last night.’

‘Quite. My wife told me all about the ball. I was not in attendance unfortunately.’

Miss Preston was certainly tenacious. It wasn’t twenty-four hours since they had been introduced and already she’d engineered a meeting in the park and orchestrated her father furthering her cause.

There was a moment of awkward silence as Lord Whittaker mulled over what to say next. James was a charitable man, but he wasn’t about to make this any easier for the Baron.

‘My wife and I were hoping you would honour us with your presence at a small dinner party next week. It will be an intimate affair, just family and a few close friends.’

It was an ingenious ploy, no doubt thought up by Miss Preston or her mother, as James didn’t think Lord Whittaker had the deviousness to come up with such an idea. Issuing the invitation in person like this made it so much harder to decline—a note was easy to send back with a polite excuse, but face to face it was much harder to say no.

‘I know you’re a busy man, Your Grace, but it would mean a lot to my wife if you would consider the invitation.’

For a moment James wondered if there was more to the seemingly bumbling Lord Whittaker than met the eye. He almost had James agreeing just out of sympathy.

‘I shall have to check my calendar. What date is it?’

‘Ah. Well, my wife rather suggested we choose a date based on your diary. She really is very eager to receive you.’

‘How kind.’

‘Is there a day next week that would work for you?’

James considered. He could refuse outright, state he was too busy, even lie and say he was planning on spending a few days away from the city. He wasn’t overly eager to encourage Miss Preston and from what he had experienced so far she was the sort of woman who might even connive to land them in a compromising situation to force his hand. Still, looking at the hopeful face of the man in front of him, he found himself relenting.

‘I shall have a footman bring over a note tomorrow with my availability,’ he said, regretting it even as the words left his mouth.

‘Wonderful. Thank you, Your Grace. My wife will be ever so pleased.’

‘Perhaps you could see to it that a mutual friend of Miss Preston’s and mine could attend. Miss Yaxley, she is the one who introduced me to your daughter.’ It was cruel to inflict a whole evening of Miss Preston on Caroline, but at least her presence would stop it being the intimate family affair he suspected Lady Whittaker was planning. He should have asked for Milton and West to be invited as well.

‘Of course, what a splendid suggestion. I’ll inform my wife.’ Lord Whittaker, stood, gave a deferential little bow and hurried away.

Chapter Five

‘Are you sure you will be safe on your own for two hours?’

Henrietta motioned to her maid trailing a few steps behind her. ‘I’m not alone, I have Elise. I will be perfectly fine, you have no need to worry about me at all.’

Caroline pursed her lips and hesitated. She knew Henrietta was right, she did have the company of her lady’s maid and it was only a short amount of time, but she still couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy that Henrietta would be loose around London with just a maid for company because of her.

Henrietta smiled at her reassuringly. ‘Trust me, Caroline, I go for strolls by myself all the time. I am quite content.’

‘Two hours, we’ll meet back here. Try not to be late.’ Caroline watched her cousin hurry happily away, pleased to be given the freedom of a morning alone without any older relative chaperoning her and watching her every move. Henrietta was eighteen and wonderfully rebellious, although her parents thought she was saintly in her behaviour.

When Caroline had suggested she might act as her alibi for her trips to James’s house, Henrietta had jumped at the chance to be involved in the subterfuge. They had decided Henrietta would call for Caroline and together they would leave the house with their ladies’ maids. Once out of sight Caroline would make her way to James’s house and Henrietta would occupy herself somehow. After a couple of hours they would meet up again and return home together, as if they had been with one another the whole time.

Caroline smiled at Anna, the young woman who’d been her lady’s maid for the past six years. Although strictly speaking she was employed by Caroline’s parents, Anna was staunchly loyal and would never betray Caroline and would happily spend the morning sitting in the warm kitchen gossiping with James’s servants. Together they walked the couple of streets to Grosvenor Square.

James was waiting for her in his study, a wonderful room that seemed to reflect his personality perfectly. There were bookcases filled with books covering half the walls and, in the gaps in between, huge maps of Europe and the world. Dotted on shelves were treasures from his travels. A beautiful statue of a goddess brought from Rome, a painting of the canals of Venice, an ancient urn from an archaeological site he’d visited in Greece.

Caroline took her favourite seat, a worn leather armchair that was angled perfectly to look out over the terrace and gardens beyond, situated just the right distance from the fire in the depths of winter.

‘Good morning,’ James greeted her, perching on the edge of his desk. ‘Welcome to your first lesson in attracting a husband.’

Caroline laughed, eliciting a theatrical frown from James.

‘Sit down properly or I’ll be too distracted to concentrate on what you’re saying.’ She watched as he slipped from the edge of the desk into the armchair opposite hers. He was dressed casually today, in light brown trousers and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up a couple of inches revealing tanned forearms. There was no sign of a cravat or waistcoat or jacket and Caroline realised she had never seen him only half-dressed like this. Quickly she tried to think of something else, anything else, cursing silently as her rebellious eyes roamed over his physique again.

‘Today’s lesson is going to focus on identifying the men you are going to target.’

‘You make it sound like a military campaign.’

‘I was awake far too late last night thinking about you,’ James said, making Caroline shift in her chair. ‘Or more specifically about you and Mottringham. That can never happen.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s too old. And a bumbling fool. You would want to murder him before you’d been married a week. I forbid you to marry him.’

‘Forbid?’

‘Forbid. You’d be miserable.’ He held up his hands in a placating gesture. ‘Now I understand you’re not looking to find the love of your life, but I think a modicum of happiness isn’t too much to ask for. We will strike off any man who drinks too much, is cruel to women, gambles excessively, or is so old you’d question if his heart would make it until the wedding day.’

‘Is there anyone left on your list after we eliminate all of those?’

‘You must have more faith in the men of England, Cara. One or two remain.’

‘When I informed Mother of my plans to finally look for a husband, she thought I should focus my attention on widowers, given my age. She suggested Lord Renley and Mr Waterman.’

James frowned, shaking his head. ‘Lord Renley is rich but his first wife was not a happy woman if the rumours are to be believed. And Mr Waterman is sinking in debt.’ He paused, looking at her appraisingly. ‘You’ve been in society for seven years, there must be someone you have your eye on. Someone you’ve considered at least.’

Glad she was not often prone to blushing, Caroline quickly shook her head. Whereas Henrietta would often single out gentlemen she would declare an interest in and then a few days later move her affections to some other young man, Caroline had never felt even the slightest spark for anyone but the man sitting across from her.

‘No.’

‘No one?’

‘No one.’

‘Interesting. Well, shall we start with a list of attributes you would like your future husband to have?’

Caroline looked at him blankly. Over the last few months she’d slowly come to the realisation that she did wish to marry, but the idea of a future husband seemed shadowy and unclear to her, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to imagine who he might be.

‘There must be something you want?’

‘Of course, but nothing so important that the lack of it would rule a man out. I’d like him to be comfortably wealthy, pleasant to look at, kind and respectable.’

‘We need to narrow down the possibilities more than that. What is your most important attribute for your future husband?’

Caroline sighed—this was proving even more difficult than she’d imagined. She wanted to shout out that he should look in the mirror, take every aspect of himself and consider that to be perfection in the man she wished to marry.

‘Perhaps I could suggest a few gentlemen who have shown a mild interest in the past?’

‘Splendid idea.’

‘Mr French.’

‘Too besotted with his mistress. Next.’

‘Lord Huntingdon.’

‘Far too old and grouchy.’

‘Mr Reston.’

‘Terrible at cards and always at the gaming tables.’

‘Lord Potteridge.’

‘A complete bore.’

She fell silent.

‘I think we need tea.’ Standing, she walked over to the wall and pulled the bell cord to summon one of the maids.

‘How about Lord Hauxton?’ she suggested quietly. She knew Milton was one of James’s closest friends and Caroline had been close to his wife before she had died in childbirth. Lord Hauxton was seen by many of the ton as abrupt and on occasion rude, but Caroline had always found him refreshingly straightforward in a world where no one said what they really thought.

She watched as the emotions flitted across James’s face. He might not love her as she wished, but she knew he would find it hard losing her. Theirs was a friendship that they both cherished equally.

‘Milton is a good man,’ he said after a long minute of consideration.

‘But…?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s wealthy and titled and a good friend, a good man.’

‘But…?’

‘He wouldn’t be right for you.’ James shifted in his chair, frowning as he spoke. ‘He’s too serious. You need someone to bring joy into your life. To laugh with, to share every moment with.’

‘I think he should go on the list. He’s the best we’ve come up with so far.’

James started to murmur something, but was interrupted by the door opening and the maid slipping inside.

‘Can we have some tea, please, Mary?’

‘Of course, I’ll fetch it straight away.’

Caroline returned to her seat, feeling her heart begin to thump a little harder in her chest as James moved closer and took her hand. ‘I’m failing you on our very first day.’

‘Let’s move on to something else. Perhaps you can teach me how to flutter my eyelashes to gain a man’s attention.’

James grimaced. ‘Please don’t. Ever. It annoys me so much and I can’t imagine any other man is enamoured with the action. All it does is signal how naive a young woman is. And you, Cara, are not naive.’

Intrigued, Caroline edged forward. ‘How about pouting?’

‘Makes young ladies look like a surprised fish.’

‘Hair flicking?’

‘Likens the lady to a horse. And it can be dangerous—I’ve known many a man almost lose an eye from a vigorous hair flick.’

‘Now you exaggerate.’

‘Only slightly.’

‘How about a coy head tilt?’ Caroline moved her head very subtly to one side as she had seen many of the young debutantes do, tilting ever so slightly to give the best angle.

‘Probably the safest of the lot, but I can assure you it isn’t going to make a jot of difference to the gentleman you’re speaking to.’

‘So what should I do?’

‘Honestly? Smile. You look beautiful when you smile. Look a man straight in his eyes and smile. Not a coy or seductive smile, just your natural, normal smile. Not many men can resist a woman who looks at them, only them, and smiles genuinely.’

Caroline considered. As she thought about it she realised it was good advice. If she noticed the eyelash fluttering and hair flicking and pouting and found it annoying, it was only to be expected that a man would, too. It was unnatural, put on, a show, when really what most people wanted was a glimpse of the woman underneath. The woman they would have to wake up to every morning without the sheen of the ballroom and the alluring rustle of silks.

‘Go on,’ James prompted her, ‘smile at me.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

He stood, reaching out for her hand and pulling her to her feet. Caroline felt her body brush against his, felt the heat from him despite the layers they were both wearing. She swallowed before she raised her eyes to meet his, feeling her throat turning dry and her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.

‘Look at me,’ he said so quietly it was almost a whisper. As she looked up, meeting his dark eyes with her own, she felt the rest of the world slip away, leaving them in a wonderful intimate seclusion. ‘Hold my gaze, then smile at me as if I’m the only man in the world.’

She almost pulled away, but somehow she stayed where she was, resisting every sensible fibre in her body that told her to run for the door. For a long few seconds she held his gaze, letting her eyes take in every detail of his: the dark brown irises with the lighter ring just around the pupil, the flecks of gold bursting from the centre, the thick lashes that framed his eyes, the smooth skin above and below. Then she smiled, slowly, languidly, directing it completely at him as if he were the one thing that made her happy.

They stayed with their eyes locked on one another for ten more seconds until the door rattled open and Mary slipped inside with a tray of tea. Caroline saw James stiffen in surprise, then the moment between them was gone as he turned and took the tray from the maid.

James was glad of the routine task of preparing the tea to distract him as his pulse slowed to a more regular rate. He poured slowly, watching the liquid splash into the cups before adding just the right amount of milk and a spoon of sugar for Caroline. By the time he looked up and handed over her cup he felt almost back to his normal self.

Careful, he cautioned himself as his hand brushed against hers.

It was only a smile, a smile he’d seen hundreds of times, thousands. Caroline smiled at him multiple times a day. Little secret smiles at jokes they shared, the full, joyful smile when he returned from a trip away, the smile that cracked through when she meant to admonish him, but couldn’t quite keep a straight face.

Thousands of smiles, but never before had he reacted in such a visceral, primal way. He’d felt the urge to reach out, to draw her to him, to cover her mouth with his own and claim her.

Risking a look up, he felt himself relax a little. It was just Caroline sitting across from him, no different from usual. And no unsettling urges to reach across the space between them and pull her into his lap.

‘How did I do?’ Caroline asked as she cradled the cup of tea in her hands, slipping off her shoes and tucking her feet underneath her in the armchair.

‘It was perfect. More effective than pouts and hair flicks.’

Much more effective.

Five years, that was how long he’d known Caroline, and not once in those five years had she affected him like she had just now. It was one of the main reasons their friendship worked so well—there was no blurring of the lines between them.

‘Smiling is all very well,’ Caroline said, taking a sip of her tea, then swirling the liquid round in her cup as she spoke, ‘but that assumes a gentleman is taking an interest in me. I can’t run around grinning like a mad woman. How do I get the right sort of man to engage me, to ask me to dance?’

‘It’s all in your demeanour,’ James said, feeling as if he were heading back towards safer ground. ‘Just think. Last Season, if you suspected a gentleman might be interested in you, what would you do if he obtained an introduction from a mutual friend and struck up a conversation?’

Caroline considered for a moment, her head to one side. He could tell she was running through a catalogue of such meetings in her mind and he couldn’t help but smile when she grimaced.

‘Perhaps I haven’t always been the most welcoming.’

‘Talk me through how you would react, what you would say. No…’ he placed his teacup back in the saucer and stood ‘…show me. Imagine I’m an unwanted potential suitor.’

Slowly she stood, tucking her feet back into her shoes.

‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,’ she said, bowing her head. He saw she didn’t hold eye contact for more than a second and looked about her with a distracted air.

‘It is a pleasant evening, is it not?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Are you enjoying the ball?’

‘It is diverting, although quite a crush.’

James paused and Caroline nodded her head slowly.

‘I’m keeping the conversation superficial, an exchange of pleasantries, but not allowing it to go any deeper.’

‘There’s only so long a man can comment on the weather or the social event. If you keep the conversation superficial, no matter how much he’s interested in you he will eventually just move on.’

‘It’s true.’ She chewed on her lip as if remembering her behaviour the last few years.

‘You use single-word answers or short sentences, you give nothing of yourself away.’

‘But what if I have nothing interesting to say?’

He laughed, only stopping when he realised she was being completely serious.

‘Cara, you’re anything but boring.’

‘With you, perhaps, but I’m used to you.’

‘You make me sound like an old piece of clothing. Comfortable.’

‘That’s how you make me feel.’

He wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a compliment or not, but he didn’t really want to be like an old piece of clothing to Caroline.

‘Invite them in, let them get to know you. When they ask questions, tell them how you really feel rather than giving some meaningless platitude.’

‘No platitudes,’ Caroline said softly. ‘And a proper smile.’

She looked up at him then and smiled again and James felt the world around them tilt slightly, as if he were standing on uneven ground. Impulsively he reached out and caught her hand, feeling her soft fingers beneath his own. He’d brought it halfway to his lips before he caught himself and by then it was too late to hide the intended gesture. With a flourish he turned it theatrical, planting a kiss beneath her knuckles.

‘You’ll be the toast of the ball tonight.’

‘The Tevershams’?’ Caroline groaned.

‘You’re attending?’

‘I told my mother last night I wished to find a husband, to marry this Season. She promptly declared we would attend every ball, every dinner party, every social occasion until I had a wedding date set.’

He laughed, imagining Lady Yaxley’s delight when she heard Caroline’s announcement. As an only child Caroline would be the only one to give Lady Yaxley grandchildren and he knew she delighted in fussing over young children.

‘So, yes, I’ll be attending the Tevershams’ ball and any other ball these coming few weeks. Will you be there?’

‘I will. I need to see my pupil in action.’

Caroline looked at him in horror.

‘I’ll be discreet,’ James assured her.

‘You’re going to glower.’

‘I’ve never glowered in my life.’

‘Well, you’re going to distract me, then.’

‘You won’t even know that I’m there.’

She looked as though she were about to say more, but then shut her mouth quickly.

‘I should probably leave soon.’ Caroline sighed, flopping back in the chair. She looked comfortable, as if she belonged in his study, and for an instant he had a flash of what it might be like if he did ask Caroline to be his wife.

Clearing his throat, he stood quickly. He must be coming down with something—he’d had far too many uncomfortable thoughts this morning. First that flash of desire and now this comfortable, contented feeling he got when imagining Caroline in his house, legitimately, as his wife.

‘I’ll call your maid,’ he said. It was just an anomaly, a one-off occurrence. He needed a few hours away from Caroline and when he saw her next everything would return to normal.

Caroline blinked, as if surprised to have been dismissed, even if gently. Then she nodded and stood, smoothing down her skirts.

‘What is our next lesson?’ She waited until he returned to the room and then turned to face him.

‘You don’t need any lessons on dancing, but perhaps tonight we could practise your subjects of conversation when a gentleman asks you to dance.’

‘No more small talk,’ she said with a smile. She reached out and took his hand, waiting for him to meet her eyes, then squeezing. ‘Thank you. Perhaps with your help I will be a married woman by this time next year.’

‘The men of London are fools if they don’t rush to propose.’

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