Unmarried and pregnant!

Alex Golding had a duty to stop his brother-in-law’s bigamous marriage. But when he saw the bride, he offered whatever comfort he could to sweet young seamstress Lydia Brook...

Lydia has spent weeks trying to forget her brief encounter with Mr. Golding—she knows the rich widower can never love her. But when it’s Alex who offers her the investment to open her own shop, she can’t say no. This time their passion is as unexpected as its dramatic consequences...she’s expecting his baby!

Quite inexplicably Lydia’s heart gave a leap of desire, and when her gaze settled on his mouth she was lulled into a curious sense of well-being by his closeness as a rush of warmth completely pervaded her and her lovely eyes became blurred.

‘Just a kiss then,’ she whispered.

‘Just a kiss, Miss Brook,’ Alex murmured in a husky whisper.

Very slowly he lifted his hands and placed them on either side of her face. His eyes darkened as he leaned forward, and at his touch Lydia trembled slightly—with fear or with excitement? She didn’t know which, but she did not draw away as he lowered his head the final few inches and placed his mouth on her soft, quivering lips, cherishing them with his own, slowly and so very tenderly.

His gentleness kindled a response and a warm glow spread over her—but also fear began to possess her…a fear not of him but of herself, and of the dark hidden feelings he aroused within her.

Author Note

I have really enjoyed writing this story. It is about Lydia, a working woman in early Victorian London, who takes control of her own life before the emancipation of women—although calls for change were gathering pace in the last decade of the nineteenth century.

Lydia is an experienced seamstress and designer of ladies’ clothes. Intent on opening her own establishment, she is disheartened but not defeated when the bank refuses her a loan on the grounds of her being a woman. Along comes Alex Golding, a wealthy and influential businessman who deals with business ventures and legalities on a daily basis. He admires her intelligence and knows he is looking at a fighter. When she tells him she is looking for a loan to open her shop he offers her the money, confident that she will succeed…

Carrying the Gentleman’s Secret

Helen Dickson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

Books by Helen Dickson

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

Destitute on His Doorstep

Miss Cameron’s Fall from Grace

When Marrying a Duke…

The Devil Claims a Wife

The Master of Stonegrave Hall

Mishap Marriage

A Traitor’s Touch

Caught in Scandal’s Storm

Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant

Lord Lansbury’s Christmas Wedding

Royalist on the Run

The Foundling Bride

Carrying the Gentleman’s Secret

M&B Castonbury Park Regency miniseries

The Housemaid’s Scandalous Secret

Mills & Boon Historical Undone! eBook

One Reckless Night

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

1852

Beset with nerves, self-doubt and just a little terror at the speed with which events had taken her over, Lydia stood beside Henry Sturgis, the man who in a few minutes from now would become her husband. The realisation of the fact struck her anew and, as it did, she asked herself again if she was doing the right thing.

When Henry had told her he wanted to marry her, at first she had not been sure of herself, not really. The little time they had spent together had been exciting, but she had resolved to make no resolutions. With the death of her mother one year ago and after a lifetime of fending for themselves, to unite in such intimacy with another human being was a hard step for her to take.

Why? she asked herself. Why was it so difficult? Why was she so sensitive to committing herself to the challenging emotions of love, honesty and trust? Other people didn’t have a problem with it. Why should she?

Fear! Fear of what? Of moving forward, she supposed, of letting another person into her life and pledging herself to them. Pledging yourself meant holding another’s heart in your hand, of offering a secure place where anything was possible and everything between the two involved was understood. Pledging yourself meant facing what life had to offer together in the name of love. The problem was, she didn’t know if she wanted to. It was a risk, like leaping into a void, with no idea what she would find there.

Would it work? That was the question. Unable to make up her mind whether or not to marry Henry, she had decided she would carry on with her work as normal and see how things turned out. But Henry was in a hurry and after further persuasion from him and the resurrection of an unwelcome ghost from her past—a ghost in the shape of her father, who had cruelly abandoned her as a child and now wanted to reinsert himself into her life, which she wanted to avoid at all cost—she had relented, trying to convince herself that Henry was the living promise of all she desired and her escape from fear. But she wouldn’t think of that now. Not here. Not now, not ever.

The minute she had said she would marry him, Henry had set the wheels in motion with what she silently considered indecent haste. She’d had no say in the necessary arrangements. Two days hence they were to travel to Liverpool to take passage for America. Henry lived in America and his father was very ill. Should anything happen to him, he didn’t want to be on the wrong side of the Atlantic. It was for this reason they had come to this Scottish village called Gretna Green, the first changing post over the border, which was also a fashionable and romantic place for couples to marry immediately and without parental consent.

Now they faced the self-appointed priest who, for a substantial fee, had agreed to oversee the ceremony. The house where they had chosen to be married might not be as sanctified as a church, which Lydia would have preferred, but in the hushed quiet of the room and with the requisite two witnesses hovering behind them, it had all the solemnity she could wish for.

Lydia wore a costume of vibrant raspberry, simply styled and unadorned, with a well-fitted bodice. Her bonnet with its wide semi-circular brim, decorated with a small bunch of pink and white rosebuds, matched the dress. A profusion of black curls escaped the confines of the bonnet and caressed her face.

The priest leaned forward. ‘Are you ready to begin?’

Lydia nodded dumbly.

‘Yes,’ Henry was quick to reply, unable to hide his impatience to get the proceedings over with as quickly as possible. ‘Get on with it.’

Lydia looked at the priest when he asked them if they were of marriageable age. Yes, they replied. There was a disturbance at the back of the room as the door was flung open and someone entered.

‘Halt the proceedings.’

Lydia thought she must be mistaken. She thought she had heard someone say the ceremony must be halted. Startled, she turned at the same moment as Henry. It was simply unreal—the people, the priest, the sunshine streaming through the window. Two men had entered the room. The taller one who had spoken strode towards them. She looked him over openly. His tall, broad-shouldered physique radiated stamina and command, seeming to dwarf the other inhabitants of the room.

‘Can this not wait?’ the priest said crossly. ‘You are interrupting the ceremony.’

‘With justification.’

A sudden silence fell over the room. Lydia felt the cold at the back of her neck. It insinuated itself and slithered like tentacles down her spine. She stared at the man who had made the announcement.

‘What justification can there possibly be that allows you to burst in here and interrupt a wedding ceremony?’ Lydia retorted sharply with a fine cultured accent like cut glass, her gaze passing over the intruder with cold disdain.

The man’s gaze flicked from Henry to her, regarding her with an arrogance that was clearly part of his masculine nature. His eyes narrowed dangerously and his lips curled fractionally, but what passed for a smile was merely a polite obligation and a cool, dismissive one at that.

‘I apologise for any inconvenience caused, but I have justification enough—as you will, I am sure, soon agree. This man is not who he says he is. Had I not come in time he would have committed a criminal act.’

Astonished, Lydia stared at him. ‘Are you a policeman?’

‘No, I am not.’

From the tone of his voice and the set of his head and shoulders, Lydia knew that he was going to tell her the truth of the matter that was the reason for his intervention and her instinct told her that it was going to be worse than her worst imaginings. She stood rigid beside Henry, scarcely daring to breathe, waiting for him to continue.

‘It is my duty to inform you that this man you were about to marry already has a wife.’

Uncomprehending, Lydia felt her eyes widen and she stood immobile as a marble statuette as time drifted by in this sunlit room. In the time it had taken him to utter the words, all the devastation and bitterness of her expression could not be concealed.

There was a ringing silence. Nobody in the room said a word. Henry’s face had faded to the colour of dough. He was the first to recover. His mouth formed a grim line and his expression was guarded and wary—not unlike a small boy’s who has committed a wrongdoing and suddenly realises he has been caught out.

‘What is this?’ he demanded, his gaze fixed on the intruder. ‘And what the hell are you doing here?’

‘Surely I don’t have to spell it out?’ the tall stranger said, his voice dangerously quiet. ‘Of all the stupid, irrational—Have you lost your mind?’

In the face of such intimidation, Henry was visibly shaken, but it only lasted a moment. ‘Damn you,’ he uttered, his mouth forming the words which were barely audible.

Lydia tore her eyes from the stranger and looked at the man she had been about to wed, telling herself that whatever was happening had to be a mistake, that it was some kind of nightmare. It could be nothing else, but the stranger wore an expression of such steely control that she knew he was telling the truth even though she couldn’t comprehend it just then.

‘Do you know this man, Henry? And how does he know you? Answer me.’

Henry was emanating enough antipathy to suggest he not only knew this man, but that he was likely to commit violence. Anger had replaced his initial shock. Ignoring the woman he had been about to marry, he took a step towards the man, his back rigid and his fist clenched by his sides.

‘You followed me. Damn you, Golding!’ he snarled. ‘Damn you and your interference to hell.’

‘And you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I didn’t think it was asking too much when I insisted you remain faithful to Miranda—after all I have done for you. If it were not for me, your noble pile would have fallen into ruin and you would be living on the family farm, eking out a meagre living off the land. Instead of that you are living the life of the lord you were born to be and still chasing women.’

‘How did you know where to find me?’

The man didn’t so much as flinch. ‘It wasn’t difficult. You left my sister. She became bored and followed you to London. When she failed to locate you she came to me. I decided to pay a visit to your club where your friends were most accommodating with the truth. What lame excuse did you intend giving your wife for your absence?’ He spoke with an edge of aggression in his voice, which suggested that he was a man used to being answered at once.

‘I would have thought of something.’

‘I don’t doubt it. You’ve become rather good at lying to her. Damn you, Henry, you were about to become a bigamist.’

‘Until you stepped in. You could not have orchestrated your arrival with greater skill or better timing.’

‘I will not ask for an explanation—the situation speaks for itself. But how the hell do you think it would stand up in a court of law? Now I am here and though I am tempted to kill you, the love I bear my sister forbids it. Any wife faced with one sexual scandal after another would have her faith eroded in the man she married. She has just grounds to divorce you for this, but I doubt she will. She has a will of iron and your unacceptable, disgraceful behaviour since your marriage has only hardened her further. She is Lady Seymour of Maple Manor, a member of the peerage and no matter what you do to her she means to keep her place in society. Damn it, man, you have hurt her deeply. I hope you’re proud of yourself.’

He switched his attention to Lydia, bearing down on her like a tidal wave, his thick, dark brown hair, with just a hint of silver at the temples, gleaming in the light of the sun slanting through the windows. Tall, lean of waist with strong muscled shoulders, attired in a dark frock coat and cravat and light trousers, his gaze with a touch of insolence passed over her. His mouth tightened and his eyes, cold and unfriendly, flashed dangerously as he glared at her.

He studied her as Lydia studied him. She felt herself chafing under it.

‘What in God’s name did you think you were doing,’ he exclaimed irately, ‘careering round London with a notorious rake before embarking on this mad escapade?’

Lydia felt a swelling of righteous anger, a powerful surge of emotion to which she had no alternative but to give full rein. After all, she was as much a victim of Henry’s cunning as his sister. Her eyes flashed as a blaze of fury possessed her and added a steely edge to her voice. ‘None of this is my fault,’ she flared, suddenly furious at having some of the blame shoved on to her. ‘I had no idea Henry had a wife—or that he was a notorious rake since I do not inhabit his world.Polite society is outside my normal sphere, sir. Nor did I know his real surname is Seymour. I only know him as Henry Sturgis.’

The man stood with his hands on his hips, his light blue eyes like ice set in a deeply tanned lean face with a strong determined jaw and his voice like steel. ‘I wasn’t accusing you, Miss...?’

‘Brook. Lydia Brook,’ she provided, getting her voice under control and her features into a semblance of their normal expression. ‘And you, sir?’

‘Alexander Golding.’

Lydia faced him, resolute and defiant, her small chin thrust forward. She favoured him with a gaze of biting contempt before dismissing him and looking again at Henry. The words the stranger had spoken lapped round her like a wave threatening to engulf her at any minute. Her head felt suddenly weightless and she had to stiffen her spine to remain upright.

She studied Henry’s face and read what he couldn’t hide. In the space of a moment his expression had changed from the amiable, loving man who had been impatient to make her his wife, to that of a self-seeking, cunning being who was clearly thinking quickly what he could do to turn this situation he had not anticipated to his advantage. With the arrival of his brother-in-law, no longer at ease and in control, beads of perspiration began to dot his brow. She could almost hear the workings of his mind.

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the tightness in her throat to go away. The sun that had shone so brightly had gone out of the day. How gullible she had been to let herself believe after Henry’s passionate kisses and soft persuasive words that he really did want her, for she now realised that his words had been hollow, his passion no different from the passion he might feel towards any woman he was attracted to. The fact that she hadn’t succumbed to his attempts of seduction—indeed, she had adamantly refused to do so without a wedding ring on her finger—had only served to make him want her more and try harder. When she thought she could speak in a normal voice, she opened her eyes and looked at him, trying to stand on her dignity before these strangers.

‘Tell me why you have done this.’ He cast a look at her. She wanted to see it as a look that asked her to understand, but she saw instead the calculation behind it.

‘If only you knew,’ he said, his voice so low that she hardly caught the words. ‘I did want you—’

‘But not as your wife,’ Lydia bit back scornfully, noting that he didn’t look her in the eye.

‘No. I care for you—’

‘You do not ruin someone you care for.’

‘From the first time I saw you, I wanted you. I couldn’t help myself. I have waited so long for this. I thought my chance to possess you would never come. My desire for you subverted whatever sense of right and wrong—of breeding—I have. It’s not something I am proud of.’

‘No. You should be ashamed. We were to have been married. You deceived me and brought me here to make me your wife. You were to take me to your home in America—your father was ill, you said, which was the reason you didn’t want to wait the requisite three weeks for the banns to be read out in church. None of it was true. What a gullible idiot, what a stupid blind fool I have been. How you must have laughed. What you have done is underhand—despicable. Oh, how dare you? You have treated me abominably.’

‘Lydia—if only you knew—’

‘Knew? Knew what?’ she flared, anger flowing through her veins like liquid fire. ‘That you already had a wife? What did you plan to do with me? Abandon me in Scotland following one night of connubial bliss and return to London flush with your success?’ Seeing this was exactly what he had intended, she gave him a look of profound contempt. ‘You disgust me, Henry. How dare you make me an object of pity and ridicule?’

‘What will you do?’

‘What I have always done—get on with my life. Let’s be honest, Henry. You didn’t love me any more than I love you.’

‘You mean to say you didn’t develop a tendre for me?’ he quipped sarcastically.

‘Your intention was to seduce me and when that failed it only served to make you more determined. Instead of doing the decent thing and walking away you went one step further, playing on my ignorance and vulnerability, and offered me marriage—even though you had no right to do so. You are a liar and a cheat. The worst of it is that I fell for your lies. I didn’t know what you were trying to do to me. Your aim was to diminish me, but I will not be diminished—not by you. Not in any way.’

Knowing he had played with her as a cat plays with a mouse was almost more than Lydia could bear. She looked at him, at his curly fair hair and his lean athletic body. His face was sensuous with heavy-lidded eyes and a full-lipped mouth, which, no doubt, women found appealing. He looked just the same, this man who had shown her kindness and consideration and been attentive to her needs. But now, looking behind his handsome facade, she saw that man did not exist any more, if indeed he ever had. Now she saw a man emotionally devoid of those things. She saw boredom and greed, self-interest and contempt for her as his inferior. He looked at her as he would at some low creature—arrogantly and insolently.

She hated him then. She felt a mixture of rage and humiliation that was so profound she almost believed she would die of it.

‘How could you be?’ Henry retorted, her words having roused his anger. On the attack and uncaring how wounding his words could be, he went on to regale her and those present with her many shortcomings, much to his brother-in-law’s irritation.

‘You, my dear Lydia, would make an amusing bed warmer were you not as cold as the proverbial Ice Maiden and set with wilful thorns. Some might think your virtue admirable—personally, I consider it a damn waste of both time and a beautiful woman. It’s unfortunate since beneath the ice you have spirit and should have proved highly entertaining in a chase—which I was about to experience for myself until my brother-in-law blundered in. Any man who shows an interest in you, you hold at arm’s length until there is the promise of a ring on your finger.’

‘Including you, Henry,’ his brother-in-law said sharply in an attempt to silence him on seeing the young woman’s shocked expression and how she had paled beneath the force of his attack.

Henry lifted his arrogant brows, drawling, ‘Including me. I wanted her—rather badly, as it happens—and was prepared to go to any lengths to possess her.’

‘Even to commit bigamy. You have failed, Henry, which is why you are so ready to point out Miss Brook’s faults to anyone who will listen.’

‘Indeed, I confess to having been afflicted by a strong desire to possess her, but perish the thought that I would actually marry a woman of such low character and without a penny to her name.’

‘Your failure to seduce her will do nothing for your self-esteem when you are back in town and you have to face your acquaintances and admit your failure to win the wager and have to part with the five hundred guineas.’

Lydia stood like a pillar of stone, her mind numb. Her senses and emotions would return when she realised the nightmare she was experiencing now was no nightmare at all, but an extension of reality that would affect the whole of her life. But at the moment she was too traumatised to feel or see beyond it. Henry’s insulting words and the stranger’s revelation hung in the air like a rotten smell. No one had insulted her as much as this and it was more than her pride could bear. She saw it all now.

Dazed and unable to form any coherent thought, she backed away as the implication of what she’d heard rammed home. Her heart began to beat hard with humiliation and wrath. She was appalled and outraged—there was no possible way to deny the awful truth.

Henry had made a wager with his friends to seduce her and, should he win, he would be richer by the sum of five hundred guineas. It was more than her lacerated pride could withstand. Her face glazed with fury. Oh, the humiliation of it. Any tender feelings that might have remained for him were demolished. The discovery of his treachery had destroyed all her illusions.

‘How dare you?’ she said, her voice low and shaking with anger. ‘How dare you do that to me? I do not deserve being made sport of.’

‘Miss Brook,’ the stranger said. ‘Please believe me when I say I regret mentioning—’

Her eyes flew to his. ‘What? The wager? Is that what you were about to say? Why should you regret it? Why—when you were telling the truth? I have a right to know the extent Henry went to in order to get me into his bed.’ She looked at Henry. ‘What you have done is despicable. From the very beginning you set out to degrade me in the most shameful way of all. I am not too proud to admit that in the beginning I was foolish enough to fall for your charms. You’re no doubt accustomed to that sort of feminine reaction wherever you go,’ she said scathingly, ‘even though you have a wife. It would give me great satisfaction to know that handing over five hundred guineas for your failed wager would ruin you, but I doubt it will.’

Faced with such ferocity, Henry took a step towards her. ‘For heaven’s sake, Lydia, it was just a wager—a moment of madness. I never intended to hurt you,’ he said in an attempt to justify his actions, but Lydia was having none of it.

‘A moment of madness!’ she flared, her eyes blazing with turbulent animosity. ‘Is that what you call it? There is no excuse for what you have done. What is true of most scoundrels is doubly so of you. You would have ruined me, defiled me without any regard to my feelings and then cast me off as you would a common trull, you—you loathsome, despicable lech.’

‘Lydia, listen—’

‘I am not interested in anything further you have to say. But you listen to me, Henry Sturgis—Seymour—whoever you are,’ she said, her chilled contempt meeting his spluttering apologies head on. ‘I will never forgive you for this. From now on you will keep your distance from me.’ She turned from him and walked away. She couldn’t bear to look at him. The man and woman who had been brought in to witness their wedding stood side by side, rigid, their faces blank and expressionless as she brushed past them.

What he had done to her and what it would mean for her in the future spooled before her like a long ribbon of anger and grief. She wanted to lash out at him, to claw his face and pound him with her fists. Hate, disgust, disappointment and a deep sense of humiliation and hurt throbbed inside her skull and tightened her chest until she thought she would choke.

He had brought her all this way for a pretend wedding on the strength of a wager with his friends. She felt as if he’d taken a knife to her and sliced her into little pieces. Gripped by a terrible miasma of pain and deprivation—feelings she recognised, having grown up with them—she turned and ran unseeing out of the room which she had so recently walked into with a happiness she could not conceive. Now she saw nothing, heard nothing but the heavy pounding of her heart as she left the house and out into the street, hurrying to goodness knew where—anywhere, as long as she didn’t have to go back into that room and face them all, to confront the truth of what Henry was and what he had done to her.

Rage, white-hot and fierce, coursed through her, bringing a suffering so excruciating as to be unsupportable. She felt cruelly betrayed, lost and abandoned, the immensity of it causing her intense pain.

She knew she’d feel better if she could only get away. If she could escape from him. She didn’t want to stop because then she wouldn’t have to think about anything else. But eventually she would have to stop and when she did she would have to feel, which she didn’t want to face. She didn’t want to see Henry. She didn’t want to look in his eyes. She hadn’t loved him. She didn’t know what it meant to love anyone, but it did nothing to lessen her humiliation and the pain of such a public betrayal.

She kept on heading out of the village. What she was planning to do when she stopped running she couldn’t say. The most important thing was to get away. She heard her name being called. She kept on going. Her heart was racing in her chest and she felt a sharp pain in her side.

‘Wait,’ someone called.

She heard herself gasp and saw the road ahead of her blur. She kept hurrying on. She heard footsteps behind her and then another call of her name. Not until a hand grasped her arm did she halt, breathing hard. She turned, her mind and her senses disjointed, the people and carriages passing by in a maze of confused colours and muffled sounds. Her confusion was exacerbated by the colour of light blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes, the sound of a deep, mellifluous voice and the pleasant aroma of a sharp cologne. Still holding her arm, Alexander Golding led her to the side of the road, out of harm’s way of passing carriages.

The eyes that looked into hers were as transparent and as brilliant as sunlight on water. His sharp, sceptical gaze seemed to bore into her brain.

‘Are you all right? You are upset.’ He spoke evenly, without sympathy, seemingly uncaring of her plight or the cause. Her chest was rising and falling in rapid succession.

‘Of course I am upset,’ she replied irately, trying to pull herself together. ‘What Henry has done to me is unforgivable. What was I? Some tender titbit he decided to play with, a simpleton to fill his needs for a night or two. What amusement he must have had playing his sordid little game with me. And how disappointed he must now be feeling, knowing he has lost his wager.’

Nothing moved in his face, but his eyes darkened. Quietly, he said, ‘I am sorry you had to find out like that.’

‘Yes—so am I, but thank goodness I found out before it was too late. Now would you please let go of my arm?’ He obliged at once.

Her anger somewhat diminished, Lydia stared at the darkly handsome stranger. He possessed a haughty reserve that was not inviting. There was also an aggressive confidence and strength of purpose in his features, and he had the air of a man who succeeded in all he set out to achieve. From the arrogant lift of his dark head and casual stance, he was a man with many shades to his nature, a man with a sense of his own infallibility. With her mind on what Henry would have done to her had this stranger not intervened, she was unnaturally calm, as calm as the Ice Maiden Henry had accused her of being.

‘I—I...’ Words seemed to stick in her throat, almost choking her. She felt exposed and vulnerable, knowing this man was seeing her like this. Normally poised and in complete control of herself, she felt so undignified. It was all so humiliating. When she had first looked at him she had seen by his face that he was a hard man not easily softened, so she was surprised he had even come after her. ‘Please excuse me. This is all so sudden—so confusing.’

For the first time, Alexander looked at her and she at him. Something passed between them. Each felt that this moment was one of great importance, that they stood on the edge of something tangible, but they did not understand what it could be. Lydia swallowed hard. She could not seem to look away. She thought she should scream or try to run away. She did neither. Noise and bustle went on around them, but the sounds and people were lost to them as they looked at each other. It was a look that stretched for only seconds, but seemed far longer before Lydia averted her eyes as her heart swelled with such a bewildering array of emotions that she was overwhelmed.

* * *

Caught off guard by the effect this young woman was having on him, Alex immediately recollected himself. He could see she was still in the process of reeling from the truth of what Henry had done. She was dressed with tasteful simplicity in a gown the colour of raspberries. Her features were striking, her hair beneath her bonnet a rich, shining black. Her large dark green eyes tilting slightly upwards were moist, droplets of tears caught in her thick fringe of lashes glittering like diamonds. Her mouth was as red and ripe as a berry, her lower lip full. The sun was warm and the light glinted softly against her. It made her skin luminous. Quite tall and slender, she was wholly arresting and he could not seem to drag his eyes away.

When he had burst into the room to halt the wedding, he had been unable to focus on anything else but his brother-in-law. When he had learned Henry had come to Scotland and his reason for doing so, he had taken the young woman to be one of the high-spirited good-time girls who thought of little else but the frivolous pursuit of pleasure, whose life was one constant round of uninhibited fun and who thought it necessary to be a rebel, to outrageously defy the order of society—hence her easy compliance to adhere to this mad escapade.

The anger provoked by Henry’s reprehensible behaviour began to subside a little, and Alex felt a faint stirring of admiration for the self-assured way in which the young woman faced him. Anger burned like a flame in her eyes and he was touched, despite himself, by her youth. When he looked at her, there was no hint of the softening in his mood. His eyes, harsh and impenetrable, met hers, and, if she had but known it, they were adept in keeping a legion of employees in their place.

‘I imagine it is,’ he said at length. Beginning to see how devastating it must be for her to realise she had fallen prey to a seducer, he suddenly showed a hint of human feeling. ‘This cannot be easy for you. You did not know Henry had a wife.’

Wishing herself anywhere but where she was, facing the lonely place that rejection and anger had taken her, Lydia blinked hard to make the tears of hurt, anger and frustration disappear, hating herself for a weakness which ordinarily she would never show. ‘Had I known that, I would not be here. I cannot believe he has done this to me. How could he?’

There was a desperate, almost wild look about her. She seemed ready to bolt like a wild horse at any moment. The cords in her neck were strained and the glimmer of tears slipped like melting dreams from her eyes. Alex felt a curious need to treat her with gentleness, to say something to comfort her. But he didn’t know her or understand the nature of her grief, or her true relationship with his sister’s husband.

‘It’s all right. I am not about to judge you.’

She didn’t look convinced. Distrust clouded her eyes. Fiercely, she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘But I think you will.’ She tried to sound scornful. She only sounded afraid. The stranger would know, hear her inner weakness, and she despised him for knowing. Her natural resilience began to reassert itself. She looked at him, eyes flashing, defiant chin lifted. ‘I thank you for arriving when you did.’

‘There’s no need.’

Alex noticed her posture—arms stiff, hands clenched by her sides. Her face was white like alabaster and her eyes glittered. He could not take his eyes off her—in fact, she looked quite magnificent. She reminded him of a rapier blade made of steel. Drawn up to her full height, she was standing on her dignity. He could see that the fear had left her and she was in the grip of an ice-cold, venomous rage. He waited for her to conclude whatever inner battle she was engaged in and he tried to keep his face as non-committal as possible.

‘I imagine you were looking forward to going to America.’

‘Yes. I can’t pretend otherwise—a new start—I’d hoped.’

‘You must be disappointed.’

‘One has to learn to live with disappointments.’

‘Really? You seem rather young to be stacking up the bitter lessons of life.’

‘No one knows at what age life will deny us.’

Alex looked at her. He tried to read her face, to see what emotion and meaning were behind her words, but he couldn’t. He suspected that this young woman had a great deal of pride and courage, and both those things would force her to brave out the situation no matter how devastated she was.

Lydia stood and stared about her. What was she to do? Until now there had been Henry, experienced and decisive, to give her guidance and to take ultimate responsibility of the journey north in the hired coach and of their wedding. Now, she realised, she was on her own. Her hopes and dreams for a future which she had built were fractured suddenly. But, God willing, it was not irreparable.

‘I will not go back into that room,’ she said. ‘I do not want to see Henry again. Not ever.’

Alex noted the even tone of her voice and the directness of her contact with his eyes. ‘No one expects you to. Return to the hotel. I will make sure Henry does not trouble you. I want to say it was remiss of me not to enquire as to how what has happened has affected you. I do apologise most sincerely. I am not usually so unmannerly and I realise I spoke to you most unfairly earlier. I do beg your pardon.’

‘Since he is married to your sister your anger was justifiable. Believe me, sir, when he proposed marriage to me I took time to weigh my options, considering every possible outcome of permanently tying my life to his.’ She smiled bitterly. ‘When it comes to making decisions I am the least impetuous person you could meet. I should have thought about it some more.’

‘You weren’t to know he was already married. How could you? Come. Let me walk with you back to your hotel.’

‘Thank you.’ She fell into step beside him, slanting him a look. ‘You have gone to a lot of trouble.’

He shrugged. ‘I was left with no choice. Believe me, Miss Brook, I would not have halted your wedding without good reason. Consider yourself lucky that I discovered what he was up to before it was too late. I am sorry if this has inconvenienced you, but you must see that I have done you a favour.’

‘Yes—yes, I realise that.’ She stepped away from him. ‘I will return to the hotel. I shall be boarding the coach going south in the morning.’

Having reached where she was staying, they stopped outside and Alex looked down at her, noting a tiny cleft in her chin that was almost invisible. She had style and bearing, and there was a tone to her voice and an imperious lift to her head that spoke of breeding, of being superior to the ordinary woman. He suspected she was very much her own person—a woman of her time. In the sun’s bright light her colouring was vivid now. She dazzled him, drawing him to her with a power that enthralled him, and he stared at her with a hunger that went beyond anything physical.

He was quite bewildered by what he felt for her. It was an emotion he had no words for. All he knew was that it was different to anything he had felt in a long time, something that had sprung up suddenly, taking him by surprise, and he knew he couldn’t and didn’t want to walk away from her.

‘I, too, will be staying at the hotel. It would give me great pleasure if you would dine with me tonight, Miss Brook?’

Lydia took a moment to consider his request, thinking that she really should refuse in the light of everything that had happened. But feeling restless and dissatisfied and having no wish to be alone on what should have been her wedding night, she accepted.

‘Why—I—Yes, thank you. I would like that.’

* * *

Returning to the wedding venue, Alex immediately sought out Harris, his manservant—the man he relied on implicitly in both his business and personal life.

‘Where is my brother-in-law, Harris?’

‘Still inside—doing his best to placate the minister who was to conduct the ceremony. His attitude is of a man who is not at fault.’

‘Which comes as no surprise to me, Harris.’

‘He wanted to go after the young lady, but I told him to wait here.’

‘You did quite right. He’s the last person she wants to see right now. I’ve taken her back to the hotel. It grieves me to say so, but my sister’s husband is a wastrel with a warped sense of humour and his reasoning, to put it mildly, is perverse. He is capable of gross infidelity and would have boasted of the conquest to his worthless friends had he brought it off and to hell with his reputation and the hurt it would have caused both his wife and Miss Brook.’

‘Well, you did try to warn your sister against marrying him.’

‘Since when did Miranda listen to anything I have to say?’ Alex retorted crossly. ‘I sometimes wonder about the family she married into—that the very fabric of the Seymour line is flawed in some way. As you know, I have no particular liking for my sister’s choice of husband, but I did not imagine he was capable of this. His father had a dubious carry on—a gambler and a womaniser who left a pile of debts. There’s a dark thread running through that family, Harris, and who knows where the devil it will appear? I pray to God not in my as-yet-unborn nephew or niece.’

‘I very much doubt it,’ Harris said.

‘Let’s hope not. I would protect Miranda from this—but when she gets a bee in her bonnet she won’t give up until she is in full possession of the facts. She knows he’s been seeing another woman—but not the extent of it. For her sake I would like to keep this whole thing quiet. Should the story get out the dirt will stick and the unsavoury backlash will cause her unbearable hurt.’

Alex strode into the house, meeting Henry coming out. Alex was a serious individual and known as a hard, unyielding taskmaster by those subordinate to him. He was also a ruthless businessman who had made a large fortune in shipping and mining in the north of England and an even larger one in clever investments in the railways and abroad. He had settled a more-than-generous dowry on Miranda, knowing of Henry’s debts and his run-down estate which would benefit. Alex looked at him with contempt.

His normally arrogant brother-in-law was now subdued, demoralised by the events that had overtaken him, existing in a numbing vacuum of his own uncertainty. ‘Well?’ Alex demanded. ‘Things have ended this way because of a miscalculation on your part—Miranda’s failure to remain in Surrey and your friends’ willingness to talk. It was a stupid mistake, the sort of error that could cost you your marriage. What have you to say for yourself?

‘What can I say? You appear to know everything.’

‘Quite. You care for nothing but your own self-indulgence. How dare you treat my sister in this despicable manner! You disgust me.’

‘You must listen—let me explain...’

Alex shot him a look that would have stopped a racehorse in its tracks. ‘Hold your tongue! I don’t have the stomach for it now. I would like to spare Miranda the details of what you have done, but I do not see how it can be avoided. She will be deeply wounded by your betrayal, but no doubt she will forgive you eventually—foolish girl. You are undeserving of her devotion. I believe you hired a coach to come here?’

Scowling and tight-lipped, Henry nodded.

‘I want you to leave here without delay, even if it means travelling through the night. You will go straight home to your wife, where you will confess what you have done and beg for her forgiveness. Is that understood, Henry?’ Henry flinched before his cold anger. ‘Damn it all, Henry, I will not rake over the sordid events that have brought you here. My anger will probably get the better of me and I won’t be responsible for my actions. I have to remain in the north for a few days. When you reach Surrey you will remain at home—close to your wife—and keep a clear head. Where your friends are concerned you will maintain a discreet silence. I expect your full cooperation in this. You and I have important matters to discuss.’

‘Lydia—Miss Brook, she...’

‘Has no wish to see you. You will not try to approach her. Is that understood?’

Henry nodded and swallowed audibly. ‘Yes.’

Alex turned and walked away.

* * *

Alone in her room at the hotel and hidden from prying eyes, Lydia felt her whole body tightening as something tried to escape her, yet as fierce as she tried to suppress it, it was to no avail. Tears started to her eyes and began to flow, in sheer frustration and desperation. She wept for the present, in which her dreams and every wish seemed to be shattered, and she wept for the future, which now looked empty and bleak.

Henry’s appearance into her life and his proposal of marriage had meant a liberation from a life that had held her chained to Alistair’s workshop. Alistair, who had been her mother’s lover and her employer, worked her hard, the constant pressure he put on her making her long to be free, to own her own establishment and create her own designs. Her dream had been her mother’s dream, too. Before she had died she’d said it didn’t matter that she hadn’t realised her dream because she, Lydia, would carry forward her dream. Through her she would live on.

Henry had been a means of escape.

As his wife Lydia would have had a freedom from responsibility she had always dreamed of. Marriage to him promised great changes in her life. If she did actually marry him, her circumstances would alter dramatically. In short, she thought bitterly, he was a means to an end. But it had not been like that and now, with hindsight, she saw how he had skilfully manipulated her during the time she had known him. Determined to possess her, he had used patience, cunning and ruthlessness to gain her trust and devotion to get her into his bed.

Chapter Two

From his vantage point inside the dining room of the hotel, Alex watched Lydia enter. She stood in the doorway, her gaze doing a slow sweep of the room. Seeing him rise from the table, she walked towards him. Instead of the pale, humiliated woman he’d feared to see, she had lost none of the quiet, regal poise that had struck him earlier. She was the personification of calm, giving no indication of what had transpired earlier—or the tears that unbeknown to him she had shed in her room. Alex felt his admiration for her grow. He reacted to her. It was automatic after too long a period of celibacy.

Her body moved serenely as she crossed the room. Her ivory skin was flawless. In contrast to this, her hair, parted in the centre with a profusion of heavy corkscrew curls on either side, with the rest of her thick hair braided and pinned at the back, glistened like polished jet. Her eyes, surrounded by a heavy fringe of dark lashes, were large and luminous green. She was darkness and light, shadows and moonlight. Completely enchanted, he stepped round the table and held out her chair. As she took her seat and thanked him he breathed in the heady scent that came from her. She really was quite stunning. Little wonder Henry had been unable to resist her. How could any man with blood in his veins withstand her?

‘My compliments,’ he remarked softly, his eyes appraising her as he took his seat across from her. ‘You look lovely. How are you holding up?’

Lydia’s flesh grew hot and a tremor passed through her now she was face to face with him once more. A smile of frank admiration gleamed in his eyes when he looked at her, his sternly handsome face stamped with nobility and pride, his powerful, muscular body emanating raw power and sensuality. She smiled at him, the smile lighting her eyes with intelligence.

‘I am very well—considering what has happened,’ she replied, frustrated by the slight quaver in her voice. ‘Where is Henry?’

‘You will be relieved to know he has left Gretna.’

‘Yes, I am—extremely relieved. I trust he has gone back to his wife?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the gentleman you were with earlier. I do so hope I have not deprived him of your company at dinner.’

‘You mean Harris. He’s my valet—secretary—whatever he wishes to call himself on the day and he’s been with me for longer than I care to remember. What I will say is that he’s indispensable. I am a busy man, Miss Brook. Harris takes care of my needs. At present he’s making the most of some time to himself.’

The hotel dining room was filled with elegant, fashionable people. But it was these two that caught the eye and drew the most attention. They were a striking couple, Lydia still attired in the dress she had designed and made herself for her wedding. She knew light-coloured gowns were popular for brides, but Lydia had had to make do with the fabrics available to her. With its sloping shoulders, full sleeves and close-cut bodice tapering to a small point at the waist, the full skirt pleated into the waistband, it drew many an admiring glance. Alex, over six feet tall when standing, created a strong presence in the room in a way other men failed to do.

The waiter poured the wine. Alex sat looking at it, but he didn’t drink it at once. His countenance was brooding and something vibrated off him, some sort of curious life force akin to restless energy.

‘Did you not consider accompanying Henry to London?’ Lydia asked.

He shook his head. ‘At present I have no wish to spend time in his company if it can be avoided. Besides, I have business in the north to take care of. I expect to be here for at least a week.’

‘I see.’ Taking a sip of her wine, Lydia glanced at him over the rim of the glass. ‘Does your sister know about me—about what Henry intended?’

‘She is aware that he left London with a woman—not her identity,’ he replied, fascinated by her, noticing how her face captured and absorbed the soft glow of the candles on tables and in wall sconces around the room. ‘As far as I am concerned that is how it will remain. I have no doubt she will deal harshly with him, but she will not leave him. Her marriage means everything to her. She made vows. She said until death.’

‘I’m sorry—truly. If I have caused her further grief, it was not intentionally done. I was quite taken in by him. He appeared genuine. I had no reason to doubt him. But the truth is that once you begin to trust someone, to allow them into your life, to allow yourself to be touched by what you believe to be someone’s inherent goodness, then not only have the walls been breached but also the armour has been pierced. He has made a fool out of me and I have no one but myself to blame for trusting him.’

‘You are too harsh on yourself, Miss Brook.’

‘I don’t think so.’ She managed to smile thinly. ‘At this moment I am feeling more than a little bewildered, ill used and extremely angry.’

‘I can understand that. What is your profession, Miss Brook?’

She hesitated. ‘I am a seamstress. My employer, Alistair, also employed my mother—until her death a year ago.’

‘I am sorry. Were you close?’

‘Yes, very close. I miss her greatly.’

‘And are you good at what you do?’

‘Yes, I believe I am. I also like my work—which I will have to return to even if I have to grovel to Alistair to take me back.’

‘Henry has much to answer for.’

‘I cannot argue with that.’

‘He has a chequered past—you weren’t to know. Life is one huge lark to him. He has a weakness for a pretty face. I have come to know him well since he married my sister and I have become familiar with his appetites. Like those he associates with—a pack of wild, swaggering, privileged young lordlings—he is known for his excesses and is one of the very worst examples of the ruling class and his upbringing.’

‘Are his parents still living?’

Alex shook his head. ‘As an only son, an only child, he was the pride of his parents with his future laid out. While those less privileged had to fight their way through life, Henry had it all handed to him. But he didn’t realise that. He did not have the perspective that allowed him to recognise how lucky he was. He thought that whatever he wanted he could have.’

‘Are his parents alive? He never spoke of them?’

‘No. On the death of his mother his father drank and gambled the estate into the ground, leaving a heap of debts which forced Henry to make an advantageous marriage.

‘Hence his marriage to my sister, who presented him with a generous dowry and who doted on him. He was raised in the belief that he is entitled to do anything his privileged birth tells him is his due. Not only is he charm personified, he is also expert in the art of persuasion. He has a habit of dazzling young ladies.’

‘Especially a humble seamstress who doesn’t know any better,’ Lydia said, beginning to suspect that her companion’s family must be very rich to have settled such a large dowry on their daughter.

Alex gave a lift of one eyebrow and he smiled suddenly, a startlingly glamorous white smile that unbeknown to him made his companion’s heart skip a beat. ‘Humble? Miss Brook, I suspect you are many things, but humble is not one of them.’

She returned his smile, a soft flush staining her cheeks. ‘Perhaps not as humble as I ought to be—but stupidity cannot be ruled out. I thought it odd at first that he paid me so much attention. Me! A seamstress—and the daughter of a seamstress! He gave me flowers, presents—he flattered me. It had never happened to me before. I let him lead me on. My behaviour was a reaction to a weakness in myself that caused me to fall victim to his plethora of charms.’

‘You were flattered by his attentions. You cannot be blamed for that.’

‘No, perhaps not,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Why does Henry’s wife put up with his philandering?’

‘At first, in her blissful state of a new wife, Miranda, secure in her marriage, didn’t react to the attention Henry was getting from other women. His infidelities were subtle initially. Happier than she had ever been, even when she heard the whispers, she was unwilling to believe them. And then the knowledge grew from a practical examination of the facts at hand—his absences from home, from the marital bed, returning reeking of another woman’s perfume. During one particular amorous encounter, when the lady Henry was pursuing refused his advances, she made it known to Miranda. Naturally, she was devastated and had cause to wonder where Henry’s infatuation for other women was going to lead them—not to mention what potential for unhappiness lay in his seeming inability to control it.’

‘I cannot understand why she doesn’t leave him?’

He shook his head. ‘She’s become resigned to it—not that she likes it, not one bit, but she knows she will never change him so she gets on with her life regardless. She insists on discretion. He always leaves them in the end. Yes, Miranda loved him as soon as she set eyes on him. But apart from the emotional side of their relationship marriage was mutually beneficial to both of them. She hankered after a title and, financially, Henry needed the money from her dowry to restore his crumbling estate.’

‘I see. Then I wish her joy of him. Knowing what I do now, I cannot envy her. I can only fear for her. He is a baron, you say? I did not know that he was titled, but I knew he was different from me. But what of you? Are you titled, too?’

‘No.’ As a self-made businessman, Alex chafed beneath the privilege of meaningless titles, family history, and velvet capes and ermine.

‘Then what do you do?’

‘I am a businessman, among other things.’

‘I see.’ She didn’t really, but considering it rude to appear too inquisitive, she let it go at that and began eating the food the waiter had placed before her. ‘And do you have a wife, Mr Golding?’

‘My wife died.’

‘Oh—I’m sorry.’

‘There is no need. Blanche, my wife, was killed when the carriage she was travelling in overturned.’

‘How tragic. You...you must miss her.’

His face became guarded. ‘Yes.’

‘I...I hope you don’t mind me asking. My mother always did say I talk too much.’

He looked at her and met her eyes, staring at her for a moment, then he shrugged and smiled, the moment of melancholy having passed. ‘I don’t mind. It happened three years ago. I have no need to hide anything. It is better to speak of such things than keep them hidden,’ he said, but Lydia saw his eyes held more seriousness than his voice, which told her it still affected him more than he would have her know.

‘I agree. It is always best. You...have not thought of remarrying?’

‘I am not looking for a wife,’ he told her, his words and his eyes conveying a message. ‘I am quite content to remain as I am, to go my own way and to enjoy female company from those who desire my company.’

‘And always careful to elude capture,’ Lydia said softly.

‘Always.’ He smiled. ‘I have not known you twenty-four hours, Miss Brook, and already you are beginning to know me a little too well.’ He looked down at his plate. ‘We should eat before the food gets cold.’

Picking up his fork, after toying with his food, Alex gazed across the table at her lovely face. My God, he thought, she really was a beauty. Her long lashes drifted down as she looked at her plate, her soft red lips slightly parted. Her hair and gown were both unadorned, yet the effect was almost like nakedness, and Alex was both embarrassed and ashamed of the animal thoughts that flew through his mind as he looked at her.

Looking up, Lydia met his gaze and raised her brows in silent enquiry.

He smiled. ‘What?’

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘Why shouldn’t I look at a beautiful woman? You, Miss Brook, would make a saint forget his calling.’

Lydia swallowed, feeling her cheeks redden. The very fact of this weakness was an irritant to her, making her vulnerable to her own body. ‘I’ve heard many flowery compliments in my time, but that, Mr Golding, is the most flowery of them all.’ Later she would realise her mistake. The delicious food and the quiet, warm atmosphere of the room had lulled her into regarding her companion as an equal, a person whom she could relax with.

‘You are a strange young woman, Miss Brook. I find your company both pleasurable and enlightening.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘You are more intelligent than most women of my acquaintance and, if you are not careful, you will have me falling in love with a woman’s mind—but her physical attributes cannot be ignored,’ he murmured, his gaze languidly sweeping over her, his eyes settling on the gentle swell of her breasts straining beneath the raspberry dress, measuring, lingering, a slow smile curling his lips.

The soft sincerity of his voice, the tone of it, rippled over Lydia’s flesh and took her breath away—behind the words she detected an intractable force, coercing, seducing, and she was drawn to it, but then she remembered her purpose for being there. She tried to think of something to say, something that would restore the camaraderie and repartee of a moment before, but she was unable to say anything for the moment.

‘What else did Henry tell you about himself, Miss Brook?’ Alex asked, aware of the awkwardness of the moment and trying to steer clear of the direction in which his mind was wandering, but unable to take his eyes off her.

‘That—that his home was in America. When he proposed marriage I told him we should wait, to give it time until we knew each other better. But he said time was something he didn’t have. His father was dying across the Atlantic Ocean and he had to go home as soon as possible. I had no reason to doubt him. I cannot match him in education or experience—what knowledge I have was taught me by my mother. She was the daughter of a clergyman in Yorkshire. I have to work to make my living. Our backgrounds are dissimilar in every way.’

‘And yet you were prepared to marry him.’

‘Yes. He promised me so much.’

Alex smiled, noting that her every movement as she sat was graceful and ladylike. There was a serenity of expression and stillness that hung about her like an aura and just being with her was an experience he had not sufficiently prepared himself for. She really was quite beautiful, far more beautiful than any woman present, and she intrigued him, troubled him. His instinct told him that hidden desires were at play beneath her layer of respectability. He noted a certain unease in her eyes and what lay behind the unease was a sense that something was not quite right. Yet exactly what it was, not knowing anything about her, Alex couldn’t have said.

‘You saw Henry as a purveyor of dreams.’

‘Perhaps it is best not to dream at all,’ she said softly.

‘How long have you known him?’

‘Three months.’

‘Where did you go? Where did he take you?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘He is well known and popular among members of his club, his reputation that of a man about town who likes a good time.’

‘My time off from work was limited. We saw each other on Sundays and sometimes I could manage an afternoon during the week. We were alone mostly.’

‘That stands to reason. He wouldn’t want to advertise the fact he had taken a lover.’

‘We were not lovers,’ Lydia was quick to inform him, her cheeks flushing pink with indignation that he thought they were. ‘Never that.’

‘No? Then I have no doubt this is the reason why he insisted on a sham marriage. His desire to possess you must have been overwhelming—even though he never had any intention of leaving his wife.’

‘On occasion he did introduce me to a selection of his friends. Surely they would have said something—unless they didn’t know he was married either.’

‘Believe me, Miss Brook, they knew,’ he said drily.

‘You mean they were in on the deception? So I really was just some kind of amusement to liven up their bored lives?’

‘I’m afraid so. I told you it is not the first time he has done something like this, although he has never gone as far as being prepared to enter into a sham marriage to get what he wants. You must have something the others lacked.’

She bristled. ‘No, I’m just another one in a line of women.’

‘Were you impressed by him?’

She looked at him steadily. What woman would not be, she thought, having been raised as she was. ‘It was all so new to me. A different world.’

‘And now? Will you go back to what you were doing?’

‘I already told you that I have to. I have to work to live, Mr Golding. Throughout my life I have lived with the belief that happiness, security and future success would be available to me through the mainstay in my life—my mother—with her calm and gentle but firm ways. When she died all that changed—until I met Henry.’

Alex nodded with understanding. ‘I am sorry. And your father?’

Immediately Lydia’s eyes darkened and her face tensed. She looked away. ‘He...he is not in my life.’

‘I see.’ There it was, Alex thought, that was the something which was not quite right. He was intrigued. Why the reluctance to talk about her father? Sensing that his enquiry was sensitive to her, he did not press further. It was not his concern. ‘And your employer? Do you get on with him?’

‘I have always tried to, for my mother’s sake—they were lovers, you see.’

‘Then if that was the case, will he not help you?’

‘Alistair is a hard master. Working for him, I will never be more than an overworked, underpaid employee. I want to have a chance to make my own way, to be the dressmaker I know I can be—that my mother wanted me to be. I want to be a woman in my own right.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t expect you to understand. How could you possibly?’

Alex did understand—more than she would ever realise. As the deprived son of an impoverished and more often than not inebriated estate worker, on the death of his parents when he was just a boy, his maternal grandfather had paid for his education at Marlborough and then Cambridge. Alex would be eternally grateful to his grandfather for making this possible, even though he’d spent almost every penny he had doing so.

When Alex was eighteen, with his entire fortune of one hundred guineas given to him by his grandfather, he had worked his passage to America. Life had taught him that he had to grasp the opportunities when they arose. Nothing was going to be given to him. Gambling his money on a series of investments had paid off. Thirteen years later he had made his fortune and never looked back.

He continued to excel in business like Midas. The only other venture he had engaged in was the pleasurable pursuit and conquest of the opposite sex.

Though thoroughly put out by this whole sordid affair with Henry which had disrupted the smooth order of his business life, he was impressed by this young woman’s astuteness and he was amazed she hadn’t seen through Henry’s deception. She exuded tension and a certain authority and despite everything his curiosity was aroused as they ate their meal. She had an easiness of manner and a self-assurance and poise that was entirely at odds with her background. He was warmed by her sunny smile, the frank gaze and artless conversation, and he found himself sparing the time to listen to her.

There was an air of determination about her that manifested itself in the proud way she held her head and the square set of her chin and a bright and positive burning in her eyes when she outlined her plans for the establishment she hoped to open one day.

She told him how she was apprenticed at thirteen and how she had gained a thorough knowledge of fabrics and the business of supplying dressmakers. She had made a study of ladies’ fashions and, inspired by what she had learned and her own ideas, she had high hopes for the future. She told him she had a small nest egg put by and when she had saved enough she would realise her ambition and her mother’s before her. Alex found himself being carried along by the wave of her high expectations.

Finally falling silent, she looked at him and sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk so much. You must wonder how I can speak so enthusiastically about my work after what Henry has done. He told me all my hopes and dreams would be fulfilled once we got to America. Well, that won’t happen now—but I refuse to let what he has done to me ruin my hopes for the future. I cannot believe how I let myself be duped like that.’

‘No? They say love is blind.’

‘Love?’ She laughed at the absurdity of it. It was as humorous as it was bitter. ‘Oh, no, it wasn’t love. I was flattered that a man of such glamour and charm—with a merry smile and a certain devil-may-care approach to life—should pay me attention.’

‘So you didn’t love him?’ Alex felt curiously relieved on being told this, but once again he felt there was an edge to her manner—subtle, yes, but there—which led him to think there might be another reason why she had been so ready to accept Henry’s proposal of marriage, that she might be running away from something and she had seized on the opportunity to escape. After all, she had admitted she didn’t love Henry. So what other reason could there be?

Lydia smiled, a faint frown puckering her brow, and when she spoke it was as if the question was directed against herself. ‘How does one analyse love? It has always been one of life’s great mysteries to me. How can anyone adequately explain it? It’s like trying to explain why the sun shines, why the earth spins and why the moon controls the tides.’

He laughed. ‘The things you mention are rational to me. They are divined by nature.’

‘That’s another thing. How to explain nature.’

‘You sound very cynical, Miss Brook. Love does not need an explanation, surely? Love, so I’m told, is something that grows out of nothing and swells as it goes along. No one can tell another why if happens—only how it is.’

Lydia smiled at his teasing tone. ‘Now who is the cynic?’

‘Touché, Miss Brook. Tell me. Why would you want to go back to working for Alistair if you were not happy?’

She looked at him. ‘Happy?’ She pondered the question a moment. ‘I don’t think the world has much to offer in the way of happiness,’ she said, more to herself. ‘There’s too much grief—too much pain.’

‘And you have known both, I suspect.’ He looked across the table at her, his eyes curiously intense. ‘You have just told me that you do not love Henry, which I find curious since you agreed to marry him. Why, I ask myself, would a woman who is both beautiful and clever do that, unless you are running away?’

She looked at him sharply. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘It’s merely a suspicion I have. I am right, though, aren’t I?’

She looked down at her plate, tension in the angle of her jaw. ‘Yes—at least—something like that.’

‘Running away is not always the sensible thing to do.’

She looked at him from beneath her long lashes. ‘You may be right, but sometimes one is left with no choice.’

‘That’s true, but generally I think it is better to face the problem head on and deal with it.’

‘That’s easy for you to say.’

‘Why are you running away? That is if you want to talk about it.’

She eyed him with wary indecision, wondering what he would say if she were to divulge the more sinister truth behind her acceptance of Henry’s proposal of marriage, a marriage that would take her away from London—from England—far away from the awful truth that the man she had come to realise was her father, a man she had believed was dead, was very much alive. Having no wish to discuss this highly personal matter with a complete stranger, she shook her head. ‘No, thank you, I really do not want to talk about it.’

‘I understand, but I suspect it is connected to the grief and pain you mentioned.’

‘Yes, I have known both, borne out of attachment to the person or people who cause it, and knowledge.’

From bitter experience her mother had told her that knowledge was life’s blood in this world, that once gained it should not be thrown away, but used sensibly, ruthlessly, if necessary, that with knowledge a person could rule the world. And so she had applied herself diligently to her learning and then set about doing what her mother had told her to do. But when she had met Henry it hadn’t worked out that way.

She was a woman who had encountered hardships for most of her life. Even working for Alistair where her performance was valued and he paid her slightly more than the other girls, she’d learned to take care of herself, never allowing others to venture too close—her mother excepted when she had been alive—never completely letting down her guard lest the price of that familiarity would mean an equality of mind. She had allowed Henry into her life, but she had only given of herself as much as she had wanted to give.

‘My dream was that one day my luck would change and I truly thought it had when Henry came into my life. Suddenly I had a wonderful future before me, but it was not to be.’ She smiled, a smile that was quite enchanting and unbeknown to her did strange things to her companion’s heart. ‘Please do not mind me, sir. Considering who I am you are being most kind and understanding. But you should not trouble yourself. As a gentleman, you must be embarrassed by such a situation, I am sure.’

‘Not at all. You are a refreshing change to most of the ladies of my acquaintance. I find you are an interesting person to talk to. No doubt you will want to return to London immediately.’

‘Yes,’ she said decisively.

‘Can I be of service to you?’

‘No—thank you. You have done enough.’

The meal over, with his hand beneath her elbow Alex escorted Lydia out of the room. She was startled by his close proximity and she was puzzled by her body’s response to the simple sensation of his hand on her arm. They stood at the bottom of the stairs in the small hall, facing each other. Lydia’s lips parted in a tremulous smile, and her expression softened.

‘I am thankful you saved me from what would have been a terrible fate. I’m so sorry about your sister. You must be concerned about her—about the whole situation, in fact. It can’t be easy for her having an unfaithful husband—or for you, knowing what you do about him.’

Alex was strangely touched by her concern. He felt a stirring for her that was new to him on first acquaintance with any woman—a mixture of awe, desire and surprise that this glorious creature had actually fallen for Henry’s smooth ability to manipulate the situation. She possessed the animal grace of a young thoroughbred and a femininity that touched a chord hidden deep inside him. Her full lips were inviting, her drawn-up hair displaying to perfection the long slender column of her throat—white and arched and asking to be caressed. In fact, she looked like a beautiful work of art.

When she had confronted him earlier, normally he would not have reacted quite so angrily, but he had been on edge ever since he had found out that Henry had absconded to Scotland with an unknown woman. He had been on edge before that, having spent an extremely tiresome few days dancing attendance on Irene—the wilful, spoilt sister of his good friend Sir David Hilton.

He had spent the past few weeks as David’s guest at his house on the outskirts of Paris, a city which David loved and to which he would escape at every opportunity. David had returned with him to London, his sister accompanying him. Alex had intended spending the day prior to him learning about Henry’s escapade at his house, Aspen Grange, in Berkshire. David was a close neighbour and the two of them had planned to do some fishing. It had been unfortunate for Alex that Irene had come along. That she nurtured hopes of marriage between them was evident, for she had hounded him ever since the demise of his wife.

But Irene would be disappointed, for he had no intention of marrying again in a hurry. He had nothing but contempt for an institution that he had once believed would bring him happiness and fulfilment, but which had brought him nothing but misery instead.

‘If I were not tied up in the north on business, I would offer to take you back.’

‘Please do not concern yourself with my welfare. I’ll be all right, really,’ she said with more determination than accuracy. ‘I can find my own way.’ A wistful look clouded her eyes and her lips curved in a tremulous smile. ‘It feels strange when I remember that tonight should have been my wedding night. I did not think it would end like this.’ She sighed, meeting his eyes. ‘None of that matters any more. We will not meet again, sir, for I doubt our paths will cross in the different societies in which we move.’

Alex was reluctant to let her go. The light shone on her soft dark hair and he visualised himself touching it, loosening it from its pins, running his fingers through it, feeling it caress his naked flesh as they shared an embrace. Despite her lowly background she was not of the common kind and there was also about her a mysterious, almost sweet and gentle allure. She had the poise of a woman fully conscious of her beautiful face and figure, and his instinct detected untapped depths of passion in her that sent silent signals instantly recognisable to a lusty, full-blooded male like himself. The impact of those signals brought a smouldering glow to his eyes as he imagined what it would be like to possess such a glorious creature.

‘It need not be like that.’ His expression suddenly changed and the lightness disappeared from his tone as he came to a decision. ‘You strike me as a sensible young woman—and a beautiful one—although from my experience the two do not always keep good company.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I realise that this should have been your wedding night,’ he said, speaking softly, holding her with his gaze, knowing that she, too, was the victim of irresistible forces at work between them. ‘You don’t have to be alone tonight.’

He waited for her to reply, watching her, knowing that her reaction to his suggestion would determine everything between them. She looked startled by his question and for a moment held his gaze with innocent perplexity. A sudden shock of hunger that she might accept shot through him, but he was to be disappointed.

His words and their implication did indeed take Lydia by surprise. What shocked her even more in that second when it registered was her inclination to accept his offer. She had spent most of her life in the more deprived areas of London—she was not naive and would have had to be a fool not to have known the implication of his words. Throughout the meal and the warmth that had developed between them, and the way he’d listened to her as she had told him about her work and hopes for the future, she had been quite carried away.

She watched his smile. It was a most appealing smile. Her resolve hardened automatically at the sight of it. After today she knew well enough what degree of complicity an appealing smile was able to conceal. Henry had taught her to discount any warmth she might feel for another human being. To feel that way led to weakness, which could be fatal.

Hot colour flooded her cheeks and she took a step back abruptly. ‘Either I am mad, sir, or you are,’ she said, keeping her voice low so as not to overheard by others drifting in and out of the hall. ‘What kind of woman do you think I am? I do not want to sound ungrateful for your kind attention, but I feel that now you are either carrying gallantry too far or pitying me to the extreme.’

‘I am not being gallant, Miss Brook, nor do I pity you,’ he said, his eyes held by this vibrant, graceful woman who was so close he only had to raise his hand to touch her. ‘That has nothing to do with it. I assure you I am completely serious.’ He spoke softly, so cool, so self-assured, holding her gaze.

‘Yes, I can see you are, and if you wonder at my decision to turn you down it is because I have a well-developed instinct for self-preservation.’

‘Not so well developed, otherwise you would have seen through Henry from the beginning,’ he murmured.

‘No doubt you think that because Henry picked me up from the back streets of London I am fair game. You are mistaken. How can you suggest anything so improper? I am not a whore. I am not for sale. If you were any sort of gentleman, you would not have said what you just did.’

The savagery in her tone startled Alex. ‘It was merely a suggestion. I thought that after all that has happened today you might not want to be alone.’

‘I like my own company, Mr Golding. Henry has turned out to be most unworthy. If I agreed to what you suggest, I could well be uniting myself with another equally unworthy.’

Alex’s jaw tightened, and he stepped away from her. So, she thought she could impose on him with her ladylike airs. But then, furious with himself, more than with her, after all she had been through that day, he understood how insulted she must feel by his improper suggestion. ‘If you are going to cast doubt on my good intentions, then there is nothing more for me to do than bid you goodnight and wish you a safe journey.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Golding,’ she said in a shaky, breathless voice, trying to ignore the dull ache of disappointment in her chest, regretting this new turn of events that had ruined the closeness that had developed between them throughout the meal.

Alex looked at her face, drawn by the candlelight reflecting softly in the depths of her eyes and the appealing pink of her lips slightly parted to reveal shining white teeth. His conscience rising up to do battle at what he had suggested, he tried flaying his thoughts into obedience, but he could smell her perfume in the air, which weakened his resolve.

He had known and made love to many beautiful women, but he could not remember wanting any of them on first acquaintance as he wanted Lydia Brook. What was it about her that he found so appealing? Her sincerity? Her innocence? Her smile that set his heart pounding like that of an inexperienced youth in the first throes of love? He told himself that what he felt was the ache of frustrated desire, but whatever it was he could not deny that she affected him deeply. Almost without conscious thought, as she was about to turn away he found himself reaching for her.

Lydia was surprised when he suddenly took hold of her arm and drew her into a curtained alcove beneath the stairs. The light was muted, the space small, forcing them together. She gave a sharp jerk, trying to pull herself free, but his arms went around her, drawing her close.

‘Please,’ she gasped, lifting her head and dragging her eyes past his finely sculpted mouth to meet his gaze, suspecting he was going to kiss her. ‘This should not be happening.’ Raising his hand, he gently brushed her cheek with the tip of his finger, moving it down with sensuous slowness. Her skin grew warm with pleasure.

‘I know,’ he said, bending his head to whisper quietly against her hair, and she impulsively turned her head slightly to meet his cheek with her own. ‘Just one kiss, Miss Brook. Where’s the harm in that?’ The contact with her flesh was electric. He raised his head, his smouldering eyes gazing down at her face as if he were memorising it, then they fixed on her lips.

Quite inexplicably Lydia’s heart gave a leap of desire and, when her gaze settled on his mouth, she was lulled into a curious sense of well-being by his closeness as a rush of warmth completely pervaded her and her lovely eyes became blurred. ‘Just a kiss, then,’ she whispered.

‘Just a kiss, Miss Brook,’ he murmured in a husky whisper.

Very slowly, he lifted his hands and placed them on either side of her face. His eyes darkened as he leaned forward, and at his touch Lydia trembled slightly—with fear or with excitement, she didn’t know which—but she did not draw away as he lowered his head the final few inches, and placed his mouth on her soft, quivering lips, cherishing them with his own, slowly and so very tenderly. His gentleness kindled a response and a warm glow spread over her, but also a fear began to possess her, a fear not of him but of herself and the dark, hidden feelings he aroused within her.

Suddenly his arms encircled her and she was drawn closer to his hard chest, moulding her body to his rigid contours. A flame of white heat rushed through her. She allowed him to hold her in his embrace, feeling the strength of him against her as slowly his warm parted lips, tender and insistent, continued to claim hers, moulding, caressing and possessive.

The shock of his kiss was one of wild, indescribable sweetness and sensuality, violent yet tender, evoking feelings Lydia had never felt before. She felt her body ignite as she responded eagerly, pressing herself closer still and opening her mouth to receive his. He smelled of brandy and cologne, and it intoxicated her senses. Blood pounded through her veins and her stomach tensed, but she didn’t try to move away. Imprisoned by his protective embrace and seduced by his mouth and strong, caressing hands, which slid down the curve of her spine to the swell of her buttocks and back to her arms, her neck, burning wherever they touched, Lydia clung to him, her body responding eagerly, melting with the primitive sensations that went soaring through her. Nothing in all her twenty years could have prepared her for his kiss and she became lost in the joy, the heat and the magic of the moment.

A soft moan interrupted the quiet space, and Lydia realised it came from her. Suddenly her world had become exquisitely sensual, where nothing mattered but this man and what his mouth locked hungrily on hers and the closeness of his body was doing to her.

Alex held her unresisting, pliant young body close, his lips caressing her cheek, her jaw, before finding her lips once more. He was a virile and an extremely masculine man, well used to the pleasures of the flesh that were available to him. But this woman confounded him. She was pure, untouched innocence, a woman who had never known a man’s intimate embrace. As her mouth fed his hunger, his body strained towards her.

When he finally released her lips they were both breathing heavily. Standing unmoving, as though still suspended in that kiss, her lips moist and slightly parted, slowly Lydia began to surface from the dangerous cocoon of sensuality where the absolute splendour of his kiss had sent her and where she had no control over anything.

Tenderly, Alex caressed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. She was utterly lovely, breathtakingly so, and he was moved by emotions almost beyond his control, wanting so very much to kiss her again, but this time with all the hunger and passion that threatened to engulf him. He told himself to slow down, to be content with what she was willing to permit, not to push her into anything, but at that moment his desire was to continue to be close to her, to savour the sweetness of her. He was seized by an uncontrollable compulsion to make love to her—reluctant to allow this glorious young woman to slip through his fingers. He cupped her face in his strong hands, gently brushing a strand of hair from her cheek and tilting her face to his.

‘Don’t spend this night alone. Stay with me.’

She gazed up at his face, darkened in the dim light, feeling a numbing of her senses as her desire for him took on a dangerous life of its own. There was a need in her and she couldn’t understand the nature of that need. Where had it come from? All she knew was that this man was the man to satisfy that need. She wanted him. She wanted more of what he could give her, but she must not. Her own thoughts shocked her. What was she thinking? This man was of a different class, living in a different world. He might not have a title like his brother-in-law, but he was of the gentry. It seeped out of him in volumes. It spoke of power, confidence and strength—and more than a little arrogance.

‘No. I really must go.’

For a moment Alex stood there, looking down at her face flushed with desire in the dim light, her eyes glazed with it.

‘Why? Are you afraid of me?’

‘No, of course I’m not,’ Lydia said shortly, but she realised as soon as she had said it that it was a lie. Of course she was afraid of him, afraid of what she might do with him if she stayed any longer, because that was exactly what she wanted to do. To feel his lips on hers once more, to feel those exquisite feelings his lips had ignited in her.

‘I must go.’ She flung herself away from him and even though her legs were trembling and her flesh was on fire she began to climb the stairs with all the dignity she could muster, knowing that he continued to watch her like some dark brooding sentinel. Never had anyone affected her like this in her whole life. The thought of giving herself to Mr Golding sent a tremor down her spine, but it no longer shocked her, the events of the past twenty-four hours having finally drained her of all feeling so there was hardly any emotion left in her.

And yet she could not put what had just happened from her mind. The feelings she had experienced when they had talked over dinner took some understanding—she had felt herself being drawn to him against her will by the compelling magnetism he seemed to radiate and the memory of his smile and how he had looked at her, how his incredibly light blue eyes had hardly left hers for a moment and the intimacy of his lazy gaze made her tremble and heat course through her body.

She told herself that to enter into any sort of relationship with a complete stranger could be both foolhardy and ruinous. But Alex Golding’s suggestion in the aftermath of Henry’s betrayal constituted a phase in her life that was both flattering and essential for her pride. His desire for her had aroused an equal desire in her. It was the kind of desire that was completely new to her, the kind of desire that, despite all his efforts, Henry had never been able to stir.

She tried telling herself that the two men were not in the least alike, but how could she know that? She didn’t know Alex Golding.

She had a flicker of doubt that what she was about to do was foolish, but then she reminded herself that the steps she was about to take, that what would happen, would be on her terms and that afterwards she would walk away and no one would be any the wiser at what she had done.

She shivered, but it was not because she was cold. Suddenly she felt warm—far too warm. Something was happening to her. It was as if a spark had been lit that could not now be extinguished. A need was rising up inside her—a need to be close to the man who still watched her, to this stranger—to wallow in the desire that had suddenly taken hold of her, to saturate herself in this newfound passion his embrace and his kiss had awoken in her.

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