Praise for Sarah Mallory:

‘Sarah Mallory’s name

is set to become a favourite with readers of historical

romantic fiction the world over!’

—Cataromance

‘MORE THAN A GOVERNESS is a richly woven tale

of passion, intrigue and suspense that deserves a place

on your keeper shelf!’

—Cataromance

‘You know what people are saying about you and Mortimer?’

She recoiled a little.

‘I neither know nor care,’ she retorted.

‘I would not have you dishonour your husband’s name, madam.’

Her eyes darkened angrily.

‘How dare you suggest I would do that?’

Her eyes darted fire, and she moved forward as if to engage with him. Jack could not look away: his gaze was locked with hers and he felt as if he was drowning in the blue depths of her eyes. She was so close that her perfume filled his head, suspending reason. A sudden, fierce desire coursed through him. He reached out and grabbed her, pulling her close, and as her lips parted to object he captured them with his own. He felt her tremble in his arms, then she was still, her mouth yielding and compliant beneath the onslaught of his kiss.

Disgrace and Desire
Sarah Mallory

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Author Note

Every book is special to its author, and DISGRACE AND DESIRE is no exception. It is the story of exceptional friendship and loyalty as well as love.

Eloise’s childhood friend Alex sums her up perfectly when he says of her, ‘She was loyal to a fault, and often took the blame for our pranks…She spent most of her time rescuing us from our more outlandish scrapes.’

This was the premise for my story of a widow who is so fiercely loyal to the memory of her husband that she will go to almost any lengths to protect his good name, even risking her own reputation. She is aptly named, too, after Heloise, the lover of Peter Abelard and a woman revered for her fidelity and piety.

I wanted a very special hero to complement my heroine, and Major Jack Clifton came striding onto the scene. Darkly handsome, an honourable soldier and intensely chivalrous, Jack comes from the bloody battlefield of Waterloo to the glittering ballrooms of London to fulfil a promise made to a dying colleague, and he finds Lady Allyngham is not the shy, retiring widow he was expecting! He is captivated by her beauty but increasingly intrigued by her behaviour: is her reputation as a wicked flirt merely a façade?

Eloise discovers that she is attracted to the dashing Major in a way she has never experienced before, and she is torn between her new love and old loyalties. She doesn’t want Jack to think badly of her, and she needs his help, yet she is not prepared to confess to him her secrets—secrets that she says are not hers to share.

Eloise needs to protect the reputation of her friend and the good name of Allyngham, and also defeat the villain who threatens to expose her before she can even consider winning Jack’s love. It’s a tall order, but this is, after all, a romance, so there must be a way. I hope you enjoy her story.

About the Author

SARAH MALLORY was born in Bristol, and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. She left grammar school at sixteen, to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen-name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award in 2005 from Singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice in November 2006 for Gentlemen in Question.

Recent novels by the same author:

THE WICKED BARON MORE THAN A GOVERNESS (part of On Mothering Sunday) WICKED CAPTAIN, WAYWARD WIFE THE EARL’S RUNAWAY BRIDE

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Prologue

Major Jack Clifton dragged one grimy sleeve across his brow. The battle had been raging all day near the little village of Waterloo. The tall fields of rye grass had been trampled into the ground as wave after wave of cavalry charged the British squares between bouts of deadly artillery fire. A smoky grey cloud hung over the battlefield and the bright colours of the uniforms were muted by a thick film of dust and mud.

‘Look,’ said his sergeant, pointing to the far ridge. ‘That’s Bonaparte up there!’

A nervous murmur ran through the square.

‘Aye,’ Jack countered cheerfully. ‘And Wellington’s behind us, watching our every move.’

‘So ’e is,’ grinned the sergeant. ‘Well, then, let’s show the Duke we ain’t afraid of those Frenchies.’

Another cavalry charge came thundering towards them, only to fall back in a welter of mud, blood and confusion. Jack rallied his men, knowing that as long as he stayed calm the square would hold. A sudden flurry of activity caught his attention and a party of soldiers approached him, carrying someone in a blanket.

‘Lord Allyngham, Major,’ called one of the men as they laid their burden on the ground. ‘Took a cannonball in his shoulder. He was asking for you.’

The bloodied figure on the blanket raised his hand.

‘Clifton. Is he here?’

Jack dropped on one knee beside him. He averted his eyes from the shattered shoulder.

‘I’m here, my lord.’

‘Can’t—see—you.’

Jack took the raised hand.

‘I’m here, Tony.’

His calm words seemed to reassure Lord Allyngham.

‘Letters,’ he muttered. ‘In my jacket. Will you see they are sent back to England, Jack? One for my wife, one for Mortimer, my…neighbour. Important…that they get them.’

‘Of course. I’ll make sure they are sent tonight with the despatches.’

‘Thank you.’

Jack glanced up at the sergeant.

‘Take him back, Robert, and get a surgeon—’

‘No.’ The grip on his hand suddenly tightened. ‘No point: I know I’m done for.’

‘Nonsense,’ growled Jack. ‘We’ll have the sawbones patch you up—’

The glazed eyes seemed to clear and gain focus as he looked at Jack.

‘Not enough left to patch,’ he gasped. ‘No, Jack, listen to me! One more thing—do I still have my hand?’

Jack glanced at the mangled mess of blood and bone that was his left side.

‘Aye, you do.’

‘Good. Can you take my ring? And the locket—on a ribbon about my neck. Take ’em back to my wife, will you? In person, Jack. I’ll not trust these damned carriers with anything so dear. Take ’em now, my friend.’ He gritted his teeth against the pain as he struggled to pull a silk ribbon from beneath his jacket.

‘Be assured, Tony, I’ll deliver them in person,’ said Jack quietly, easing the ring from the bloodied little finger.

Allyngham nodded.

‘I’m obliged to you.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Good woman, Eloise. Very loyal. Deserved better. Tell her—’ He broke off, wincing. He clutched at Jack’s hand again. ‘Tell her to be happy.’

Jack dropped the locket and the ring into his pocket and carefully buttoned the flap.

‘I will, you have my word. And if there is anything I can do to help Lady Allyngham, be sure I shall do it.’

‘Thank you. Mortimer will look after her while she is in mourning but after that, keep an eye on her for me, Jack. She’s such an innocent little thing.’

A sudden shout went up. Jack looked up. For the past few moments he had been oblivious of the noise of the battle raging around him. Allyngham opened his eyes.

‘What is it, why are they shouting?’

All around them the men were beginning to cheer.

‘The French are in retreat,’ said Jack, his voice not quite steady.

Allyngham nodded, his cracked lips stretching into a smile.

‘Damnation, I knew the Duke would do it.’ He waved his hand. ‘Go now, Major. Go and do your duty. My men will look after me here.’

An ensign at his side nodded.

‘Aye, we’ll take care of him, sir,’ he said, tears in his eyes. ‘You may be sure we won’t leave him.’

Jack looked down at the pain-racked face. Lord Allyngham gave a strained smile and said, ‘Off you go, my friend.’

Jack rose and followed his men down the hill in pursuit of the French, who were now in full flight.

‘Steady, lads,’ he called, drawing his sword. ‘We’ll chase ’em all the way to Paris!’

In the drawing room of Allyngham Park, Eloise stood by one of the long windows, gazing out across the park, but the fine view swam before her eyes. There were two sheets of paper clutched in her hand and she glanced down at them before placing them upon the console table beside her. It would be useless to try to read while her eyes were so full of tears. She took out her handkerchief. It was already damp and of little use in drying her cheeks.

‘Mr Mortimer, my lady.’

At the butler’s solemn pronouncement she turned to see Alex Mortimer standing in the doorway. His naturally fair countenance was paler than ever and there was a stricken look in his eyes.

‘You have heard?’ She forced the words out.

‘Yes.’ He pulled a letter from his pocket. ‘I came over as soon as this arrived. I am so very sorry.’

With a cry she flew across the room and threw herself upon his chest.

‘Oh Alex, he is d-dead,’ she sobbed. ‘What are we going to do?’

She felt a shudder run through him. For a long while they sat on the sofa with their arms around each other. The shadows lengthened in the room and at last Eloise gently released herself.

‘It says he d-died at the end of the day, and…and he knew that the battle was won.’ She dabbed at her eyes with the edge of the fine linen fichu that covered her shoulders.

‘Then at least he knew he had not died in vain.’ Alex had turned away but she knew he, too, was wiping away the tears. ‘I had the news from a Major Clifton. He enclosed Tony’s last message to me.’

Eloise rose and took a deep breath, striving for some semblance of normality. She walked over to pick up the papers.

‘Yes, that is the name here, too. He says Tony gave him our letters to send on.’ She swallowed painfully. ‘Tony knew what danger he was facing. He…he wrote to say goodbye to us.’

Alex nodded. ‘He bids me look after you, until you marry again.’

‘Oh.’ Eloise put her hands over her face. ‘I shall never marry again,’ she said at last.

Alex put his hands on her shoulders.

‘Elle, you do not know that.’

‘Oh, I do,’ she sobbed, ‘I doubt there is another man in the world as good, and kind, and generous as Tony Allyngham.’

‘How can I disagree with that?’ He gave her a sad little smile. ‘And yet you are young, too young to bury yourself away here at Allyngham.’

She held up Tony’s last letter.

‘He has asked me to ensure that our plans for the foundling hospital go ahead. You will remember we discussed it just before he left for Brussels.’ She sighed. ‘How typical that when he was facing such danger Tony should think of others.’

He took her hand, saying gently, ‘My dear, you will be able to do nothing until the formalities are complete. You will need to summon your man of business, and notify everyone.’

‘Yes, yes.’ She clutched his fingers. ‘You will help me, will you not, Alex? You won’t leave me?’

He patted her hand.

‘No, I won’t leave. How could I, when my heart is here?’

Chapter One

It was more than a year after the decisive battle at Waterloo that Jack Clifton returned to England. As he rode away from his comrades and the army, which had been his life for more than a decade, there were two commissions that he had assigned himself before he could attend to his own affairs. One was to return Allyngham’s ring and locket to his widow, but first he would make a trip to a small country churchyard in Berkshire.

The little village outside Thatcham was deserted and there was no one to see the dusty traveller tie his horse to the gatepost of the churchyard. Jack shrugged off his greatcoat and threw it over the saddle. The rain that had accompanied him all the way from the coast had eased and now a hot September sun blazed overhead. He strode purposefully between the graves until he came to a small plot in one corner, shaded by the overhanging beech trees. The grave was marked only by a headstone. There were no flowers on the grassy mound and he was momentarily surprised, then his lip curled.

‘Who is there but me to mourn your passing?’ he muttered.

He knelt beside the grave, gently placing a bunch of white roses against the headstone.

‘For you, Clara. I pray you are at peace now.’

He rose, removed his hat and stood, bareheaded in the sun for a few moments then, squaring his shoulders, he turned away from the grave and set his mind towards London.

Eloise clutched at her escort’s arm as they entered Lady Parham’s crowded reception rooms.

‘I am glad you are with me, Alex, to give me courage.’

‘You have never wanted courage, Elle.’

She managed one speaking look at him before she turned to greet her hostess, who was sweeping towards her, beaming.

‘My dear Lady Allyngham! I am delighted to see you here. And honoured, too, that you should attend my little ball when everyone is quite desperate for your company! Some expected to see you in the summer, but depend upon it, I said, we will not see Lady Allyngham until the Little Season. She will not come to town until the full twelve months’ mourning is done. As the widow of a hero of Waterloo we should not expect anything less. And Mr Mortimer, too. Welcome, sir.’

Lady Parham’s sharp little eyes flickered over Alex. Eloise knew exactly the thoughts running through her hostess’s mind and felt a little kick of anger. Everyone in town thought Alex was her lover. Nothing she could say would convince them otherwise, so she did not make the attempt. Besides, it suited her purposes to have the world think she was Alex’s mistress. She had seen too many virtuous women hounded by rakes and roués until their resolve crumbled away. At least while the gentlemen thought she was living under Alex’s protection they might flirt with her but they would not encroach upon another man’s territory. Yet occasionally it galled her, when she saw that knowing look in the eyes of hostesses such as Lady Parham.

Twelve months of mourning had done much to assuage the feelings of grief and loss that had overwhelmed Eloise when she had learned of Tony’s death. Through those lonely early weeks Alex had always been there to support her and to share her suffering. He was a true friend: they had grown up together and she loved him as a brother. She did not want the world to think him a deceitful womaniser who would steal his best friend’s husband, but Alex assured her he was happy to be thought of as her cicisbeo.

‘If it satisfies their curiosity then we should let it be,’ he told her, adding with a rueful smile, ‘Much less dangerous than the truth, Elle.’

And Eloise was forced to admit it kept the wolves at bay. Now she fixed her smile as she regarded her hostess, determined no one should think her anything less than happy.

‘Mr Mortimer was kind enough to escort me this evening.’

‘La, but you need no escort to my parties, dear ma’am. I am sure you will find only friends here.’

‘Yes, the sort of friends who smile and simper and cannot wait to tear my character to shreds behind my back,’ muttered Eloise, when her hostess had turned her attention to another arrival. Angrily she shook out the apricot skirts of her high-waisted gown.

‘They are jealous because you cast them all into the shade,’ remarked Alex.

‘I did not think it would be so difficult,’ sighed Eloise, ‘coming back into society again.’

‘We could always go back to Allyngham.’

‘If I were not so determined to get on with fulfilling Tony’s last wish to build a foundling hospital I would leave now!’ muttered Eloise angrily. After a moment she squeezed Alex’s arm and gave a rueful little smile. ‘No, in truth, I would not. I have no wish to be an outcast and live all my life in the country. I am no recluse, Alex. I want to be able to come to London and—and dance, or visit the theatre, or join a debating society. But I could do none of these things if you were not with me, my friend.’

‘You could, if you would only hire yourself a respectable companion.’

She pulled a face.

‘That might give me respectability, but I would still be vulnerable. Even worse, it might make people think I was on the catch for another husband.’

‘And is there anything wrong with that?’

‘Everything,’ she retorted. ‘I have been my own mistress for far too long to want to change my situation.’

‘But you might fall in love, you know.’

She glanced up at him and found herself responding to his smile.

‘I might, of course, but it is unlikely.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘I have some experience of a sincere, deep devotion, Alex. Only a true meeting of minds could persuade me to contemplate another marriage. But such a partnership is very rare, I think.’

‘It is,’ said Alex solemnly. ‘To love someone in that way, and to know that you are loved in return, it is the greatest blessing imaginable.’

Eloise was silent for a moment, considering his words.

‘And I could settle for nothing less,’ she said softly. She looked up and smiled. ‘But these are grave thoughts, and unsuitable for a party! Suffice it to say, my friend, that I am very happy to have you as my protector.’

‘Then you must also accept the gossip,’ he told her. ‘It is no different from when Tony was in the Peninsula and I escorted you to town.’

‘But it is, Alex. Somehow, the talk seems so much more salacious when one is a widow.’

He patted her arm.

‘You will grow accustomed, I am sure. But never mind that now.’ He looked around the room. ‘I cannot see Berrow here.’

‘No, I thought if he was going to be anywhere this evening it would be here, for Lord Parham is an old friend. Oh, devil take the man, why is he so elusive?’

‘You could write to him.’

‘My lawyer has been writing to him for these past six months to no avail,’ she replied bitterly. ‘That is why I want to see him for myself.’

‘To charm him into giving you what you want?’ asked Alex, smiling.

‘Well, yes. But to do that I need to find him. Still, the night is young; he may yet arrive.’

‘And until then you are free to enjoy yourself,’ said Alex. ‘Do you intend to dance this evening, my lady?’

‘You know I do, Alex. I have been longing to dance again for the past several months.’

He made her a flourishing bow.

‘Then will my lady honour me with the next two dances?’

Alex Mortimer was an excellent dancer and Eloise enjoyed standing up with him. She would not waltz, of course: that would invite censure. She wondered bitterly why she worried so about it. Waltzing was a small misdemeanour compared to the gossip that was spreading about her after only a few weeks in London—already she was being called the Wanton Widow, a title she hated but would endure, if it protected those she loved. Eight years ago, when Lord Anthony Allyngham had first introduced his beautiful wife to society everyone agreed he was a very lucky man: his lady was a treasure and he guarded her well. During his years fighting in the Peninsula he had asked Alex to accompany Eloise to town, but it was only now that she realised the full meaning of the knowing looks they had received and the sly comments. It angered her that anyone should think her capable of betraying her marriage vows, even more that they should think ill of Alex, but since the truth was even more shocking, she and Alex had agreed to keep up the pretence.

The arrival of the beautiful Lady Allyngham at Parham House had been eagerly awaited and Eloise soon had a group of gentlemen around her. She spread her favours evenly amongst them, giving one gentleman a roguish look over the top of her fan while a second whispered fulsome compliments in her ear and a third hovered very close, quizzing glass raised, with the avowed intention of studying the flowers of her corsage.

She smiled at them all, using her elegant wit to prevent any man from becoming too familiar, all the time comfortable in the knowledge that Alex was in the background, watching out for her. She was surprised to find, at five-and-twenty, that the gentlemen considered her as beautiful and alluring as ever and they were falling over themselves to win a friendly glance from the widow’s entrancing blue eyes. The ladies might look askance at her behaviour but the gentlemen adored her. And even while they were shaking their heads and commiserating with her over the loss of her husband, each one secretly hoped to be the lucky recipient of her favours. Eloise did her best to discourage any young man who might develop a serious tendre for her—she had no desire to marry again and wanted no broken hearts at her feet—but she was willing to indulge any gentlemen in a flirtation, secure in the knowledge that Alex would ensure it did not get out of hand.

It could not be denied that such attention was intoxicating. Eloise danced and laughed her way through the evening and when Alex suggested they should go down to supper she almost ran ahead of him out of the ballroom, fanning herself vigorously.

‘Dear me, I had forgotten how much I enjoy parties, but I am quite out of practice! And perhaps I should not have had a third glass of—oh!’

She broke off as she collided with someone in the doorway.

Eloise found herself staring at a solid wall of dark blue. She blinked and realised it was the front of a gentleman’s fine woollen evening coat. She thought that he must be very big, for she had always considered herself to be tall and yet her eyes were only level with the broad shoulder to which this particular coat was moulded. Her eyes travelled across to the snow-white neckcloth, tied in exquisite folds, and moved up until they reached the strong chin and mobile mouth. For a long time she felt herself unable to look beyond those finely sculpted lips with the faint laughter lines etched at each side. It was quite the most beautiful mouth she had ever seen. A feeling she had never before experienced thrummed through her. With a shock she realised what it was. Desire.

Summoning all her resources, she moved her glance upwards to meet a pair of deep brown eyes set beneath straight black brows. Almost immediately she saw a gleam of amusement creep into those dark eyes.

‘I beg your pardon, madam.’

He spoke slowly but did not drawl, his voice deep and rich and it wrapped around Eloise like a warm cloak, sending a tiny frisson of excitement running down her spine. Really, she must pull herself together!

‘Pray think nothing of it, sir…’

‘But I must, Lady Allyngham.’

She had been enjoying the sound of his voice, running over her like honey, but at the use of her name she gave a little start.

‘You know who I am?’

He gave her a slow smile. Eloise wondered if she had taken too much wine, for all at once she felt a little dizzy.

‘You were described to me as the most beautiful woman in the room.’

She had thought herself immune to flattery, but she was inordinately pleased by his words. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry when she felt Alex’s hand under her elbow.

‘Shall we get on, my lady?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her eyes still fixed upon the smiling stranger. ‘Yes, I suppose we must.’

Really, she felt quite light-headed. Just how many glasses of wine had she taken?

The stranger was standing aside. The candlelight gleamed on his black hair and one glossy raven’s lock fell forwards as he bowed to her. Eloise quelled an impulse to reach out and smooth it back from his temple.

Alex firmly propelled her through the doorway and across the hall to the supper room.

‘Who is he?’ she hissed, glancing back over her shoulder. The stranger was still watching her, a dark, unfathomable look in his eyes.

‘I have no idea,’ said Alex, guiding her to a table. ‘But you should be careful, Elle. I saw the way he looked at you. It was pure, predatory lust.’

She sighed. ‘That is true of so many men.’

‘Which is why I am here,’ replied Alex. ‘To protect you.’

She reached for his hand.

‘Dear Alex. Do you never tire of looking after me?’

‘It is what Tony would have wished,’ he said simply, adding with a rueful grin, ‘besides, if you had not dragged me to London, I should be alone in Norfolk, pining away.’

‘And that would never do.’ She smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you, my friend.’

When supper was over, Eloise sent Alex away.

‘Try if you can to discover if Lord Berrow plans to attend,’ she begged him. ‘If he does not, then we need not stay much beyond midnight. Although I think you must do the pretty and dance with some of the other ladies in the room.’

‘I must?’

His pained look drew a laugh from her.

‘Yes, you must, Alex. You cannot sit in my pocket all night. Several of the young ladies are already looking daggers at me for keeping you by my side for half the evening. You need not be anxious about me; I have seen several acquaintances I wish to talk to.’

When he had gone, Eloise moved around the room, bestowing her smiles freely but never stopping, nor would she promise to dance with any of the gentlemen who begged for that honour. Her eyes constantly ranged over the room, but it was not an acquaintance she was seeking. It was a dark-haired stranger she had seen but once.

Suddenly he was beside her.

‘Will you dance, my lady?’

She hesitated.

‘Sir, we have not been introduced.’

‘Does that matter?’

A little bubble of laughter welled up. All at once she felt quite reckless. She held out her hand.

‘No, it does not matter one jot.’

He led her to join the set that was forming.

‘I thought you would never escape your guard dog.’

‘Mr Mortimer is my very good friend. He defends me from unwelcome attentions.’

‘Oh? Am I to understand, then, that my attentions are not unwelcome?’

Eloise hesitated. This encounter was moving a little too fast and for once she was not in control. She said cautiously, ‘I think you would be presumptuous to infer so much.’

His smile grew and he leaned a little closer.

‘Yet you refused to stand up with the last four gentlemen who solicited your hand.’

‘Ah, but I have danced with them all before. I like the novelty of a new partner.’ She smiled as the dance parted them, pleased to see the gleam of interest in his eyes.

‘And does my dancing please you, my lady?’ he asked as soon as they joined hands again.

‘For the moment,’ she responded airily.

‘I agree,’ he said, his eyes glinting. ‘I can think of much more pleasant things to do for the remainder of the evening.’

She blushed hotly and was relieved that they parted again and she was not obliged to answer.

Eloise began to wonder if she had been wise to dance with this stranger: she was disturbed by his effect upon her. Goodness, he had only to smile and she found herself behaving like a giddy schoolgirl! She must end this now, before the intoxication became too great. When the music drew to a close she gave a little curtsy and stepped away. Her partner followed.

‘I know I have not been in town for a while,’ he said, ‘but it is still customary to stand up for two dances, I believe.’

She put up her chin.

‘I will not pander to your vanity, sir. One dance is sufficient for you, until we have been introduced.’

She flicked open her fan and with a little smile she walked away from him.

Alex was waiting for her.

‘Our host tells me Lord Berrow has sent his apologies for tonight. He is gone out of town. However, Parham expects to see him at the Renwicks’ soirée tomorrow.’

‘How very tiresome,’ said Eloise. ‘If we had known we need not have come.’ She tucked her hand in his arm. ‘Let us go now.’

‘Are you sure? You will disappoint any number of gentlemen if you leave now: they all hope to stand up with you at least once.’

Eloise shrugged. If she could not dance with her dark stranger she did not want to dance with anyone.

‘There will be other nights.’

She concentrated on disposing her diaphanous stole across her shoulders rather than meet Alex’s intent gaze.

‘What has occurred, Elle? I mislike that glitter in your eyes. Did your last partner say anything to upset you?’

She dismissed his concern with a wave of one gloved hand.

‘No, no, nothing like that. He was a diversion, nothing more.’

‘He was very taken with you.’

‘Did you think so?’ she asked him, a little too eagerly.

Alex frowned.

‘Does it matter to you that he should?’

Eloise looked away,

‘No, of course not. But it is very flattering.’ She tried for a lighter note. ‘He was very amusing.’

Alex looked back across the room to where the tall stranger was standing against the wall, watching them.

‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that he could be very dangerous.’

‘Hell and damnation!’

Jack watched Lady Allyngham walk away on Mortimer’s arm.

It would not have taken much to have Parham present him to the lady. That had been his design when he had first arrived, but the sight of Eloise Allyngham had wiped all intentions, good or bad, from his mind.

He had carried Allyngham’s locket with him for the past year and was well acquainted with the tiny portrait inside, but he had been taken aback when he saw the lady herself. The painting only hinted at the glorious abundance of guinea-gold curls that framed her face. It had not prepared him for her dazzling smile, nor the look of humour and intelligence he observed in her deep blue eyes.

He had intended to find the lady, to hand over the bequests and retire gracefully, but then Lady Allyngham had collided with him and when she had turned her laughing face to his, every sensible thought had flown out of his head. He had prowled the room until she returned from the supper room and by then his host was nowhere to be seen, so Jack seized the moment and asked her to dance. He should have told her why he was there, but he could not resist the temptation to flirt with her, to bring that delicious flush to her cheeks and to see the elusive dimple peeping beside her generous mouth.

He pulled himself together. It had been a very pleasant interlude but he had a duty to perform. He sought out his hostess.

‘Lady Allyngham?’ She looked a little bemused when he made his request. ‘My dear Major, I would happily introduce you to her, if it were in my power, but she is gone.’

‘Gone!’

‘Why, yes, she took her leave of me a few minutes ago. Mr Mortimer was escorting her back to Dover Street.’ She gave him a knowing smile. ‘He is a very attentive escort.’

Disappointment seared through Jack. He tried to convince himself that it was because he wanted to hand over Tony’s ring and locket and get out of London, but he knew in his heart that it was because he wanted to see Eloise Allyngham again.

Jack took his leave and made his way to St James’s Street, where he was admitted into an imposing white stone building by a liveried servant. White’s was very busy and he paused for a while to watch a lively game of Hazard, refusing more than one invitation to join in. Later he wandered through to the card room where he soon spotted a number of familiar faces, some of whom he had seen in Lady Parham’s ballroom earlier that evening. A group of gentlemen were engaged in a game of bassett. One looked up and waved to him.

‘Had enough of the dancing, Clifton?’

Jack smiled. ‘Something like that, Renwick.’

He looked at the little group: Charles Renwick was an old friend and he recognised another, slightly older man, Edward Graham, who had been a friend of his father, but the others were strangers to him—with one exception, the dealer, a stocky man with a heavily pock-marked face and pomaded hair. Sir Ronald Deforge. A tremor of revulsion ran through Jack. At that moment the dealer looked up at him from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. Jack saw the recognition in his glance and observed the contemptuous curl of the man’s thick lips. As he hesitated a gentleman with a florid face and bushy red side-whiskers shifted his chair to make room for him.

‘Doing battle in the ballroom can be as hellish as a full-scale siege, eh, Major? Well, never mind that now. Sit you down, sir, and we’ll deal you in.’

‘Aye, we are here to commiserate with each other,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘Come along, Deforge, deal those cards!’

‘Oh?’ Jack signalled to the waiter to fill his glass.

‘Aye. There was no point in staying at Parham House once Lady Allyngham had left.’ Edward Graham paused, frowning over his cards. ‘Hoped to persuade her to stand up with me later, but then found she had slipped away.’

Jack schooled his features to show no more than mild interest. Sir Ronald cast a fleeting glance at him.

‘It seems Major Clifton was the only one of us to be favoured with a dance.’

The whiskery gentleman dug Jack in the ribs.

‘Aye, Sir Ronald is right, Major. You lucky dog! How did you do it, man? Are you well acquainted with her?’

‘Not at all,’ Jack replied, picking up his cards and trying to give them his attention. ‘I know very little about the lady.’

‘Ah, the Glorious Allyngham.’ Jack’s neighbour raised his glass. ‘The whole of London is at her feet. She would be a cosy armful, for the man that can catch her! We are all her slaves, but she spreads her favours equally: a dance here, a carriage ride there—keeps us all on the lightest of reins—even Sir Ronald there is enthralled, ain’t that right, Deforge?’

A shadow flitted across the dealer’s face but he replied indifferently, ‘She is undoubtedly a diamond.’

‘Rumour has it she is on the catch for a royal duke.’ A gentleman in a puce waistcoat chuckled. ‘Ladies don’t like it, of course, to see their husbands drooling over another woman. They’ve christened her the Wanton Widow!’

‘So they have.’ Mr Graham sighed. ‘But I wish she were a little more wanton, then I might stand a chance!’

Ribald laughter filled the air, replaced by good-natured oaths and curses as Sir Ronald Deforge displayed his winning cards and scooped up the little pile of rouleaux in the centre of the table. There was a pause while a fresh hand was dealt and the waiters leapt forwards to refill the glasses.

‘Where did Allyngham find her?’ asked Jack, intrigued in spite of himself.

‘She was some sort of poor relation, I believe,’ said Graham. ‘Caused quite a stir when Allyngham married her—family expected him to make a brilliant match.’

‘Caused quite a stir when he brought her to town, too,’ remarked Renwick, pushing another pile of rouleaux into the centre of the table. ‘We were all in raptures over her, but Allyngham was careful. He made sure no one became overfamiliar with his new bride.’

‘Except Alex Mortimer, of course,’ remarked one of the players.

‘Nothing surprising in that.’ Edward Graham grimaced as he studied his hand. With a sigh of resignation he threw one card down. ‘He is a neighbour and close friend of Allyngham. Escorted the lady to town while her husband was in the Peninsula.’

‘While the cat’s away,’ said Sir Ronald said softly. ‘And now the cat is dead do you think Mortimer plans to jump into his shoes?’

‘Shouldn’t be surprised if he’s got his eye on the widow,’ said Charles Renwick. ‘Apart from the title, which died with Allyngham, his lady inherits everything, I hear.’

‘In trust, I suppose?’ said Deforge, dropping his own tokens on to the growing pile of rouleaux in the centre of the table.

‘No,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘I heard she has full control of the property.’

‘Making her even more desirable, eh, Deforge?’ murmured Jack.

The dealer grew still.

‘What the devil do you mean by that, Clifton?’

There was a tension around the table. Jack met Deforge’s hard eyes with a steady gaze.

‘I think you might be looking to replenish your fortune.’

Deforge shrugged.

‘No sensible man takes a penniless bride.’

‘Your first wife was not penniless,’ remarked Jack, a hard edge to his voice. ‘I hear that there is nothing left of her fortune now, save the house in Berkshire, and you would sell that if it were not mortgaged to the hilt.’

An unpleasant smile curled Sir Ronald’s thick lips. He said softly, ‘Your allegations have all the marks of a disappointed suitor, Clifton.’

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is all history,’ declared the whiskery gentleman sitting beside Jack. ‘If you wish to quarrel then take yourselves off somewhere and let the rest of us get on with our game!’

‘Aye, let us play,’ added Charles Renwick hastily. ‘Deal the cards, Deforge, if you please.’

Jack spread his hands, signifying his acceptance and after a final, angry glare Deforge turned his attention back to the game. It did not last long. Luck was running with the dealer and as soon as the last card was played Sir Ronald scooped up his winnings and left.

Charles Renwick called for a fresh pack of cards.

‘You caught him on the raw there,’ he remarked, watching Deforge stalk out of the room. ‘Damnation, Jack, why did you have to mention his dead wife?’

‘Because I don’t believe her death was an accident.’

Charles Renwick leaned over and placed his hand on Jack’s sleeve. He said, ‘Let be, my friend. It was years ago. It can do no good for you to dwell on it now.’

Jack’s hands clenched into fists, the knuckles showing white against the green baize of the table. How could he be thankful that the girl he had wanted to marry, the love of his life, was dead?

They subsided into silence as the next game of bassett began. Jack played mechanically, his thoughts still on Deforge. He hated the man because he had stolen the woman he loved, but was that rational? Clara had been free to make her own choice. He had no proof that she had not been happy in her marriage, only a feeling in his gut. He gave himself a mental shake. Clara was dead. There was nothing he could do about that now. It was time to forget the past.

‘I did hear Deforge is running low on funds.’

The remark by one of the players broke into Jack’s thoughts.

‘As long as he can pay his gambling debts, I don’t care,’ laughed Edward Graham.

‘If he marries the Glorious Allyngham his worries will be over,’ said the gentleman with the red side-whiskers.

‘She won’t have him,’ said Jack emphatically.

‘Oho, what do you know, Clifton?’

Jack shook his head. The thought of that beautiful, golden creature marrying Sir Ronald Deforge turned his stomach. He schooled his face into a look of careful indifference.

‘If the lady is as rich and independent as you say she has no need to marry a man like Deforge.’

‘Perhaps you think she might prefer a handsome soldier,’ chuckled Graham, giving a broad wink to his companions.

Charles Renwick cocked an eyebrow.

‘Fancy a touch at the widow yourself, Clifton? Well, I wish you luck.’

‘I need more than that,’ grinned Jack. ‘We have not yet been introduced.’

The red side-whiskers shook as their owner guffawed loudly.

‘What, and you stole a dance with the widow? Impudent young dog!’

‘If you want an introduction, my boy, my wife is giving a little party tomorrow. A soirée, she calls it,’ said Renwick. ‘Come along and she’ll present you to the Glorious Allyngham.’

‘Thank you, I will.’

‘I’ll wager Mortimer won’t let you breach that particular citadel,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘I think Renwick has the right of it and Alex Mortimer’s looking to wed her himself. His principal estate marches with the Allyngham lands: I’d wager a monkey he would very much like to combine the two.’

Jack took another card and studied his hand. He did not like the conversation but knew that any remonstrance on his part would only fuel the speculation.

‘That might be his intention, but what about the lady?’ remarked Renwick, flicking a smile towards Jack. ‘Our mutual acquaintances in Paris tell me the Major has gained quite a reputation over there with the fairer sex, to say nothing of the havoc he wreaked with the beauties of Spain and Portugal.’

‘Ah, but the Glorious Allyngham’s different: you might say Mortimer is already in residence,’ chuckled Graham. ‘He will protect his own interests, I’m sure.’

Jack threw down his hand.

‘Deuce and a pair of fives. I am done, gentlemen.’

Mr Graham gave a snort.

‘Well you know what they say, Clifton, unlucky at cards…I’ll wager Lady Allyngham will be married before the year is out. Any takers, gentlemen?’

Jack smiled but made no reply to that. With a nod he took his leave of them and as he walked away he heard the man with the red side-whiskers calling for the betting book.

Jack made his way to his lodgings in King Street, where his valet was waiting up for him, dozing in a chair. He jerked awake and jumped up as Jack came in.

‘You’s early, Major,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Didn’t think to see you for an hour or so yet.’

‘I have an appointment with my man of business tomorrow morning.’

Jack allowed himself to be eased out of his coat and waistcoat but then waved his man away.

‘Thank you, Robert. I can manage now. Wake me at eight, if you please.’

When he was alone, Jack delved into the bottom of his trunk, searching for the ring and the locket that he had carried with him since Waterloo. They were safe, tucked into a small leather pouch at one side of the trunk. On impulse he pulled out the locket and carried it to the bed, where he opened it and turned it towards the flickering light of his bedside candle. Two faces stared out at him, the colours jewel-bright. Lord Allyngham’s likeness was very much as Jack remembered him, curling brown hair and a cheerfully confident smile. The other face was but a pale imitation of the original. He frowned. Tony Allyngham’s image of his quiet, loyal, loving wife was sadly at odds with the glorious creature that now had all of London at her feet.

The Renwicks’ narrow town house was full to overflowing by the time Eloise arrived.

‘What a squeeze,’ muttered Alex as he escorted her upstairs. ‘I do not know how you expect to find anyone in this crush!’

‘You are too pessimistic, my friend. If Lord Berrow is here I shall find him.’ She swept ahead of him to greet their hostess, and moments later they were pushing their way through the crowded rooms. There was to be no dancing, just a little music provided by those proficient at the pianoforte and the harp, and Mrs Renwick had hired an Italian singer for their entertainment.

Eloise left Alex talking to an old acquaintance and made her way to the music room in search of her quarry. A young lady was playing the harp and while it could not be said that her audience was universally enraptured, the crowd was a great deal quieter than in the other rooms. It did not take Eloise long to realise that Lord Berrow was not in the music room and she turned to make her way back to the main salon.

‘Ah, Lady Allyngham!’ A silk-coated gentleman approached her. His wizened, painted face looked unnaturally white in the candlelight and it made his crooked teeth look even more yellow. She forced herself to smile, not to flinch as he took her hand and bowed over it. ‘My dear madam, you are looking lovelier than ever tonight.’

She inclined her head, wishing she had not dismissed Alex quite so quickly.

‘And shall we hear you sing, this evening, ma’am?’

She shook her head.

‘No, sir. Tonight I am a mere spectator.’

His yellow smile widened and he leaned towards her.

‘You could never be a mere anything, my lady! Shall we find a quiet corner where we may be private?’

‘Alas, sir, that will never do,’ she said archly, treating him to a flutter of her dark lashes. ‘I must not keep you all to myself when there are so many ladies here waiting to talk to you—I see Lady Bressington even now doing her best to attract your attention.’

The old man straightened, his narrow chest puffing out and with a murmured excuse and a flash of her lovely smile Eloise moved away, barely suppressing a shudder. How had she come to this, she wondered miserably, to have every rake and roué hounding her?

You know very well it is your own fault.

The words clattered through her head as clearly as if she had said them aloud. Her spirit sank a little lower. Yes, it was her own doing. When she had first come to town with her husband he had not objected to her flirting with other gentlemen. Indeed, Tony had been happy to encourage it. It had amused him to see his beautiful new bride the object of such admiration, but Tony had always been there in the background to ensure that the flirtations were not carried too far. Eloise’s return to town as a beautiful young widow had aroused a great amount of interest and it had suited her plans to allow herself to be drawn once more into that heady world of flirtation, but now she wondered perhaps if she had taken the game a little too far. Respectable hostesses were beginning to look askance at her and she was for ever fending off unwanted amorous attentions. She could only be thankful that Mrs Renwick had taken her under her wing and still treated her kindly. Eloise bit back a sigh. Once she had concluded her business with Lord Berrow she would retire to Allyngham and live quietly there until the world had forgotten the Wanton Widow.

She heard her hostess calling to her.

‘My dear Lady Allyngham, I have a gentleman here most eager to make your acquaintance.’

Eloise turned, schooling her face into a polite smile which changed to one of genuine pleasure when she recognised the man beside Mrs Renwick as her dancing partner of the previous evening. There was no smile on the gentleman’s face, however, but a faint look of frowning disapproval. She lifted her chin. No doubt he had seen her encounter with the old roué.

‘May I introduce Major Clifton, madam? He is new to town, having only recently returned to England—he was with the Army of Occupation in Paris.’

‘So you are a soldier, sir?’ She held out her hand.

‘I was, ma’am. I have sold out.’

Major Clifton took her fingers in a firm clasp. She was not prepared for the tiny flutter of excitement she experienced at his touch. Glancing up she saw the startled look in his eyes. Was he, too, shocked by this sudden, unexpected connection? Eloise withdrew her hand and struggled to speak calmly.

‘And what will you do now, sir?’

‘Oh, this and that. Become a gentleman farmer, perhaps.’

His response was cool, distant. If she had not seen that look of surprise and confusion in his face she would have thought him nothing more than a polite stranger. Inconsequential thoughts chased through her head: how dark his eyes were, fringed by long black lashes. She liked the way his hair curled about his ears. She wondered how it would feel to run her fingers through those glossy black locks, to stroke his lean cheek…The major was still speaking and Eloise had to drag her mind back to concentrate on his words.

‘I knew your late husband, my lady. We served together in the Peninsula and at Waterloo.’

‘Ah, yes.’ She gave her head a tiny shake as his words put her frivolous thoughts to flight. She must be serious now. ‘Of course—you wrote to me. I am sorry; I did not recognise your name at first. You were with him when he died.’ Her pleasure drained away. Instead of the laughter and chatter of a London drawing room she imagined the battlefield as Tony had described it to her, the pounding thunder of artillery, the shouts and screams of the soldiers. So much pain and violence.

‘My lady? I beg your pardon, I did not mean to arouse unpleasant memories.’

‘It would be unpardonable for any of us to forget, sir.’ She fixed her eyes upon him. ‘Why did you not tell me this last night?’

The major hesitated, then gave a rueful grin, dispelling his rather disapproving look and making him look suddenly much younger.

‘Last night I was taken by surprise. Our encounter was…unusual. I did not want to ruin the moment.’

So she had not dreamed it! He had felt it, too. Eloise found herself unable to look away as she recalled her dance with a stranger. Yes, it had been special, and slightly alarming. She had never felt such an attraction before. But she must be on her guard, she could not afford to lose her head. The major was speaking again and she twisted her hands together, trying to concentrate.

‘Your husband gave me a commission, to deliver to you certain items. I would like your permission to call, if I may?’

‘What? Oh, yes, yes, of course, Major.’

‘Thank you. Shall we say tomorrow morning, at ten, or is that too early?’ She gazed up at him, fascinated by the laughter lines around his mouth, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He was smiling at her now and she thought how wonderful it would be to stand with him thus all evening, letting his voice drift over her like a soft summer breeze…‘So, madam, shall we say ten?’

She blinked. ‘Um…yes. I mean, ten o’clock tomorrow morning. You have my direction—Dover Street.’ She swallowed. What was happening to her? She was not at all sure that she liked being so out of control. He was very striking, to be sure, but she had met many gentlemen equally good looking, so she did not think it could be his lean, handsome face that caused her emotions to riot. She needed to put a little distance between them so that she could consider these new and alarming sensations dispassionately.

Eloise dragged her mind back to what she had been doing before Mrs Renwick had brought the major to meet her. Oh, yes. She had come in search of Lord Berrow. It was important; she must put duty before pleasure.

‘Now the formalities are over,’ Major Clifton was saying, ‘may I—?’

She interrupted him as she spotted her quarry.

‘I beg your pardon, but I cannot talk now.’

‘Of course.’ He stood back. ‘Perhaps later…?’

‘Yes, perhaps.’ She summoned up her dazzling society smile but directed it at his neckcloth, afraid that if she met his eyes again her resolve would weaken. ‘Excuse me.’

She forced herself to walk away from him, hoping that his magnetism would fade if she put some space between them. Resolutely she fixed her eyes on the jovial-looking gentleman in a grey wig making his way towards the music room.

‘Good evening, Lord Berrow.’

The Earl turned his pale, slightly protuberant eyes towards her.

‘Lady Allyngham!’ he smiled and took her hand. ‘My dear, you are looking positively radiant!’ He hesitated. ‘But you have been in mourning. My lady wife sent you our condolences, did she not?’

She thought of the neat little letter she had received after Tony’s death, so obviously composed and written by a clerk.

‘You did, my lord, thank you. I was touched by your concern.’

He harrumphed and nodded.

‘Yes, well, least we could do, m’dear! Sad business. We lost so many fine men at Waterloo, did we not? But that’s all in the past now, and here you are, looking more beautiful than ever!’

‘I have been hoping to meet up with you, my lord.’

‘Have you now?’ He beamed at her. ‘Been very busy—government business.’ He puffed out his chest, swelling with self-importance. ‘Member of the Cabinet, you know.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Eloise. ‘I wanted to talk to you—that is, my lawyer has written several times now, about the land at Ainsley Wood.’

‘Has he? Well, no need to worry ourselves about that, m’dear. My steward is an excellent man. He will deal with everything.’

‘Actually, he will not,’ she replied, determined not to be put off. ‘He writes that he has no authority to sell…’

Lord Berrow waved his hand.

‘Yes, yes, we can discuss that later.’ He took her arm. ‘Come and sit with me, my dear, and we can listen to the soprano our hostess has brought in. She’s not quite Catalini, but I understand she is very good.’

Eloise realised it would be useless to press her case further at that moment. With a smile she allowed the Earl to guide her to the gilded chairs set out for the guests. Having found Lord Berrow, she was determined she would not leave him now until she had explained to him why she needed to purchase Ainsley Wood.

Jack leaned against the wall and watched Lady Allyngham. The tug of attraction was just as strong as it had been the night before. She felt it too, he was sure, but she had not tried to flirt with him. Quite the contrary, she had seemed eager to get away. He observed her now as she took Lord Berrow’s arm, smiling, turning her head to listen to the man as if he were the most interesting person she had ever met. No wonder all the gentlemen were enraptured. Alex Mortimer was on the far side of the room. He, too, was watching Lady Allyngham as she walked off with the Earl and did not seem the least perturbed. If he really was her lover then he must feel very sure of himself to allow her such freedom. Jack frowned. It demeaned Allyngham’s memory to have his widow flaunting herself in town in this way. But she had been discomposed when Jack had mentioned her husband, so perhaps she did have a conscience after all. He gave himself a mental shake. Enough of this: it was no business of his how Tony’s widow behaved.

Suddenly the noise and the chatter was grating on his nerves and he decided to leave. Once he had called at Dover Street tomorrow morning his mission would be complete and he need not see Eloise Allyngham again.

Chapter Two

Eloise sipped at her morning chocolate. Last night had not gone quite as planned. Lord Berrow had resolutely refused to discuss selling the land at Ainsley Wood. Despite all her efforts to charm the Earl the best she had achieved was his promise that he would talk to her when he was not quite so busy. She had had to be content with that, and when she left the Earl she had fallen into the clutches of Sir Ronald Deforge. She felt a certain sympathy for Sir Ronald. She knew him to be a widower and she thought perhaps he was lonely, but Sir Ronald with his pomaded hair and oily manner was all smug complacency, and less than twenty minutes in his company had her yawning behind her fan. Thankfully Alex rescued her and carried her off to supper before she had grown too desperate. And she had suffered another disappointment: Major Clifton had left early. Not that that mattered, she told herself, for he was calling upon her at ten o’clock.

It was her habit to breakfast early, no matter how late she had been out. While she nibbled at her freshly baked bread she looked through the morning’s post, putting aside the numerous invitations and letters to be answered and reading carefully the daily report from her steward at Allyngham. This morning there was one note at the bottom of the pile that caught her attention. She did not recognise the writing, and there was no hint of the sender. She put down her coffee cup and broke the seal.

The single sheet crackled as it unfolded, and as her eyes scanned the untidy black writing her cheeks grew pale. She summoned her butler.

‘Noyes, send a runner to Mr Mortimer. Ask him to join me, immediately, if you please!’

Alone again, she pushed her plate away, her appetite gone.

She hoped Alex would appear soon. He had taken a house only a few doors away but for all she knew he might still be sleeping. Thankfully it was only a matter of minutes before she heard the bell jangling in the hall. Carefully folding the letter and putting it in her pocket, she made her way to the morning room.

Alex was waiting for her. His brows snapped together when she entered.

‘What is it, Elle? You are very pale—what has happened?’

Silently she pulled the letter from her pocket and held it out to him. He scanned it quickly and looked up.

‘Is this all there is?’

She nodded. He looked again at the letter.

‘I know your secret,’ he read. ‘Very cryptic.’

‘What should I do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Do you…do you think someone knows, about us?’

Alex smiled.

‘No names, no clues—someone is trying to frighten you, Elle. Some jealous wife or mistress, perhaps. Your return to town has put many noses out of joint.’

She spread her hands.

‘Why should anyone be jealous of me? I have not stolen any of their lovers.’

‘Not intentionally, but the gentlemen are singing your praises and laying their hearts at your feet.’

Her lip curled.

‘I do not give the snap of my fingers for any of them. Idle coxcombs!’

Alex laughed.

‘That is part of your attraction.’

She indicated the letter.

‘So what do you think it means?’

‘I have no idea.’ He turned the letter over. ‘There was nothing to say who sent it?’

‘No. Noyes told me one of the footmen found it on the floor of the hall this morning and put it with the post. Who would do this?’

‘Some idle prankster.’ Alex screwed the letter into a ball and threw it into the fire. ‘You should forget about it. I am sure it is nothing to worry about.’

She eyed him doubtfully and he took her hands, smiling down at her.

‘Truly, it is nothing.’

‘Major Clifton, my lady.’

Jack followed the footman into the morning room. Lady Allyngham turned to greet him, but not before he had seen Mortimer holding her hands. Damnation, what was the fellow doing here so early in the morning, did he live here?’

Setting his jaw, Jack made a stiff bow. Unperturbed, Alex Mortimer nodded to him before addressing Lady Allyngham.

‘I must go. I am going out of town this afternoon: I have business with my land agent in Hertfordshire which will take me a few days, I think.’ He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Send a note if you need me, Elle. I can be here in a few hours.’

Jack watched the little scene, his countenance, he hoped, impassive, and waited silently until Alex Mortimer had left the room. There was no doubt that Mortimer and the lady were on the very best of terms. He had to remind himself it was none of his business.

‘What is it you wished to say to me, Major Clifton?’

Lady Allyngham’s softly musical voice recalled his wandering attention. She disposed herself gracefully into a chair and invited him to sit down.

‘Thank you, no,’ he said curtly. ‘This will only take a moment.’

‘Oh. I had hoped you might be able to tell me something of my husband.’

She sounded genuinely disappointed. He reached into his pocket.

‘Before he died, Lord Allyngham gave me these, and asked me to see that they were returned to you.’ He dropped the ring and locket into her hands. ‘I apologise that it has taken so long but I was in Paris until the summer, with the Army of Occupation, and I had given Lord Allyngham my word that I would bring them in person.’

She looked down at them silently.

Jack cleared his throat.

‘He asked me to tell you…to be happy.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

She placed the ring on her right hand. Jack remembered it had been a tight fit for Lord Allyngham: it had been a struggle to remove it, but now the signet ring looked big and cumbersome on the lady’s dainty finger. He watched her open the locket and stare for a long time at the tiny portraits. At last she said, ‘I had this painted for Tony when we first married. He would not let me accompany him when he went off to war, so I thought he might like it…’ Her voice tailed off and she hunted for her handkerchief.

Jack sat down.

‘He was a very courageous soldier,’ he said quietly. ‘We fought together in the Peninsula: he saved my life at Talavera.’

She looked up and he saw that her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

‘You knew him well, Major Clifton?’

He shrugged.

‘As well as anyone, I think. We drank together, fought together—he spoke very fondly of you, madam, and of Allyngham. I think he missed his home.’

‘His letters to me were very brief; he mentioned few of his fellow officers by name.’

‘He kept very much to himself,’ replied Jack.

She nodded, twisting her hands together in her lap.

‘He was a very private man.’ She blinked rapidly. ‘Forgive me, Major Clifton. I know it is more than a year since Waterloo, but still…’ She drew a steadying breath. ‘How…how did he die?’

Jack hesitated. There was no easy way to explain.

‘Artillery fire,’ he said shortly. ‘A cannon ball hit him in the chest. It was very quick.’

Her blue eyes rebuked him.

‘How could that be? You said he had time to ask you to bring these things to me.’

He held her gaze steadily.

‘He was past any pain by then.’ He saw her eyes widen. The colour fled from her cheeks and she swayed slightly in her chair. He said quickly, ‘I beg your pardon, madam, I should not have told you—’

She put up her hand.

‘No, I wanted to know the truth.’ She closed the locket and placed it on the table beside her, then rose and held out her hand, dismissing him. ‘Thank you, Major. I am very grateful to you.’

Jack bowed over her fingers. He hesitated and found she was watching him, a question in her eyes.

‘Forgive me, ma’am, but…’ How the devil was he to phrase this?

‘What is it you wish to say to me, Major Clifton?’

‘I beg your pardon, my lady. Lord Allyngham having given me this commission, I feel an obligation to him. To his memory.’

‘What sort of obligation, Major?’

He shot a look at her from under his brows.

‘You know what people are saying, about you and Mortimer?’

She recoiled a little.

‘I neither know nor care,’ she retorted.

‘I would not have you dishonour your husband’s name, madam.’

Her eyes darkened angrily.

‘How dare you suggest I would do that!’

He frowned, annoyed by her disingenuous answer. Did she think him a fool?

‘But you will not deny that Mortimer is your lover—it is the talk of London!’

She glared at him, angry colour flooding her cheeks.

‘Oh, and gossip must always be true, I suppose!’

Her eyes darted fire and she moved forwards as if to engage with him. Jack could not look away: his gaze was locked with hers and he felt as if he was drowning in the blue depths of her eyes. She was so close that her perfume filled his head, suspending reason. A sudden, fierce desire coursed through him. He reached out and grabbed her, pulling her close and as her lips parted to object he captured them with his own. He felt her tremble in his arms, then she was still, her mouth yielding and compliant beneath the onslaught of his kiss. For a heady, dizzying instant he felt the connection. The shock of it sent him reeling with much the same effect as being too close to the big guns on the battlefield, but it lasted only for a moment. The next she was fighting against him and as sanity returned he let her go. She pushed away from him and brought her hand up to deal him a ringing slap across his cheek.

He flinched.

‘Madam, I beg your pardon.’

She stepped aside, clinging to the back of a chair as she stared at him, outraged.

‘Get out,’ she ordered him, her voice shaking with fury. ‘Get out now before I have you thrown out!’

‘Let me explain—’ Jack had an insane desire to laugh as he uttered the words. How could he explain the madness that had come over him, the all-encompassing, uncontrollable desire. Dear heaven, how could he have been so crass?

Eloise was frantically tugging at the bell-pull, her face as white as the lace around her shoulders.

‘Have no fear, my lady, I am leaving.’ With a stiff little bow he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, but as he closed the door behind him he had the impression of the lady collapsing on to the sofa and heard her first anguished sob.

Eloise cried unrestrainedly for several minutes, but such violence could not be sustained. Yet even when her tears had abated the feeling of outrage remained. She left the sofa and began to stride to and fro about the room.

How dare he abuse her in such a way! He had insinuated himself into her house and she had treated him with courtesy. How had he repaid her? First he had accused her of having a lover, then he had molested her as if she had been a common strumpet! She stopped her pacing and clenched her fists, giving a little scream of anger and frustration.

‘Such behaviour may be acceptable in Paris, Major Clifton, but it is not how a gentleman behaves in London!’

She resumed her pacing, jerking her handkerchief between her fingers. Rage welled up again, like steam in a pot, and with an unladylike oath she scooped up a little Sèvres dish from the table and hurled it into the fireplace, where it shattered with a most satisfying smash. The noise brought her butler hurrying into the room.

‘Madam, I beg your pardon, but I heard…’

The anxiety in his usually calm voice brought Eloise to her senses. She turned away and drew a deep breath before replying.

‘Yes, Noyes, I have broken a dish. You had best send the maid to clear it up: but tell her to be careful, the edges are sharp, and I would not like anyone to cut themselves because of my carelessness.’

When the butler had withdrawn Eloise returned to her chair. Her rage had subsided, but the outpouring of emotion had left her feeling drained and depressed. She could not deny that Major Clifton had some excuse for thinking that Alex was her lover. They had never made any attempt to deny the rumours and Eloise had been content with the situation. Until now.

She was shocked to realise how much Major Clifton’s disapproval had wounded her, and he had had the audacity to compound her distress by attacking her in that disgusting way. She bit her lip. No, she had to be honest: it was not his actions that had distressed her, but the shocking realisation that she had wanted him to kiss her. Even when her anger was at its height, some barely acknowledged instinct had made her move closer and for one brief, giddy moment when he had pulled her into his arms, she had blazed with a desire so strong that all other thoughts had been banished from her mind. Only the knowledge of her own inadequacy made her push him away.

She hung her head, wondering if Jack Clifton could tell from that one, brief contact that the Wanton Widow had never before been kissed?

Jack strode quickly out of Dover Street and back to his own lodgings, his mind in turmoil. Whatever had possessed him to behave in that way towards Eloise Allyngham? He might disapprove of her liaison with Mortimer but he had hardly acted as a gentleman himself. Scowling, Jack ran up the stairs and into his sitting room, throwing his cane and his hat down on to a chair.

‘Oho, who’s ruffled your feathers?’ demanded his valet, coming in.

Jack bit back a sharp retort. Bob had served with him as his sergeant throughout the war and was more than capable of giving him his own again. He contented himself by being icily civil.

‘Fetch me pen and ink, if you please, Robert, and some paper. And be quick about it!’

‘We are in a bad skin,’ grinned Bob. ‘Was the widow disagreeable?’

‘Damn your eyes, don’t be so impertinent!’ He rubbed his chin, scowling. ‘If you must know I forgot myself. I need to write an apology to the lady, and quickly.’

Jack rapidly penned his missive, sealed it and despatched Robert to deliver it to Dover Street.

The valet returned some twenty minutes later and handed him back his letter, neatly torn in two.

‘She wouldn’t accept it, Major.’

‘Damnation, I didn’t ask you to wait for a reply!’

‘No, sir, but I arrived at the house just as my lady was coming out, so she heard me tell that sour-faced butler of hers who the letter was from. She didn’t even bother to open it. Just took it from me and ripped it in half. Said if you thought she was the sort to accept a carte blanche you was very much mistaken.’ He grinned. ‘Seems you upset her right and proper.’

With an oath Jack crumpled the torn paper and hurled it into the fireplace. He would have to talk to her. Whatever her own morals—or lack of them—he was damned if he would have her think him anything less than a gentleman.

A few hours attending to her correspondence and a brisk walk did much to restore Eloise’s composure. She had derived no small satisfaction from being able to tear up Major Clifton’s letter and send it back to him. She thought it might be an apology, but she was determined not to accept it. The man would have to grovel before she would deign to notice him again! However, she could not quite forget his words and when she prepared to attend a party at Clevedon House that evening she decided upon a robe of dark blue satin worn over a gold slip and wore a tiny cap of fluted blue satin that nestled amongst her curls. She added a collar of sapphires and matching eardrops to lend a little lustre to the rather severe lines of the gown, but even so, she considered her appearance very suitable for a widow, and once she had fastened a gold lace fichu over her shoulders no one—not even a certain disagreeable major whom she was determined never to think about—could mistake her for anything other than a respectable widow.

She was a little nervous walking into Clevedon House without Alex by her side, but she hid her anxiety behind a smile as she sought out Lord Berrow. He gave her a quizzical look as she approached.

‘If you are come to talk to me about selling my land again, my dear, then you are wasting your time.’

Eloise laughed and tucked her hand in his arm.

‘Allow me at least to tell you why I want the land, sir.’

‘Very well.’ He gave her an avuncular smile. ‘No harm in my being seen with a pretty woman, eh? Come along, then. We will sit in this little alcove over here, out of the way. Now, what is it you want to say to me, ma’am?’

She conjured up her most winning smile.

‘I want to found a charitable institution as a memorial to my husband. You knew Anthony, Lord Berrow; you will remember how kind-hearted he was.’

‘Aye, a very generous man, and a good neighbour, too,’ nodded the Earl. ‘And he left no children.’ He shook his head. ‘Pity the Allyngham name will die out now.’

‘Yes, and the title, too, is lost.’

‘But everything else comes to you?’

‘Yes.’ Eloise sighed and gazed down at her lap. She put her left hand over the right, feeling the hard outline of her Tony’s ring upon her finger beneath the satin glove. ‘Being a soldier, my husband knew there was a strong possibility that he might die before me, and he saw to it that there would be no difficulties there. And we discussed doing something to help those less fortunate. It has given me something to think about during the past twelve months. I have spoken to the mayor of Allyngham and he has agreed my plans. We have set up a trust and I am giving a parcel of land for the building itself. However, when we came to look at the map there is a narrow stretch of your own land, sir, at Ainsley Wood, that cuts between the town and the proposed site. It is less than half a mile wide but without a road through it we will need to make a journey of several miles around the boundary.’

‘But the woodland is very profitable for me.’

Lord Berrow’s response convinced her that he had at least been giving her proposal some thought.

‘Of course it is, sir, and we would give you a fair price. The wood could provide timber for the building and of course firewood. However, if the trust cannot buy it then perhaps you would allow us to put in a road, my lord. The project is not viable unless we have access to the town.’

‘Well, we shall see, we shall see.’ He smiled down at her. ‘And just what is this project you are planning?’

Eloise clasped her hands.

‘A foundling hospital, my lord. As you know, the plight of the poor is so much worse since the war ended—’

‘A foundling hospital?’ he exclaimed, horrified. ‘No, no, no, that will never do.’

‘My lord, I assure you—’

‘No, no, madam. Out of the question.’ He shifted away from her, shaking his head. ‘I cannot support such a scheme.’

Eloise was shocked.

‘But my lord, I thought you would be in favour of it! After all, you are a great friend of Wilberforce and his Evangelical set, and I read your speeches to the House, in favour of reform…’

‘Yes, yes, but that is different. A foundling hospital would bring the very worst sort of women to Allyngham, and I spend a great deal of time in Norfolk. I could not countenance having such an institution in the area.’ Lord Berrow stood up. ‘I am sorry, my dear, but I think you should consider some other plan to honour your husband.’

With a little bow he walked off, leaving Eloise wondering what to do next. She had not expected such strong opposition from the Earl. She wondered if he would perhaps be more amenable once he had had time to think about the idea. She hoped so, and decided to renew her argument again in a few days.

Eloise noticed that several of the gentlemen were looking in her direction and she realised that to be sitting alone in the alcove might be construed as an invitation. Even as the thought occurred to her she saw one fashionably dressed gentleman excusing himself from a little group and making his way towards her. Recognising Sir Ronald Deforge, she quickly slipped out of the alcove and lost herself in the crowd.

‘Lady Allyngham.’

Eloise whipped round to find Jack Clifton behind her.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came to find you.’

She hunched one shoulder at him.

‘Then you have wasted your time, Major Clifton,’ she said coldly. ‘I will not talk to you.’

He grabbed her wrist as she turned away, saying urgently, ‘I want to apologise.’

‘I do not care what you want!’ she hissed at him, wrenching her hand free.

Quickly she pushed her way through the crowds, never pausing until she reached the ante-room. There she glanced around and was obliged to stifle a tiny pang of disappointment when she discovered the major had not followed her. She saw Mrs Renwick coming out of the card-room and went to join her, hoping to avoid any further unwelcome attentions by staying close to the lady and her friends. The ploy worked very well, and she was just beginning to think that she might soon be able to make her excuses and leave without arousing too much speculation when a footman approached and held out a silver tray.

Eloise looked doubtfully at the folded note resting on the tray.

‘What is this?’ she asked, suspicion making her voice sharp.

A flicker of surprise disturbed the servant’s wooden features.

‘I do not know, my lady. The under-footman brought it into the ballroom and requested that I deliver it to you.’

One of Mrs Renwick’s companions leaned closer.

‘Ah, an admirer, my dear!’

The arch tone grated upon Eloise, but she merely smiled. Carefully, she picked up the note.

‘Thank you; that will be all.’

She dismissed the footman and stepped away from the little group of ladies. They were all regarding her with varying degrees of curiosity. She hoped her own countenance was impassive as she opened the note and read it.

Go into the garden and look under Apollo’s heel.

Eloise stared at the words, trying to work out their meaning. She realised one of the ladies was stepping towards her and hurriedly folded the note.

‘So, Lady Allyngham, is it an admirer?’

She looked into the woman’s bright, blatantly curious face and forced herself to laugh.

‘What else?’ she said lightly. ‘One is pursued everywhere. Excuse me.’

Her mind was racing. Apollo. A statue, perhaps. She remembered that the long windows of the grand salon had been thrown open, recalled seeing the ink-black sky beyond. She did not know what lay beyond the windows: she had no choice but to find out.

Eloise returned to the salon. The noise and chatter of the room was deafening and she began to make her way around the edge of the room until she reached the first of the long windows. Looking out, she could see a narrow terrace with a flight of steps at each end. Eloise took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching her and slipped out on to the terrace. From her elevated position she could see the dark outlines of the garden and in the far distance, at the perimeter of the grounds, a series of lanterns glowed between several pale figures: marble statues.

In seconds she had descended the steps and was running along the path, the gravel digging painfully into the thin soles of her blue kid slippers. The moon had not yet risen and the gardens were dark, the path only discernible as a grey ribbon. She thought she heard a noise behind her and turned, her heart beating hard against her ribs. She could see nothing behind her except the black wall of the house rearing up, pierced by the four blocks of light from the long windows.

She hurried on, past the rose garden where the late-summer blooms were still perfuming the air, and on through a tree-lined walk. The path led between two rows of clipped yews and was in almost total darkness but at the far end she could see the garden wall and hanging from it the first of the lanterns. Emerging from the yew walk, she saw the statue of a woman ahead of her, the marble gleaming ghostlike in the lamplight. She approached the statue and noted that the path turned to the right and ran past five more statues, each one illuminated by a lamp. She put her hand to her throat: the third statue was clearly male, and holding a lyre in his arms. She stepped forward: yes, it could be Apollo. She moved closer, peering at the base of the statue. One marble heel was slightly raised and tucked beneath it was a small square of folded paper.

Eloise bent to pick it up. She unfolded it, turning the writing towards the golden glow of the lantern. Her heart, thudding so heavily a moment earlier, now stopped. She had expected to find another note but this was obviously a page torn from a book. A journal, judging by the dates in the margin. It was covered with a fine, neat hand that was all too familiar. As she read the page she put a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening with horror. The sentiments, the explicit nature of the words—innermost thoughts that would cause a scandal if they were made public. A scandal that could destroy both her and Alex.

For a sickening moment Eloise thought she might faint. Then, as her brain started to work again, she quickly refolded the paper and thrust it into the bosom of her gown. Her spine began to tingle, and she had the uneasy feeling that she was being watched. She backed away from the statue, straining her eyes and ears against the surrounding darkness. The air was very still and the only sound to reach her was the faint chatter of the guests gathered in the house. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be standing safely in that overheated, overcrowded salon. She picked up her skirts and began to run back along the path, trying not to think of who or what might be hiding in the darkness around her. The steps to the terrace were within sight when a figure stepped out and blocked her path. She screamed and tried to turn away. Strong hands reached out and grabbed her, preventing her from falling.

‘Easy, my lady. There is no need to be afraid.’

Recognising Jack Clifton’s deep warm voice did nothing to calm her. The noise coming from the open windows above was such that she felt sure no one had heard her scream and no one would hear her now, if she called out for assistance. Fighting down her panic, she shrugged off his hands.

‘You persist in tormenting me,’ she said in a low, shaking voice.

She heard him laugh and gritted her teeth against her anger.

‘You wrong me, madam. I saw you slip away, so I came outside to wait for you. I thought, perhaps, when you came back from your assignation, I might speak with you.’ His teeth gleamed in the dim light. ‘I did not expect you to return as if the hounds of hell were snapping at your heels.’

She peered at him, trying to read his face, but it was impossible in the gloom.

‘You know why I went into the garden?’

She sensed rather than saw him shrug.

‘I presumed it was to meet a gentleman.’ On this occasion his opinion of her character did not arouse her anger. ‘So now will you accept an apology for my behaviour this morning, madam?’

She said cautiously, ‘I might do so.’

‘Then I humbly beg your pardon. My conduct was not that of a gentleman.’

He was so close, so reassuringly solid, but could she trust him? She glanced nervously over her shoulder. If Major Clifton had not sent her that note, then who could it be? She looked up at him. ‘Did you see anyone else in the gardens, Major?’

‘No. What is it, Lady Allyngham, did not your lover keep the assignation?’

His coldly mocking tone banished all thoughts of seeking his help. She gave a little hiss of anger.

‘You are quite despicable!’

‘And you are hiding something.’

She drew herself up.

‘That,’ she said icily, ‘is none of your business!’

Jack did not move as the lady turned and ran quickly up the steps and into the house. There was a mystery here: she had seemed genuinely frightened when she came running up to him. If it had been any other woman he would have done his best to reassure her, but Lady Allyngham had made it abundantly clear what she thought of him. And she could take care of herself, could she not? He thought back to that morning, when he had held her in his arms before she wrathfully fought him off. He toyed with the idea of following her and persuading her to confide in him. Then he shrugged. As the lady had said, it was none of his business.

Jack decided to leave. He had come to Clevedon House in search of Lady Allyngham, determined to deliver his apology and he had done so. There was now no reason for him to stay: he took no pleasure in being part of the laughing, chattering crush of guests gathered in the elegant salon. A discreet enquiry at the door elicited the information that Lady Allyngham had already departed and since there was no other amusement to be had, he made his way directly to his rooms in King Street. He decided not to call in at White’s. He had business to conclude in the morning and needed to have a clear head. After that, he thought, he would be glad to quit London and forget the bewitching, contradictory Lady Allyngham.

Chapter Three

The following morning Jack took a cab into the City. His first meeting with his lawyer had convinced him that he was right to sell out and take charge of his inheritance, or what was left of it. Now he quickly scanned the papers that were put before him.

‘Once the property in Leicestershire is sold that will give me capital to invest in the Staffordshire estates,’ he decided.

His lawyer’s brows went up.

‘The Leicestershire estate was your father’s pride and joy: he always said the hunting there was second to none.’

‘I shall have precious little time for hunting for the next few years,’ muttered Jack, looking at the figures the lawyer had written out for him. He pushed the papers back across the desk. ‘You say you have a buyer?’

The lawyer steepled his fingers, trying to keep the note of excitement out of his voice. Years of dealing with old Mr Clifton had made him cautious.

‘The owner of the neighbouring property, a Mr Tomlinson, has indicated he is interested in purchasing the house and the land. He is eager to have the matter settled. He is a manufacturer, but a very gentlemanly man.’

‘As long as he can pay the price I don’t care who he is.’ Jack rose. ‘Very well. Have the papers drawn up for me to sign tomorrow, and I’ll leave the rest to you.’

Ten minutes later Jack walked out into the street, feeling that a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He had always preferred Henchard, the house in Staffordshire. It had been his mother’s favourite, but sadly neglected after her death, his father preferring to live in London or Leicestershire. He had died there following a short illness eighteen months ago, but with Bonaparte gathering his army and Wellington demanding that every able soldier join him in Brussels, Jack had not had time to do more than to send to Henchard any personal effects he wanted to keep before rejoining his regiment. Now he planned to settle down. He would be able to refurbish Henchard, and in time the land might even be profitable again. Settling his hat on his head, he decided to walk back to King Street. He had reached the Strand and was approaching Coutts’s bank when a heavily veiled woman stepped out of the door, escorted by a very attentive bank clerk. Despite the thick veil there was something familiar about the tall, fashionably dressed figure, her purposeful tread, the way her hands twisted together. As she pulled on her gloves he caught sight of the heavy gold ring on her right hand. Even from a distance he recognised Allyngham’s signet ring. Jack smiled to himself, wondering what the lady would say if he approached her. Would she give him a cold, frosty greeting, or perhaps she might simply refuse to acknowledge him? Even as he considered the matter she swept across to a waiting cab and climbed in. Instantly the door was closed and the carriage pulled away.

‘Well, Miss Elle? Is your business ended, can we go home now?’

Eloise put up her veil and gave her maid a strained smile.

‘Yes, Alice, we are going back to Dover Street now.’

The maid gave a little sniff. ‘I do not see why we couldn’t use your own carriage, if you was only coming to the bank. It may be unusual for ladies to visit their bankers, but if they are widows, like yourself, I don’t see what else is to be done.’

Eloise did not reply. Leaning back in one corner, she clutched her reticule nervously. It rested heavily on her knees but she would not put it away from her. She had never been inside a bank before, but the manager himself had taken charge once he realised her identity, and the whole process had been conducted with the utmost ease. When she had said she needed to draw a substantial amount to distribute to her staff he had given her a look which combined sympathy with mild disapproval: no doubt he thought that she really required the money for some much more trivial reason, such as to buy new gowns or to pay off her gambling debts.

She pulled a paper from her bag and unfolded it: the scrawling black letters might have been live serpents for the way they made her skin crawl. When the letter had arrived that morning and she had read it for the first time, she had felt very alone. Her first thought had been to send for Alex, but she had soon dismissed the idea. Alex was a dear friend, but he could be rash, and this matter required discretion. No, she must deal with this herself. She scanned the letter again, chewing at her lip. Her biggest problem now was how to get through the rest of the day?

Mrs Renwick was a little surprised when Eloise appeared at her card party that evening.

‘I know I had sent my apologies,’ said Eloise, giving her hostess a bright smile, ‘but I was not in humour for dancing tonight and thought you would not object…’

‘Not in the least, my dear, you are most welcome here. Come in, come in and join our little party.’ Mrs Renwick drew her towards a quiet room filled with small tables, where ladies and gentleman were gathered, staring at their cards in hushed concentration. Bathed in the glow of the candles, it looked like a room full of golden statues. ‘This is turning out to be an evening of pleasant surprises. Major Clifton, too, made an unexpected appearance. It seems his business in town will not now be concluded until tomorrow so we have the pleasure of his company, too—’

Eloise drew back quickly. She had spotted Jack Clifton on the far side of the room.

‘No! I—I was hoping for something a little…less serious, ma’am.’

Her hostess laughed softly. ‘Well if you would like to come into the morning room, some of our friends are playing looe for penny points: nothing too alarming in that, now is there?’

Resigning herself to an hour or so of tedious play, Eloise smiled and took her place between a bouncing, bubbly young lady fresh from the schoolroom and an emaciated dowager in heavy black bombazine. Concentrating on the cards proved a surprisingly effective distraction for Eloise and when the little group split up to go in search of refreshment she was relieved to note that her evening was nearly over.

She made her way downstairs to the dining room where a long table was loaded with a sumptuous array of food and drink. A little supper might help to settle the nervous anticipation that was beginning to build within her. A group of gentlemen were helping themselves to delicacies from an assortment of silver dishes. She noted that both Major Clifton and Sir Ronald Deforge were amongst their number so she avoided them and made her way to the far end of the table. She kept her eyes lowered, determined to concentrate on the food displayed before her but the gentlemen’s light-hearted banter intruded and she could not help but listen. The conversation turned to gambling and she found her attention caught when she heard the major’s voice.

‘You know I play the occasional game at White’s but the high stakes are not for me,’ he was saying. ‘You will think me very dull, I dare say, but I prefer my funds to be invested in my land, rather than lining some other fellow’s pockets.’

‘Very different from Sir Ronald, then,’ laughed Edward Graham. ‘You never refuse a game of chance, ain’t that right, sir?’

‘If it is cards, certainly,’ Sir Ronald replied cheerfully. ‘I have something of a passion for cards. I played young Franklyn ’til dawn last week.’

‘Then you have more energy for the pastime than I do,’ returned the major coolly, turning away.

‘I hear that playing ’til dawn is a common occurrence with you, Deforge,’ remarked Mr Renwick. ‘By Gad, sir, your servants must be falling asleep at their posts if they have to wait up for you every night.’

Sir Ronald laughed.

‘No, no, Renwick, I am not so cruel an employer. My household retires at a Christian hour. Only my valet waits up for me, and he snoozes in a chair in the hall until I give him the knock to let me in.’

‘The pleasures of being a bachelor,’ declared his host. ‘A wife would certainly curtail your nocturnal activities, Deforge!’

‘Oho, when have I ever prevented you doing exactly as you wish?’ demanded Mrs Renwick, walking by at that moment. ‘My husband would have you think his life very restricted.’ She tapped the straining front of Mr Renwick’s waistcoat with her fan. ‘Well, gentlemen? Does he look as if he is wasting away?’

Eloise gave a little chuckle as her hostess came towards her.

‘I am sure we will all find something to tempt our appetite here,’ she smiled. ‘A truly magnificent supper, ma’am.’

‘Thank you, Lady Allyngham. Are you enjoying yourself?’

‘Yes, thank you. It is a most delightful evening.’

‘But, my dear, you are very quiet this evening, and a trifle pale, I think.’ Mrs Renwick came closer. ‘I hope you are not ill?’

‘No, ma’am, a little tired, perhaps.’

Mrs Renwick gave her a warm, sympathetic smile.

‘Too many engagements, ma’am?’

‘I think perhaps I have had enough of town life.’

Overhearing, Mr Graham turned quickly towards her.

‘My dear Lady Allyngham, you will not desert us!’

‘Of course she will not,’ put in Lady Parham, coming up. ‘Not when there are so many diversions to be enjoyed.’

Eloise forced herself to smile. Suddenly she was tired of play-acting.

‘I think I may well go back to Allyngham.’

‘Ah,’ nodded Lady Parham. ‘Perhaps that is why you were in the Strand this morning, settling your affairs with your bankers.’

Eloise stiffened. ‘No, I had no business there today.’

‘Oh, I was so sure it was you!’ Lady Parham gave a tinkling little laugh, glancing around at her friends. ‘I had gone to Ackerman’s, to look at their new prints—so amusing!—and I saw a lady coming out of Coutts’s bank. But she was veiled, so perhaps I was mistaken.’

‘It must have been someone else,’ said Eloise firmly. ‘I was not in the Strand this morning.’

She selected a little pastry and turned away, only to find Jack Clifton regarding her with a little frown in his eyes.

Now what the devil is she about?

Jack had been watching Lady Allyngham for some time. He had noted that she was nervous, her eyes constantly straying to the clock, and her vehement denial of visiting the bank aroused his suspicions. She caught his eye and moved away so fast he abandoned any thought of speaking to her, but when, a short time later, Eloise made her excuses and left the party, he followed.

The press of traffic in the streets made it an easy task for Jack to follow her carriage on foot, and when they arrived at Dover Street he was close enough to hear the lady’s instructions to the coachman to come back in an hour.

Jack grinned. So she was up to something! He dashed back to King Street, quelling the little voice in his head that objected to the idea of spying on a lady. After all, Tony Allyngham had been a good friend and had asked him to look after his widow—well, perhaps not in so many words, but Jack was not going to admit, even to himself, that he had any personal interest in Eloise Allyngham.

Just over half an hour later he was back in Dover Street, his evening coat replaced by a dark riding jacket and with a muffler covering his snowy neckcloth. Hidden out of sight in Dover Yard, Bob was looking after his horse and in all probability, Jack thought, animadverting bitterly on the ways of the Quality. He positioned himself opposite Lady Allyngham’s door and settled down to wait. As with many of the streets in this area of London, Dover Street housed a variety of residents, from members of the ton to ladies who, while they would never receive an invitation from the great society hostesses, were very well known to their husbands. Courtesans such as Kitty Williams who, it was rumoured, could boast of having a royal duke amongst her many admirers. Jack was not one of their number, but Kitty’s residence had been pointed out to him by his friends, and he watched with interest as an elegant town carriage pulled up at the door. A portly gentleman climbed out and was immediately admitted, as if the doorman had been looking out for him. So Lord Berrow was one of Kitty’s customers. Jack grinned: the Earl professed himself to be one of Wilberforce’s saints—the old hypocrite!

The sounds of another coach clattering into Dover Street caused Jack to step back further into the shadows. He nodded with satisfaction as it drew up outside Lady Allyngham’s house. He saw Eloise come out, wrapped now in a dark cloak, and step up into the carriage. It drew away immediately and Jack turned and ran for his horse.

‘I still think I should come with you,’ grumbled Robert as Jack scrambled into the saddle.

‘No, you go back now and wait for me.’ Jack patted his pocket. He had a pistol, should he need it, and besides, he forced himself to face the thought, if this should prove nothing more than a sordid little assignation with a lover, the less people who knew of it the better.

Keeping a discreet distance, Jack followed the coach as it bowled through the darkened streets. They headed north through Tottenham Court Road and soon the town was left behind and they were bowling along between open fields. It was a clear night, the rising moon giving sufficient light for the carriage to set a swift pace. The coach slowed as it climbed through the village of Hampstead. When they reached the open heath Jack drew rein and as the carriage came to a halt he guided his horse off the road into the cover of the stunted trees. He watched Eloise climb out. Silently he dismounted, secured his horse to a branch and followed her.

Eloise hesitated, glancing back at the coach drawn up behind her. The carriage lamps twinkled encouragingly and the solid shape of her coachman sitting up on the box was reassuring. She had also taken the precaution of asking Perkins to come with her. He had been her groom since she was a child and she was confident of his loyalty and discretion. Turning again to face the dark open heath, she took a deep breath and stepped forwards. She suspected it was not the autumnal chill in the night air that made her shiver as she moved along the narrow path. She felt dreadfully alone and had to remind herself that Perkins was discreetly following her. For perhaps the twentieth time since setting out she went over in her mind the instructions she had received in the letter that morning. The carriage had stopped at the fork in the road, as directed, and the path to the right between a boulder and small pond was easily found. She counted silently, thankful that the letter had stated the number of steps she would need to take rather than asking her to judge a half a mile: in her present nervous state she felt as if she had walked at least three miles already. There was sufficient light to see the path, but the trees and bushes on either side were menacingly black, and she had to force herself not to think how many malevolent creatures might be watching her from the shadows.

At one point she saw a black square on her left; a shepherd’s hut, she guessed, although there were no sheep or cattle visible on the heath. Then, ahead of her, she could make out the path splitting on either side of a fallen tree. She stopped and glanced about her. Everything was silent. Shivering, she stepped up and placed a package under the exposed roots of the tree.

There, it was done. She was just heaving a sigh of relief when she heard a scuffle and crashing in the bushes behind her. She turned in time to see Perkins dragging something large and heavy out from the bushes.

‘I got ’im, m’lady,’ he wheezed, ‘I’ve got yer villain!’

Eloise ran back and gazed down at the unconscious figure lying at the groom’s feet.

It was Major Jack Clifton.

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