‘We think it would be best if you kept your distance from Lord Nicholas.’

‘And if I don’t?’ But in Thea’s heart she already knew the answer.

‘Maybe nothing. Perhaps you would fall in love and marry. But if he discovered the truth, would Lord Nicholas continue to look on you with love—or would he turn his back with condemnation and contempt?’

‘I could not bear that.’ A tear stole unnoticed down Thea’s cheek. She knew what she had to do. She must set herself to destroy any vestige of the relationship which might have begun to blossom between herself and Lord Nicholas. It should not be too difficult, should it, to give him a disgust of her if she really tried? To make him wonder what he had ever seen in her?

No one must guess. Not Lord Nicholas. Not ever Nicholas.

And, whilst Thea found herself reduced to the blackness of utter misery, Lord Nicholas Faringdon was equally prey to extreme emotions. Against all the odds he had fallen in love. He wanted nothing more than to ask for the lady’s hand in marriage. She fired his blood. She intrigued him. She entranced him. If he had his way, Miss Theodora Wooton-Devereux would become Lady Nicholas Faringdon in the shortest possible time.

A smile of satisfaction touched his mouth. There was nothing in the manner of that lady towards him that might indicate that she would not welcome his addresses.

Dear Reader

In The Disgraced Marchioness, the first volume in The Faringdon Scandals trilogy, Lord Henry Faringdon succeeded in finding happiness with beautiful Eleanor in New York. This left Henry’s handsome younger brother, Nicholas, to administer the Burford estates in Herefordshire in the name of his infant nephew. I wondered what Nicholas’s future would be, bound as he would be by a sense of duty—and so was born The Outrageous Débutante.

Nicholas is a typical Faringdon, with dark good looks, unused to having his will thwarted, and driven by ambitions. What will happen when his path is crossed by Theodora, a delicious débutante who is just as strong-willed as he, and certainly given to outrageous behaviour? Will it be possible for Nicholas and Theodora to find any future together after so stormy a first encounter? And when scandal strikes again, far too close to home, can their love even be declared, much less survive? Nicholas has to face the grave demons of his past, Theodora the truths of hers, both of which have the power to wreck any love affair between them. It could all so easily end in heartbreak …

Still the Faringdon history is not complete. Sarah Russell has yet to find her destiny. Although not a Faringdon by birth, her fate will become involved with that of the notorious Lord Joshua Faringdon, the Black Sheep of the family, cousin to Henry and Nicholas. Look out for their turbulent love affair, in The Enigmatic Rake, coming soon!

I hope that you enjoy this passionate encounter between Theodora and Nicholas, as much as I did in bringing them together.

About the Author

ANNE O’BRIEN was born and lived for most of her life in Yorkshire. Here she taught history, before deciding to fulfil a lifetime ambition to write romantic historical fiction. She won a number of short story competitions until published for the first time by Harlequin Mills & Boon®. As well as writing, she finds time to enjoy gardening, cooking and watercolour painting. She now lives with her husband in an eighteenth-century cottage in the depths of the Welsh Marches.

Recent titles by the same author:

RUNAWAY HEIRESS

PURITAN BRIDE

MARRIAGE UNDER SIEGE

and in The Faringdon Scandals: THE DISGRACED MARCHIONESS

Don’t miss the third instalment of THE FARINGDON SCANDALS THE ENIGMATIC RAKE Coming, March 2006

The Outrageous
Debutante
Anne O’Brien

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Prologue

The sun beat down from a sky so pale with heat as to be almost colourless. From the deep ochre sand and rock of the Syrian desert, ruins of a Roman town stood proud, as if grown from the earth. Arches lifted their broken heads to the heavens, columns rose with splintered capitals and walls crumbled into dust. They might have stood there since the beginning of time, and would continue to stand until the hot winds and cold nights reduced them once more to nothing but grains of sand. Nothing moved in the landscape except for a pair of lazily circling eagles and the lizards that basked on the hot stones. Nothing moved until two figures emerged from the distant heat haze, to fly across the firm sand towards the ancient town. A pair of fine Arabian horses, their riders crouched low as they encouraged them to pit their strength and speed against each other. Far behind followed a small group of riders, at a more sedate pace, leading well-laden pack horses.

The two riders drew rein before the remains of a magnificent triumphal arch. The animals danced at the curbing of their energies and tossed their heads. They were beautiful, both satin-skinned greys with the short curved necks and small heads of true Arab breeding. The riders controlled them with ease as the horses resisted the firm hands on the reins and fought to run.

As they finally settled and consented to stand, sides heaving, the riders dismounted. They walked towards the crumbling stonework and, securing the reins to fallen masonry, sank down in the shade. Then they proceeded to unwind the scarves that had been draped around head and face against the sun and sand and to loosen the all-encompassing robes that protected their clothes—to reveal that the riders were female.

‘That was wonderful! So much light and space. I love the elemental heat of it—even when my nose is pink and I have sand in my mouth!’ The younger woman wiped the back of her hand over her dry lips as she watched the slowly approaching caravan, then turned her brilliant blue eyes on her older companion. ‘You have no idea how much I shall miss this place, Mama.’

Lady Drusilla Wooton-Devereux smiled her understanding, in complete accord with her daughter. ‘I, too, regret leaving it, Thea. And Sir Hector would not be averse to remaining at the Court of Constantinople for a few more years. But his position does not allow him free choice in the matter. We must make the most of the remaining days here.’

Theodora Wooton-Devereux pulled the long veil completely from around her head, to reveal the interesting fact that her hair was of a rich gold, a burnished cap in the sunlight and cut as short as any boy’s. She ran her fingers through the short strands where the wisps stuck to her heated forehead and cheeks. Unconventional it might be—shockingly so, some might say—but it drew attention to the face of a Beauty. Glorious deep blue eyes, the dark, elegantly arched brows, the fine cheekbones and straight, almost masterful nose. Miss Wooton-Devereux’s delicious mouth with its full bottom lip curved in unalloyed pleasure. She was without doubt a striking young woman.

‘What will it be like in Russia when Papa is sent to St Petersburg?’ she asked. ‘Cold, I expect.’

‘Not so much now in the summer months. But in winter, yes. A land of ice and snow, temperatures so low you could not believe it. Even the rivers freeze over.’ Lady Drusilla smiled at the memories, surrounded as she was by extreme heat and dust. ‘Your father and I spent a few months there—he was in a lowly position in the diplomatic ranks in those days, of course—before you were born, Thea.’

‘How exciting it must have been—you as a young bride. I shall like to see it. And the court of Tsar Alexander, of course. Do you suppose he is as handsome as they say? We shall need furs and woollen cloth, not these wonderful light garments.’ Thea leapt to her feet, unwilling to sit longer when energy surged through her veins, and strode around so the robes billowed about her, robes such as a Bedouin in the desert would wear, revealing that beneath them she wore wide breeches as the Turks might, tucked into the tops of long leather boots. ‘I think that wherever we go, this will always be my favourite place. Riding for ever with the distance never seeming to come any closer. Sleeping outside under the stars, which shine with such brilliance.’ She spread her arms and danced a few short steps of joy. ‘But I expect Russia will hold as many delights. How long do you suppose before Papa is transferred?’

‘A few months, perhaps as long as six. We should be fixed in London for the time and so will take a house for the Season.’ Lady Drusilla watched her daughter, unwilling to curb Thea’s delights. But she knew she must. It was more than time for her to remember her duties as a mother to this enchanting daughter.

‘Thea—I do not think that you should come with us to Russia.’ The words came out as a bald statement.

The dance across the sand stopped. The dancer turned, her face registering a sharp mixture of shock and surprise. A sudden fear.

‘Not come with you? But why not? I have always travelled with you. Saint Petersburg cannot contain more dangers than Constantinople, surely. And if you are to accompany Papa, there is no reason for me not to do so.’

‘It is not a matter of safety. That has never been an issue, as you are well aware.’ Lady Drusilla turned her eyes away, unwilling to see the hurt that she must surely inflict. She knew her daughter’s temperament too well. Had she not herself fostered the strong streak of independence, the love of travel and adventure? But there were now steps that must be taken. ‘It is time that you married, Thea.’ She kept her voice light and gentle. ‘You are now one and twenty, high time that you were wed. I had been married all of two years when I was your age.’

‘There is plenty of time for that.’ Thea came to sit beside her mother, intent on persuasion. In her short life she had rarely found it difficult to get her own way. But Lady Drusilla, fully aware of her daughter’s tactics, shook her head and resisted the clasp of the urgent hand on her arm.

‘No. We have been too selfish with you, my love. Enjoyed your company far too much. I shall miss you dreadfully.’ She closed her hand over Thea’s, to still the restless fingers. ‘But it is time that you had a husband and your own home. Children, of course. We must not leave it longer. It would be most unwise.’

‘Mama—do I really need a husband? I would far rather come with you to Russia. Perhaps in a few years when—’

‘No! You are older than a traditional débutante for her coming out as it is, Thea, and that is my fault. You should have a Season in London—you deserve one. You are a beautiful young woman and should not be denied a formal introduction to London society. Besides, I want a rich and titled husband for you, so that you might be comfortable.’

‘But I am an heiress. I don’t need more wealth.’

‘Perhaps not. But you certainly need a husband. I do not wish to think of you growing old as an eccentric and lonely spinster, roaming the deserts with no company but your servants, the object of gossip and speculation from everyone you meet. That is not what any mother would want for her daughter.’

‘I would not be lonely. I should take a lover!’ The lady lifted her chin, deliberately intending to shock her mother, horrified at this sudden arrangement of her future life without any consideration for her own wishes.

‘You will do no such thing, Theodora. Your upbringing might have been somewhat out of the way in comparison with that of most young girls, but I will have no truck with the scandalous, the improper!’

‘I see.’ Thea lowered her chin, her mind working rapidly. ‘Does Sir Hector agree with this plan?’

‘Yes. Of course. We have talked of it.’

Of course they would have. And Sir Hector would undoubtedly be swayed by Lady Drusilla’s forceful arguments. All the joy, all the brightness, seemed to have gone out of the day. ‘Very well.’ What other could she say? ‘I suppose I shall have to be more conventional in London.’

‘Assuredly. I think I have allowed you far too much licence in the past.’ Lady Drusilla frowned a little at her daughter as she considered her sudden compliance.

‘No. Never too much. It has been wonderful, Mama. Can I gallop my horse in London?’

‘Certainly not. Nor wear the garments you enjoy at present, as you are very well aware.’

‘Or ride astride?’

‘Theodora! You must behave with decorum and dignity. Your purpose in London will be to attract a husband, not frighten him away with an exhibition of unseemly manners. I would not wish you to become an object of gossip or shunned because the ton considers you ill bred.’

‘Oh, dear! It all seems very dull.’

‘By no means. I wager that you will find it most entertaining.’

‘Well, I shall certainly do my best to make it so, as you know, Mama. I have never yet been bored. I suppose that London can offer as much to attract and occupy me as Constantinople or St Petersburg.’

‘Thea!’ Lady Drusilla warned as she recognised the glint in her daughter’s eye.

‘Don’t fret, Mama. Of course I shall behave.’ After a little thought, Thea’s good humour had quickly reasserted itself and she laughed. ‘Perfectly, in fact. I shall set my cap at a fabulously rich Earl and ensnare him, just to please you.’ Her eyes twinkled at the prospect, but she managed to keep an expression of innocent compliance in place. Perhaps London might not be so dull after all.

Chapter One

In the county of Herefordshire, far removed from the exotic delights and windblown sands of Arabia, Lord Nicholas Faringdon opened a letter with utmost reluctance, a letter that was destined to disrupt the unchanging predictability of his life.

His lordship had spent the morning, unaware of the devious workings of fate, in the company of George Dinmore, agent to the estate of Burford. A fine sense of optimism warmed his blood, as satisfying as the first real heat of early summer that brushed his skin. It was too early to tell if the harvest would be good but the crops were coming on well, the arable fields sheened with bright green. Now it was up to sun and rain and the will of God. There had been too many cold and wet summers of late. But the cattle and sheep were thriving, as were the horses on his own estate at Aymestry Manor. It could not be said that Lord Nicholas neglected his duty to his family in his role as trustee for Tom, his young nephew, who held the title and inheritance as Marquis of Burford.

The little town of Kingshall, its wood-and-plaster dwellings clustered around a central market square, hummed with life. Outside the Red Lion, Lord Nicholas had paused to listen to the landlord, who could be relied upon for knowledge of any local happenings. Nicholas made it his business to enquire and keep abreast of developments or hints of unrest. The local cottage industries were thriving well enough. There was no serious competition here from machines. He knew that if he rode down Back Lane, he would see the women who made the beautifully sewn gloves from the palest, finest of leathers, sitting working on their doorsteps in the sun. But another bad summer, another autumn beset by storms and heavy rain, would push up the price of grain. Lack of food, as Nicholas well knew, led to mutterings in the Red Lion over a draught of ale. The lord would be the easiest target for such discontent when tempers ran high. Lord Nicholas Faringdon had no intention of allowing his nephew’s inheritance to be destroyed or compromised in any way, even if his nephew was living in New York with Nell, his mother, and nearly four years old.

As soon as the pasture had opened up on the edge of the town he had urged the young chestnut mare out of her somnolence into an easy gallop. She had willingly extended her stride until they’d flown across the grassland in perfect unity, disturbing a small flock of Ryeland sheep. He rode well, could never remember not being at home on horseback. The speed, the breeze which had ruffled and tugged at his dark hair, the sun which had glittered on the still waters of the mere, had all served to lift his spirits, banishing the niggling worries that had plagued him of late.

He did not know why he had been so beset. There was no obvious cloud of concern on his horizon, nothing which could not be managed between himself, Dinmore and Hoskins, the family lawyer in London. Nicholas had frowned as he breasted a rise and the lovely, familiar view of Burford Hall had opened up before him, its mellow stone glowing in the sharp midday light. For some reason life was a little flat. Even a little lonely. The house was empty apart from himself and the servants and would be so as far into the future as he could see. His brother Hal and Nell, now his wife, were firmly settled in New York where the firm of Faringdon and Bridges occupied Hal’s business acumen. His eldest brother Thomas had been dead now more than three years. So the Hall was empty. As was his own attractive manor at Aymestry.

Perhaps a visit to town was the remedy for this vague sense of ennui. It was a year or more since he had last taken up residence for any length of time at Faringdon House in Grosvenor Square. The Season would be at its height with all the Polite World in town. It would not do for him to rusticate completely, to become nothing but a county squire, buried in soil and hunting with pretensions to neither fashion nor style. Nicholas smiled at his own harsh judgement. There was little chance of that. He could rise to the occasion as well as any and play the sophisticated man of fashion.

Lord Nicholas’s arrival on the sweep of gravel before the steps of Burford Hall had coincided with that of the post boy from Leominster, so that now he stood in the library, wine glass in hand, having leafed through the letters before casting them on to the desk. But not all. One of them, the fatal one, had caught his attention—he had recognised the handwriting immediately. It caused him to groan quietly. He might have wished for a change of pace and scenery, but that did not include the interference of Aunt Beatrice. He could guess at the content before he even unfolded the thin sheets of paper with Lady Beatrice’s distinctive scrawl. Carrying it to the window seat, he sat and prepared to read.

My dear Nicholas,

Although the Season has been under way for some weeks, it has come to my notice when visiting Judith in Grosvenor Square that Faringdon House has remained closed up with the knocker off the door and we have not had the pleasure of your company. I took the liberty of calling to ask Elton if he had any knowledge of your sudden arrival—which he had not. I am sure that it is not good for you to bury yourself in the country. You need to come to town, my boy.

I know that it will be no surprise to you if I suggest that matrimony should play a significant part in your planning. You are young, well set up with your own income and property, both of which are substantial, and I do not hesitate to say that you are not unattractive to the opposite sex. It is time that you took a wife—indeed, I consider it to be your duty. Now that Henry and Eleanor are settled in New York—although why that should be I cannot imagine—it behoves you to consider setting up your own nursery. I am sure that you take my meaning. I believe that life can be considered cheap Across the Sea.

How can you expect to meet anyone suitable if you are buried at Burford Hall? Not that it is not a delightful place—I remember exceptional house parties there in your dear mother’s day—but not in April when you should be in London for the Season.

I cannot insist that you come to town, of course—

Really! Nicholas’s lips curled in appreciation of his aunt’s forthright style, against which few members of the family were ever prepared to take a stand.

and I am sure that you can find any number of excuses why your time at Burford is invaluable, but it would please me if you would present yourself in Berkeley Square for my own ball in three weeks. I will take the opportunity to introduce you to this year’s crop of débutantes. Some very pretty well-bred girls, who would be valuable additions to the Faringdon family.

There is no need to reply to this letter. Merely arrive!

Your loving aunt

Beatrice

He cast the letter on to the desk to pour a glass of claret from the decanter, which the footman had brought in whilst he read.

Merely arrive!

Well, he had thought of going, had he not? But not if he was to be an object of Beatrice’s interest. Like a rare insect under a magnifying lens.

Marriage. Of course she would interest herself. Her advice in the letter was nothing new. But Beatrice—damn her!—had pricked at his sense of duty and he could not but acknowledge the weight of her argument. Even so, the prospect of dancing attendance on any number of young girls at Almack’s and other fashionable squeezes filled him with something akin to horror. Eyed, assessed, gossiped over by their avaricious mamas, his income, rank and future prospects a matter for public speculation. The daughters hanging on his every word, hoping for a declaration of undying love or at least the invitation to accept his hand in marriage and take up residence at Aymestry Manor. Or, even more enticingly, at Burford Hall in the absence of the Marquis. Thomas, with considerable aplomb and good humour, would have laughed it off and enjoyed the flirtation and the female fluttering for his attention. Hal would have simply made himself scarce. He, Nicholas, in the circumstances, could do neither. The bonds around him, the silken ties of family responsibility and duty, tightened around him even more. Unbreakable, even though constructed from love and care.

Nicholas poured another glass of claret and frowned into it. Hal had the right of it when he took himself off to New York. But, of course, he had Nell with him now, the love of his life.

He supposed he could simply stay buried here, as Aunt Beatrice had so tactfully phrased it. Offer for the hand of Amelia Hawkes, daughter of the hard-riding, hard-drinking baronet whose land marched with the Faringdon estate in the west. She would like nothing better than to be Lady Nicholas Faringdon, and many would see it as a good match. An excellent rider to hounds, well connected locally, Amelia would take over the running of Aymestry Manor with the same style as she had run her father’s establishment since her mother’s death. She had probably been waiting for an offer from him for the past half-dozen years, he decided, with more than a touch of guilt. Not that he had ever encouraged her to believe that marriage was in his mind—but neither had he discouraged her. With some discomfort he saw the situation from Miss Hawkes’s perspective. They met frequently in the hunting season. He stood up with her at local assemblies in Ludlow and at private parties. Her father, Sir William, certainly would have no objection to such a match. Why not offer for the girl and tell Beatrice that she need dabble no longer—it would be comfortable, easy, familiar?

No, he could not do it. He put down the neglected wineglass with a sharp snap. Poor Amelia. He had not been fair with her. The plain truth was that he no longer wanted comfortable, easy and familiar. She was an attractive girl and would no doubt make some man an excellent wife. He liked her well enough. But love? Amelia never caused his blood to run hot or his eyes to spark with the possessive emotion that he had seen in Hal’s when he turned his gaze on Nell. Nor was the lady blessed with a well-informed mind. They could exchange views on horses and hunting, the desirability of pheasant at the end of the season when stringy could be something of a compliment. But if he ever took the conversation into any other channels—the new ideas on farming—or, God preserve him, the political situation—her eyes glazed over and she had no opinion or knowledge to volunteer. And, he realised as the image of Miss Amelia formed in his mind, she had absolutely no interest in clothes and her appearance, spending most of her days in a riding habit. Nicholas, he discovered with some surprise, since it had never crossed his mind before, was sufficiently fastidious that his future wife must look and play her part with style, whether it be in a fashionable drawing room or on the hunting field.

No. Miss Amelia Hawkes would never be mistress of Aymestry Manor. He supposed it would have to be Aunt Beatrice and the débutantes. He hoped to God that since it was undoubtedly his duty to marry and his heart was clearly not engaged elsewhere, he could meet someone suitable, someone intelligent, stylish and conventional, within a few weeks of his arrival and get it over with. As long as he did not repeat the experience he’d had with Georgiana Fitzgerald. He’d thought he had been in love. The lovely Georgiana Fitzgerald had flirted and smiled, had led him to believe that she would look for more than a light friendship—indeed, a deeper, lasting relationship. For his part he had been entranced by a lively and confiding manner and lovely face. And then, when he had been on the point of declaring himself, she had thrown him over to become the object of interest to an extremely wealthy Viscount on the trawl for a wife. She had wanted a title and fortune, not the heart and devotion of a younger son with a mere easy competence. Nicholas, distinctly disillusioned, had been left to consider the folly of allowing his heart to become engaged when considering matrimony. But that did not make Miss Amelia Hawkes any more acceptable!

On which negative note, Lord Nicholas tossed off the remainder of the claret and left the haven of his library to give instructions for his visit to town. With perhaps, in spite of everything, a lightening of his heart.

Chapter Two

Judith, Countess of Painscastle, sat alone in the supremely elegant withdrawing room of the Painscastle town house in Grosvenor Square. Thoroughly bored. she leafed through a recent edition of La Belle Assemblée, but the delicious fashions for once left her unmoved. She closed the pages and frowned down at the fair and innocent beauty who graced the front cover. There was absolutely no reason for her lack of spirits! There were so many possible demands on her time, and all of them designed to please and entertain. A soirée at the home of Lady Beech that very night. Lady Aston’s drum later in the week. A luncheon party. An essential visit to the dressmaker. What more could she require in life? She was truly, deliriously happy. But her husband Simon had found a need to visit Newmarket. He would return before the end of the week. But she missed him more than she would ever admit.

Now a married lady of almost seven years, Judith had changed little from the flighty, gossip-loving débutante who had stolen Painscastle’s heart. Her hair was as wildly red and vibrant as ever, her green eyes as sparkling and full of life. Only the previous year she had fulfilled her duty and presented her lord with a son and heir. She was inordinately proud and loved the boy beyond measure. But she could not devote all day and every day to her child. She needed something, or someone, to entertain her.

She sighed again, flicked through the pages again, tutted over an illustration of an unattractive and certainly unflattering walking dress with heavy embroidered trim around the hem and cuffs when, on a polite knock, the door opened. Matthews, her butler, entered and presented a silver tray with a bow.

‘Forgive me, my lady. A morning visitor.’

She cast aside the magazine at once and sprang to her feet. A diversion!

‘A visitor!’

‘A young lady. She says that she is unknown to you, but was advised to call by Lady Beatrice Faringdon.’

‘Mama told her to come? Did she, now? She did not tell me.’ Judith picked up the visiting card from the tray. ‘I do not recognise this name. But if Mama sent her … Pray show the lady in, Matthews.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ There was a stern expression on his face as he retreated from the room to usher forward the lady in question.

‘Miss Wooton-Devereux, my lady.’

‘Thank you, Matthews. Would you be so kind as to bring ratafia?’

‘Of course, my lady.’ With a distinct frown, the butler retired.

The lady curtsied. Judith did likewise.

‘Forgive me, my lady.’ The lady spoke with confident assurance in a low, rather husky voice. ‘I know that it is not usual to pay a morning call on someone to whom one has not been formally introduced, but my mama and Lady Beatrice have exchanged some correspondence of late. Lady Beatrice suggested that it would be of advantage to me to make your acquaintance as we are to be here in London for a little time. Being of a similar age, you understand.’ She saw the lack of comprehension in Judith’s face. ‘I gather that your mama has not told you of this.’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘Forgive me. Perhaps I should not have presumed.’

‘No, no—I am delighted that you did.’ Judith thought that the lady did not look particularly sorry. ‘Come and sit.’ She waved an expansive hand towards a chair. ‘I was only a moment ago thinking that I was in need of a distraction.’ And this, she thought, after an equally brief moment of being in the lady’s company, might be exactly the diversion she needed.

As the lady settled herself on the cream-and-gold striped chair, shaking out her skirts and removing her gloves, Judith took stock of her visitor.

‘I am Theodora Wooton-Devereux. We—my parents and I—have just arrived in town. My mother is set to launch me into society, you should understand.’ The lady’s opinion of this intent was signalled by the faintest of curls to her beautiful lips.

‘Indeed.’

The lady who sat before Judith in her withdrawing room, and somehow seemed to fill it with her personality was, well, striking, Judith supposed. Perhaps not classically beautiful exactly. Stunning might be a better word. She would certainly draw all eyes when she entered a room. She did not wear a bonnet. Her fair hair shone and—oh, my—it was cut quite short into the neck with curls that lay softly, without artifice, against her cheeks and forehead. When it was all the rage to wear ringlets falling to the shoulder from a high crown, Judith could not but stare. It was quite outrageous. But quite—charming, if one had the courage to wear it so. Judith knew that she would never dare. As Miss Wooton-Devereux turned her head, there was a touch of burnished copper amongst the gold where the sun caressed it. And those dark lashes and brows—an interesting combination with the deep blue of her eyes. Were her lashes actually dyed? And was there just a hint, the faintest brush of cosmetics on that flawless skin? Judith feared so—and was entranced. Her gown was both expensive and tasteful, but definitely not that of a débutante, shimmering as it did in pure silk of deepest amethyst, trimmed with knots of ribbon and a profusion of tiny silk flowers, in the same hue, around the hem and low-cut neckline.

Definitely not a débutante! Judith decided.

Nor did she wear the single strand of pearls so appropriate to a young girl on the brink of her presentation to society. Instead, a golden necklace of tiny entwined flowers and leaves lay against her throat, coloured stones winking in their depths, and matching earrings dripped exotically from her delicate ears. A stole was draped in artistic folds over her arms, of distinctly eastern pattern with just the hint of sparkle in the weave and the long fringes. Her hands, now revealed as she placed her gloves and reticule on the occasional table beside her, were long-fingered, slender, with a number of intricately worked rings that gleamed gold and silver in the sunlight.

The vision immediately stirred Judith’s jaded appetite. It was as if some exotic butterfly had taken it into its head to land in her withdrawing room and bring it to life.

‘You said that your name was Theodora?’ Judith enquired when she had completed her survey as tactfully as she might.

‘Yes. My mama, Lady Drusilla, called me for the Empress of the Roman Empire, the wife of the Emperor Justinian. She admired her, I believe. But do call me Thea.’

‘Thea. Yes, of course. An unusual name.’

‘Unfortunately. We do not choose our own and my mama has eclectic tastes.’ A glinting smile touched Thea’s face. ‘I have to be grateful that she did not name me Cleopatra. Or Dido.’

‘No, indeed! That would be most unfortunate!’ The Countess of Painscastle had no idea who Dido might be but decided that it did not matter. Ah—you must call me Judith. You say that you are to have a London Season?’

‘Yes.’

‘Forgive me, but …’

‘I know what you are thinking.’ Thea smiled with cheerful composure. ‘You think that I am too old to be a débutante. My mama warned me that it must be so.’

‘Well … That is to say … You are very forthright!’

‘I was brought up to be so. And your comment is certainly accurate. It is not my choice to have a Season at all. I wish to go to Russia instead. But my mother insists. She wants an Earl for me, you see.’

‘Really.’ Judith blinked. ‘Well—that is to say … I expect she might …’

‘Yes. So my father has taken a house in Upper Brook Street and we are set to entertain. Your mama is acquainted with mine—and so suggested that you might give me some advice—how to go on here. I know the protocol in Paris and Constantinople. Even Vienna. But I have never lived in London before.’

‘I see.’ Judith didn’t, but she was sure that this fascinating creature would soon explain.

‘And so I thought I should come and see if you are willing—or if you would rather not. I hope that you would tell me what you truly feel. Parents can be so thoughtless and inconsiderate when they compromise their offspring—particularly when that offspring has no inclination for it at all!’

‘Very true.’ Judith found herself returning the smile in astonishment—and total agreement.

‘Perhaps I should have not come here before we were introduced. Perhaps it is not comme il faut?’

Judith found herself sitting on the very edge of her seat. ‘Perhaps not—well, no, it is definitely not the done thing, but I am delighted that you did. I was suffering from such a megrim before you arrived.’

‘I have never suffered from a megrim in my life, but it pleases me that I can restore your spirits.’ Miss Wooton-Devereux laughed gently, showing perfect teeth, her eyes gleaming with amusement. What an odd creature she was, to be sure.

‘Tell me—’ Judith had to satisfy her curiosity and decided that she felt no compunction in asking ‘—why have you not been presented before?’

Thea was perfectly willing to explain. ‘My father, Sir Hector, is in the diplomatic service. He has been Ambassador to the Court of Constantinople of late. And we have travelled extensively so I have never had the opportunity to stay long in London or enjoy a Season. But now he is between posts. He expects to be sent to St Petersburg later in the year, but for the present we are to remain in London.’

The simple explanation was interrupted by Matthews, who brought in a tray bearing a decanter of ratafia, two glasses and a plate of little biscuits. He arranged them on the table beside Judith’s chair and left, but not before directing another disapproving glance in the direction of their guest.

‘I can not think what is wrong with Matthews.’ Judith watched him as he left the room, shoulders rigid.

Thea laughed again, an infectious low chuckle that instantly encouraged Judith to smile in response. ‘I believe that I have the answer. I am the cause of your butler’s disapproval.’

‘Why? What can you have done?’

‘I came unchaperoned. Without my maid. He appears to disapprove.’

‘Yes. I imagine that he would.’

‘But it is only a step,’ Thea explained. ‘Hardly a stroll. Why should I need a maid with me? I am hardly likely to be set on by footpads in Mayfair in broad daylight, I presume.’

‘No. Of course not. But it is most unconventional. It is not considered … seemly for an unmarried lady to venture on the streets unaccompanied.’

‘I do not see—’ She broke off as Judith handed her a glass of ratafia. She sipped it reluctantly, but with a practised pretence at enjoyment.

‘It would not be good for you to be seen as fast,’ Judith explained after taking a sip from her own glass, ‘if you are to be accepted by the haut ton. You are not in Constantinople now—or Vienna.’

‘I suppose not. I think your mama had the right of it. I need advice. Are you indeed willing to give me your support, Judith?’

‘I think it would be the most delightful thing.’ Judith put down her glass and all but clapped her hands with pleasure. ‘It is just that you must be careful not to offend. You will wish to acquire tickets for Almack’s, I suppose. And the patronesses are so strict, unpleasant even. The slightest whiff of scandal and they could refuse—and that would be fatal for anyone wishing to cut a dash in London.’

‘Oh, there is no problem there.’ Thea wafted away the problem with an elegant sweep of her hand. ‘My mother is thick as thieves with Princess Esterhazy. They have known each other for ever—in diplomatic circles, you understand.’

‘Oh dear. I did not mean to imply …’ Instant colour rose in Judith’s cheeks to clash with her hair.

‘No matter. I know that she is not liked. But she can be very informative when she is not lecturing or finding fault. Perhaps you would be so kind as to drive or ride with me in the Park and point out some of the people I should know. And not know, of course, for I have not the least idea. Unless they are very entertaining. Have you noticed that those who are most scandalous and shunned by polite society are the most pleasurable to know?’

‘I suppose so. I had not thought.’ Judith’s eyes grew round with astonishment.

‘One has only to look at Lord Byron. Most unacceptable, but totally fascinating.’

‘Well—yes. I agree. I suppose … Are you acquainted with my Lord Byron?’

‘I know of him—all the scandals and the notoriety that he enjoys. And read his works of course. I thoroughly enjoyed The Corsair, but I think my mother would not welcome his lordship as a visitor to her withdrawing room. However free thinking she might claim to be, she disapproves of unbridled volatility above all things.’

Judith could think of no reply to this revelation.

‘So will you help, Judith?’ Thea returned to her original plea. ‘I think we should deal well together.’

‘I should be delighted.’ Judith found her voice at last. And felt as if she had just been swept along by a positive whirlwind!

‘On first acquaintance, I think that London could offer me a deal of pleasure.’ Thea took another sip of ratafia with remarkably smooth features and looked hopeful.

‘Oh, yes.’ Judith gave a sigh of satisfaction and silently thanked her mama. Theodora Wooton-Devereux could just be a gift from heaven. But what polite society would make of Miss Wooton-Devereux, Judith could not imagine. It would be just too fascinating to discover. She decided to take the matter in hand immediately.

‘If I might say, Thea—that is a very pretty stole. Quite eye-catching.’

‘Yes. I like it.’ Thea rearranged the folds of the scarf. ‘I bought it in Palmyra. It is considered to be very typical of the delicate work produced in that city.’ She caught a look in Judith’s eye. ‘Is there perhaps a problem with it? You must tell me, for I have not the slightest inclination.’

‘Well—yes, it is certainly very attractive—but perhaps not for morning wear, you understand, as it is rather … decorative! For an afternoon visit it would be unexceptional. Or an evening at home. I hope that you do not mind me mentioning it?’

‘Why, no.’ Thea held up the luxurious fringing for inspection. ‘Really? I would not have known. And I would dislike above all things to be considered lacking in taste. There! I said that we might deal well together, dear Judith.’

‘I do hope so.’ The Countess nodded with satisfaction.

‘Now, enough of me. Tell me about yourself and your family.’ Thea folded her hands in her lap and set herself to be sociable. ‘Is your husband at home?’

‘No, he is not. Simon has gone to Newmarket! I am quite vexed about it.’

‘Ah! I understand that you have a young son.’

‘Oh, yes. Giles. Now he is quite adorable. Come and see.’

Thea sighed a little, but was determined to fulfil her social duties. After all, she owed Judith much for her unaffected welcome of an unknown lady to her home, and suspected that she would owe her more before her sojourn in London came to an end. With a not quite enthusiastic smile, but a sharp relief at being able to abandon the much disliked ratafia, she followed Judith up the sweep of the staircase to the nursery to meet the heir to the Painscastle inheritance, prepared to admire and be charmed as was required.

Why her mother thought she needed a husband and children of her own, she could not imagine!

Thea returned to the smart rented property in Upper Brook Street, worthy of one of his Majesty’s Ambassadors, to find a chaotic scene of boxes and packages littering the generous entrance hall. Their luggage, it appeared, had finally caught up with them. Servants, hired with the house, were in evidence and in the centre of it all, directing operations with imperious manner and a list in her hand, was Lady Drusilla. As wife to the Ambassador, she had successfully moved homes—and countries—many times. Sir Hector was, sensibly, nowhere to be seen. There was no hope, Thea realised, of her making an entrance undetected, so she did not try.

‘Theodora! Where have you been? And without your maid—do not even try to deny it! Agnes informed me of your sneaking off within minutes of your leaving the house! As you must know she would!’

Thea bridled at the onslaught, even if it was expected. It was simply one more nail in the coffin of her much-prized freedom. ‘If you had wished me to follow every social convention, you should have brought me up differently, Mama.’ Her eyes snapped with irritation. She would have a few well-chosen words with Agnes Drew, her childhood nurse and now her maid—or perhaps more of a companion and confidante—whose loyalty seemed to be as much to Lady Drusilla as to herself.

‘True. I myself have no time for many of them. That one. And that.’ The lady pointed at two boxes and crossed them off her list as they were carried away. ‘But here in London—it is important to have a care.’

‘I have been out of the house barely two hours—and done nothing to draw attention to myself.’ Thea narrowed her eyes at her mother’s back. ‘How should you think otherwise! Your opinion of me is not flattering, Mama.’

‘Nonsense! My opinion of you is of the highest as you are very well aware. But by the end of the Season I hope to have acquired a rich and titled husband for you.’ She announced her intentions with supreme disregard for the interested audience of maids and footmen around her.

‘I know. An Earl. Any one of them will do, however old and ill favoured. As long as he is titled and rich! And available!’

‘Now, Theodora! I have it on the best authority—from your father, no less—that the Earl of Moreton is in town. He is neither old nor ill favoured and has, I am given to understand, considerable address. Since he also has the advantage of being unmarried, he sounds to be just the thing. I have every hope.’ For the first time, Lady Drusilla gave her daughter her full attention and noted the heightened colour in her cheeks, hardly engendered by a gentle stroll along Upper Brook Street, plus the sparkle in her eyes, which denoted a flash of temper. ‘What have you been doing to put yourself so out of countenance?’

‘Nothing. I am not out of countenance.’ Except that she was after listening for an hour—was it only an hour?—to Judith singing the praises of a husband who seemed pleasant enough, but dull in the extreme. An equally tedious lifestyle of trivial pursuits and pastimes in London, of visits and conversations with the same set of acquaintance day after day, week after week. Winter spent incarcerated in the depths of the country, trapped by bad weather and worse roads. Was that the life for which she was destined? She shuddered at the prospect. There was no point telling her mama, who had quite made up her mind, of her fears, her depressing thoughts. But she did not have to like it. Or the unknown Earl of Moreton!

‘So, where have you been?’

‘To pay a morning call on Lady Painscastle.’

‘I see. I am quite sure that you should not have done that without an invitation, Thea.’ Lady Drusilla frowned her disapproval, but kept her tone light.

‘Oh, she did not mind. I liked her. And she did not turn me from the door—although her butler would have dearly liked to.’ A faint smile illuminated Thea’s face at the memory.

‘It is all your own fault if you allow servants the opportunity to patronise you, my dear.’ Thea had to admire her mother’s worldly wisdom expressed so casually. ‘Take your maid in future! And wear a hat. I expect it is not at all the thing to go about with your head uncovered. At least you had the sense to wear gloves.’

‘Yes, Mama.’

‘So?’ Lady Drusilla raised her brows. ‘What has ruffled your feathers?’

Thea sighed a little. ‘Do I really need a husband?’

‘Yes. We have had this conversation before. You know my reasons—and your father’s, of course.’

‘But I have enjoyed independence for all my twenty-one years. Travel. Culture. Pleasing myself. Why can I not continue to do so?’

‘You cannot travel for the rest of your life, Theodora. It is not suitable.’

‘But you have.’ Thea sat herself down on one of the unopened wooden packing cases, swinging her reticule carelessly by its silken strings.

‘I had the felicity to meet and marry your father. Such opportunities as wife to a royal Ambassador are not given to everyone. You need a husband who will admire you for your qualities and allow you freedom to express yourself. As Sir Hector allowed me. I hope you will not break anything in that case on which you are sitting!’

Thea hid a smile. Secretly she doubted that Sir Hector had had any choice in his wife’s chosen lifestyle. ‘Does such a husband exist for me, do you suppose?’

‘Of course.’

Thea pursed her pretty lips, looking sceptical, but made no reply.

‘It is merely a matter of learning a few rules, knowing how to go on. And if you could pretend to be demure and biddable for a few weeks—’

‘Ha!’

‘And converse in a genteel and respectful manner, without interruption—’

‘About fashion and embroidery, the latest dance and the latest on dit.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Oh, Mama. What have you committed me to!’

‘It is not purgatory, my love.’

‘And growing my hair into curls and ringlets again, if the glances I received today are anything to say to the matter.’

‘I told you that you should not have been so extravagant! But you would do it!’ Lady Drusilla stepped round a pair of leather travelling cases and leaned to kiss her daughter lightly on the cheek. She understood and sympathised with her concerns very well. ‘You are a lovely young woman of whom I am very proud. Whether you grow your hair again, my love, is purely a matter of your own personal choice.’

‘I have no intention of doing so.’ Thea returned the salute and rose to her feet. ‘By the by, I arranged for us to pay an afternoon call on Lady Beatrice Faringdon tomorrow if that suits.’

‘Certainly. An excellent idea. My acquaintance with Lady Beatrice is from the very distant past, when we were still girls, but she is, I think, knowledgeable and accommodating. And, most important, has entrée to the best families in London. So begins our first step in the campaign.’ Lady Drusilla crossed off two more items on her list. ‘Did you learn anything other of import?’

‘No. Except that this stole is pretty enough, but far more suitable for evening wear than for a morning visit.’ The lady raised her brows, her mouth curling into a mischievous smile, as she lifted the delicate scarf from her shoulders.

‘Oh.’ Lady Drusilla inspected the garment with sudden interest. ‘Perhaps we shall need a new wardrobe. It would not do to be regarded as provincial. Or oriental in our case! What is suitable in Constantinople is quite plainly not suitable here.’

The two ladies exchanged smiles, their differences reconciled.

‘Let us go and discuss the matter with your father. Who, you will notice, has absented himself from all this.’ She waved her hand in an expansive gesture at the chaos around her feet, then handed her list with great willingness to one of the footmen. ‘And then, dear Thea, when we have some funds at our disposal, perhaps a stroll down Bond Street would be in order.’

On the following afternoon Lady Drusilla Wooton-Devereux and her daughter, with Agnes Drew discreetly, if a trifle smugly, in attendance, applied the knocker to Lady Beatrice Faringdon’s imposing establishment in Berkeley Square. Expected, they were admitted and ushered into the lady’s withdrawing room.

‘Drusilla. My dear.’ Lady Beatrice surged to her feet with a rustle of the puce damask that shrouded her opulent figure and clashed uncomfortably with her fading red hair. ‘And this must be your daughter. Theodora.’ She held out a hand in greeting, then halted, the hand falling to her side, and raised her lorgnette to deadly effect. She did not need to apply the lens as her eyesight was perfect. But the gesture was guaranteed to make an impression. She levelled the glass at her friend’s daughter, surveyed her with a critical thoroughness from head to foot, and drew in a breath.

‘Well. Caro Lamb, as I live and breathe!’

Which unwise comment was guaranteed to bring about a distinct pause in the proceedings. Lady Caroline Ponsonby, as she was before her marriage to William Lamb, Viscount Melbourne, was a spoiled capricious beauty whose appearance, behaviour and wild, tempestuous affair with Lord Byron some years previously had scandalised a notoriously decadent society.

Theodora took it upon herself to reply, with the politest of smiles, before her mother could intervene. But there was a noticeable edge to her voice and a glint in her eye, which might be interpreted as a challenge to their hostess. ‘I hope that my upbringing has been more respectable than that of Lady Melbourne. It is certainly not my intention to distress my relatives by my outrageous behaviour or to take the town by storm in quite the same manner as that unfortunate lady. I would consider it exceptionally bad ton either to fly into a fit of rage in public, or to attempt to slash my wrists with broken glass.’

Lady Beatrice actually coloured at the implied set-down.

‘Forgive me, my dear girl! Drusilla! It was not my intention to be so ill mannered. It is just … The hair, you understand. So fair … and so short. And so slender a figure. A mere fleeting impression, I do assure you.’ She thought for a moment and raised her glass again. ‘You have not been ill, have you?’

‘Of course she has not.’ Lady Drusilla stepped into the breach with calming words, a gracious smile for Lady Beatrice and a narrowed glance toward her daughter. ‘We have travelled extensively in recent months in Arabia to see some of the archaeological sites. Theodora found it expedient to cut her hair. The sand is a great trial, you understand, and not kind to long hair. Theodora is always excessively healthy!’

‘Of course. Forgive me, dear Drusilla …’ Lady Beatrice almost gushed.

‘And is nothing like poor Caro Lamb.’

‘Indeed no. My wits must have abandoned me.’ Lady Beatrice managed to recover her air of self-assurance and smiled with a trifle more warmth at the young lady who still regarded her with the coolest of expressions. ‘And so charmingly dressed. I remember seeing Lady Melbourne in the most inappropriate gowns—if you could call them that—with not a stitch on beneath them, I warrant. Little wonder that she always looked as if a brisk breeze would demolish her. Some of the young girls today …’ Lady Beatrice shook her head and brought her thoughts in line. ‘But that is of no account. I am so delighted to see you again. Come and sit. And you, Theodora. How long is it since we last met, Drusilla?’

‘Far too long to contemplate!’

The difficulties over, the three ladies sat, the two older ones intent on catching up over a dish of tea. Their paths had not crossed since school girls at Miss Felton’s Academy for Young Ladies in Bath. Drusilla Hatton, as a daughter of wealthy parents, had even then nursed ambitions to travel and experience for herself what life could offer. Beatrice had been destined for a Season in London and as advantageous a marriage as she could achieve. The two girls had parted with many tears and protestations of undying loyalty. They would keep in touch. But they had not. And so of necessity the ladies had grown apart.

As the two ladies set to reminisce, Thea let her thoughts wonder, listening with only half an ear to the less than exciting doings of her parent at the Academy in Bath. What could they find to talk about that was of interest after all these years? It all sounded desperately dull and hedged about with restriction and parental expectations. She hid a yawn with considerable expertise. It reminded her of the worst of formal diplomatic receptions where nothing happened to relieve the tedium and no one had anything of moment to say after the introductions had been made. Thea fervently wished that she had found another occupation for the afternoon—until a stray comment from Lady Beatrice caught her attention.

‘You had a sister, I remember. A year or so older, at school with us. Mary, I think.’

Thea’s eyes snapped to her mother’s face.

‘Yes. You have a good memory.’

I did not know that my mother had a sister! Why did I not know? Lady Drusilla’s reply was smooth enough, and yet Thea sensed the slightest of hesitations, a hint of reserve in her voice. She turned her attention fully.

‘Does she live in London?’ Lady Beatrice went on to enquire.

‘No. Mary lived her whole life in the country. And is now dead. Some years ago.’

‘I am sorry. Did she perhaps have family?’

‘Yes. Two … two children. But we had not kept in touch. There was … an estrangement. Her marriage was not an easy one. I was not made welcome in her house.’

‘You need not tell me about difficult marriages …’

The conversation moved on, leaving Thea to wonder about this branch of the family of which she was completely unaware.

The visit drew to a natural close when the ladies ran out of events and people to recall, criticise and chuckle over.

‘As you know, we do not expect to remain long in London.’ Lady Drusilla drew on her gloves in preparation to making her departure. ‘But it is my wish to see my daughter married. You were kind enough to offer to ease our entrée into London society. I cannot express my gratitude sufficiently, Beatrice.’

‘It will be my pleasure. At the end of the week I have an invitation to Lady Aston’s drum. All the world and his wife will be there, I expect. It has been my intention to get up a small party—just family and close friends, you understand. I am expecting my nephew Nicholas to arrive here from the country any day—that is, if his recent correspondence rings true. But he is a difficult boy to pin down, with a mind of his own, and getting him to put in an appearance in town is more aggravating than you could possibly believe …’ Lady Beatrice shook her head and huffed in indulgent irritation at the vagaries of her wiful relative. ‘But that aside—you, my dear Drusilla, must come as my guest. It will be the perfect opportunity for you. And for Theodora to make some acquaintances.’

‘We shall be delighted.’ Lady Drusilla rose to her feet. ‘It is my intention to entertain from Upper Brook Street, but we are not yet fully settled, as you might imagine.’

‘Perhaps I might suggest—’ Lady Beatrice cast another assessing glance towards Thea, who stood demurely beside her mother as if the visit had provided her with nothing but delight ‘—the matter of suitable dresses for dear Theodora. Not that she does not look charming. But …’

They both eyed the lady in question as if she were a strange object from antiquity.

‘I thought she looked particularly fetching this afternoon.’ Lady Drusilla stood back to take in the overall impression created by a high-waisted walking dress with long tight sleeves and a ruched hem in an eye-catching emerald and cream stripe.

‘Yes. There is no question of that …’ Beatrice was quick to soothe. ‘But not quite in the way of a débutante.’

Lady Drusilla gave a little sigh. ‘I have to admit that my daughter is not perhaps quite in the way of the usual débutante! I fear that it is my fault.’

‘How old are you, my dear?’ Lady Beatrice asked.

‘I am twenty-one, Lady Beatrice.’ Then, after a moment’s hesitation, Thea could not prevent herself from adding, ‘I fear that I have no control over that unfortunate situation.’

‘Mmm.’ The lorgnette came into play again. Lady Beatrice came to a rapid and sensible decision. ‘Well. We will not allow it to be a problem. Perhaps we should say that Theodora made her curtsy to the Polite World in Constantinople. I am sure there were any number of official functions there which she attended.’

‘Indeed she did. She helped me entertain on numerous occasions. She is perfectly versed in how to go on in such circles, so I have no fears on that account.’

Thea set her teeth against being talked over and around in such a fashion but, more amused than discomfited, allowed the ladies to continue their plans.

‘She will need some suitable dresses. With a less—shall we say, exotic flavour. I am not sure what it is, but … Such a vibrant shade with such intricate decoration is not quite suitable for a young girl …’

‘Very well. I bow to your judgement. Perhaps tomorrow morning we should visit the modistes in Bond Street. If you could recommend …?’

‘I shall do more than recommend, dear Drusilla. I shall be delighted to accompany you …’

And so it was all settled. Theodora would make her curtsey at Lady Aston’s drum, tastefully dressed, as far a possible, à la jeune fille.

The ladies parted in complete accord and satisfaction.

‘Why did I not know of your sister? That I have cousins?’ The two Wooton-Devereux ladies strolled home along Park Lane, parasols angled to shield their skin from the rays of the sun.

‘The subject never came up.’ Thea detected the slightest of shrugs as her mother replied. Nor was she fooled by the bland expression on her face.

‘Mama!’

‘We—Mary and I—were estranged,’ Lady Drusilla explained further. ‘I found it … painful. As I told Beatrice, we had had no contact for many years.’

‘But you knew that she had died.’

‘Yes. It was reported in the Morning Post. When we were in Paris.’

‘I just thought you would have mentioned it—the fact that there were members of the family whom I had never met.’

‘I suppose that I did not see any reason to do so. I had no intention of picking up the connection with that side of the family. There was nothing more sinister than that, I do assure you, Thea. Such estrangements happen in families. You have only to look at your father’s cousin. He has not spoken to his own son for the best part of a decade.’

‘I see.’

‘Mary and I simply did not get on.’

Thea let the matter drop, but did not forget it. And it struck her some time later that during the whole of Lady Drusilla’s explanation her eyes, usually so direct and forthright, had never once met those of her daughter.

Chapter Three

Lady Beatrice finally gave up on appearances, closed Miss Austen’s Emma, which she had been assured was most refined and enjoyable, but over which she had been yawning, and allowed her eyes to close. After an exhausting morning spent choosing a new pair of evening gloves to wear at Lady Aston’s drum, Lady Beatrice desired nothing more than to settle on to a comfortable sofa in a quiet parlour with the shades drawn and rest her eyes. She certainly had no intention of being at home to visitors. Instead, within minutes, she found herself playing hostess to Judith, who arrived in a flurry of energy to discuss with her mama their new friends. And then, following quickly on her heels, Lord Nicholas Faringdon.

‘Nicholas. I had quite given up hope of seeing you this week. When did you arrive?’ Lady Beatrice stretched out her hands in sincere pleasure, but did not bother to struggle to her feet. ‘Ring the bell, Judith, for tea.’

‘Would I dare ignore your summons, Aunt? I came yesterday evening.’ Nicholas strode across the room to where his aunt was seated, raised her hands and kissed her fingers with rare grace. ‘You look in excellent health, as ever.’

‘Never mind my health! Let me look at you.’ But she smiled almost girlishly at her nephew’s elegant gesture as she surveyed him from head to foot. It was a relief to see him in town rig. For although he was no dandy and might have rusticated at Burford for over a year, there was nothing of the unfashionable country squire in the gentleman who graced her withdrawing room. The close-fitting coat of dark blue superfine, with all the hallmark of Weston’s exquisite tailoring, was unexceptional. As were the pale biscuit pantaloons, polished Hessians and the sober but tasteful waistcoat. His neckcloth had been arranged with meticulous attention to detail. Altogether, a Man of Fashion.

‘Very fine!’ was the only comment she made. ‘My letter was not in any way a summons. Merely a request. And, yes, you have been ignoring my advice for any number of years. Ever since you attained your majority, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘I was not aware that I was so disobliging.’ Nicholas turned to drop a light kiss on his cousin’s cheek. ‘Judith—and how is the heir to the Painscastle acres?’

‘Giles is in excellent form. You must come to visit us, of course.’ She patted the seat next to her. ‘It is good to have you here Nick. We had thought you were becoming buried alive at Burford. Don’t tell me that you have a young lady there who lures you into rural seclusion.’

‘I shall tell you no such thing.’ He showed his teeth in a quick smile, refusing to be baited.

‘So you don’t have a lady who is the object of your gallantry to while away the winter evenings?’ She laughed, slanted him an arch look, glinting with mischief. ‘I cannot believe that the ladies of Herefordshire are so blind to your charms. No cosy armful tucked away in the depths of Aymestry?’

‘Judith! Such levity! It does not become you.’ Beatrice frowned, rescued Nicholas and steered the conversation into the area of her own choosing. An area no less full of subtle—or not so subtle—suggestion.

‘Now, tell us—how is Henry? And Eleanor. We have not heard for some months.’

‘Hal is very well.’ Nicholas leaned back and prepared to do his bit for family news and deflect any personal comments from either his aunt or his cousin. ‘And he is now in possession of a thriving business, it seems. They have moved into the house. Eleanor said she was delighted to have her own front door at last. Her letter was full of furnishings and decorations as I recall. Hal’s pockets will have to be bottomless if she is to have her way.’

‘Eleanor is in an interesting condition, I believe.’

‘Yes. She is. They are very happy.’

‘As they deserve to be.’ Beatrice nodded. ‘What a blessing it was that they escaped the toils of that truly appalling man Edward Baxendale.’

Baxendale!

The name would have twisted Lord Nicholas’s lips into a snarl if he had not been sitting in the civilised surroundings of Lady Beatrice’s withdrawing room. Even now, after two years or more, it had the power to heat his blood and fill him with immoderate fury.

Sir Edward Baxendale had claimed that the marriage of Eleanor to Nicholas’s eldest brother Thomas was illegal, and thus her baby son not, as all believed, the Marquis of Burford, but stained with the stigma of illegitimacy. He’d presented his own wife Octavia, with diabolical cunning, as Thomas’s true wife, the true Marchioness of Burford. Since Thomas had died in a tragic accident, the shocking tale had cast the family into instant scandal, only salvaged by the efforts of Nicholas and his brother Hal proving that Eleanor’s marriage to Thomas had indeed been valid and Baxendale nothing but a malevolent trickster. Hal had then declared his love for Eleanor and, with typical highhandedness, taken her and the baby off to New York. But all could so easily have been a disaster if Baxendale had triumphed. So much pain deliberately inflicted by the greed of one man. No wonder Nicholas detested Sir Edward with every sinew in his body, every drop of blood.

By sheer effort of will, Nicholas forced his muscles to relax, his hands to unclench, as Lady Beatrice continued with her social catechism, unaware of the impact of her chance comment.

‘And Tom. He will be more than three years old now.’

‘Four more like. Time passes. Eleanor said that Hal was teaching him to ride.’

‘Do you think they will ever return?’ Judith asked a little wistfully.

‘No. I do not. I think Hal’s life is there in America.’

‘And the estate?’ Disapproval was clear in Beatrice’s tight-lipped mouth. She simply could not accept that the young Marquis of Burford should be allowed to live in America, far from his family, his land and his responsibilities. It was beyond anything. ‘What will happen to it? It is all very well—’

‘I don’t know,’ Nicholas broke in before she could get into full flow. This was not a new situation over which they disagreed. ‘That is for the future. For the present it is carefully administered. I shall not permit anything other. What Hal will choose to do is entirely his own concern. And nothing to do with me—or, with respect, with you, Aunt Beatrice!’

Which statement, Lady Beatrice decided with something akin to shock, was certainly guaranteed to put her in her place!

‘No. And of course you will act in the best interests of the family. I would expect no less and I intended no criticism of your trusteeship.’ Beatrice controlled her concerns, leaned over to pat his arm. ‘There is no point in discussing it further. Forgive me, Nicholas.’ With respect, indeed! Now here was a novelty! ‘Now, since you are here at last, perhaps you can escort us to Almack’s one evening.’ She hesitated only momentarily before launching in. ‘There are some very pretty débutantes this Season.’

‘I am sure there are.’

‘One or two are quite exceptional. Sir John Carver’s daughter, for instance.’

Nicholas raised his hand, turning a stern gaze on his aunt. His eyes, often so friendly and full of laughter, had the quality of ice. As had his voice. He may as well, he decided, nip this in the bud immediately. ‘Aunt Beatrice, I wish that you would not. I am perfectly capable of selecting a wife for myself without any help from you, when I decide that I wish to marry. I agree with you that I should consider it, but it will be in the time of my choosing, as will be the identity of the lady who I eventually ask to become my bride. Do we have an understanding?’

There it was, laid out for her. Beatrice stiffened at the snub, taken aback for the second time since Nicholas had entered the room. She had forgotten that her nephew was no longer a young and impressionable boy. It was so easy to forget when he was the youngest in the family. But the years had moved on and he had put her firmly in her place twice within as many minutes with a perfect exhibition of suave, cool—and implacable—good manners. Beatrice took in the stern mouth, the austere features, and wisely retreated.

‘Of course. I would not dream of interfering in your affairs, my boy—’

‘Yes, you would. But I ask that you do not. I would not wish to feel obliged to refuse your kind invitations. And I will if necessary.’ He was clearly not prepared to compromise over this. ‘I am sure that you take my meaning?’

Oh, yes. She took his meaning very well—and realised that she must reassess Lord Nicholas Faringdon. She raised her hands and let them fall in her lap. ‘Of course. I will do nothing that you do not wish for, Nicholas.’

‘I should be grateful, Aunt.’ He deliberately changed the subject. ‘So, how is Sher? I have not seen or heard from him for well over a year.’

Lord Joshua Sherbourne Faringdon. Undoubtedly the black sheep of the otherwise impeccable Faringdon family. And the bane of Lady Beatrice’s life.

‘My son Joshua is still in Paris.’

‘Is he well?’

‘I presume.’ The response from the less than doting mama was tight-lipped. ‘All we hear is scandal and gossip.’

‘He has a new mistress,’ Judith added with an irrepressible twinkle. ‘An actress, we understand.’

‘I think that is not a subject for my withdrawing room, Judith. Joshua will go to the devil in his own way. There is no need for us to show interest in it. Now … did you know that Simon has been to Newmarket? One of his horses is expected to do particularly well on the Turf this year …’

The conversation passed into calmer waters, Nicholas turning to Judith for news of Simon and the promising stallion.

Beatrice watched the pair as they sat at ease, reliving old times, discussing friends in common. It was time Nicholas married. He needed a family. Not merely the responsibility of the estate—God knew he had enough of that!—but responsibility for a wife and children. He had been too long pleasing himself. He needed someone to ruffle his equilibrium, to shake his self-confidence. It appeared that he could be as difficult and opinionated as all male Faringdons. Look at Henry. A law unto himself, taking himself and Eleanor and the child off to New York without a word to anyone! And as for her own dearest husband, now long deceased, and her son … whom she did not even wish to contemplate. They were all the same—excessively handsome with all the charm and address in the world, but all with that fatal streak of arrogance and self-worth. And Nicholas, to make matters more difficult, had that cool reserve which was difficult to shake. When that had developed she did not know, but the aura of cold detachment and control coated him with a hard brilliance.

At least Judith was easy to deal with—she was like an open book! Beatrice watched with affection her daughter’s expressive face as she laughed at some comment from Nicholas. That was from her side of the family, of course, just as much as the red hair and green eyes. Nicholas was a Faringdon from his dark hair and equally dark brows to his toes of his polished boots. And he needed someone who would challenge his intellect and keep him on those toes—give him something to think about other than farming and cattle and such.

She watched, tapping her lorgnette against her lips as she studied him, the lad whom she had known from birth and had watched grow into this spectacularly handsome young man. Even tempered, easy to converse with, but underneath … Well, they said still waters … She was quite sure that he could acquire a bride with an arch of those expressive brows or a crook of his finger. But not any débutante would do. He needed someone to stir him out of his complacence. He was too much in the habit of going his own way with no one to question his decisions or his opinion.

Lady Beatrice blinked as the thought slid so simply, so effortlessly into her mind, the image as clear as an etching on crystal. Now there was an interesting prospect. Beauty. Money. Excellent breeding. But also strong-willed, independent, outspoken and … Well! What could be better?

‘Nicholas …’ She interrupted the exchange of news between her nephew and her daughter. ‘Will you be very busy during your stay in town?’

‘Nothing out of the way. I have an appointment to see Hoskins. My tailor will no doubt see me. Friends, of course. I have no definite plans. Why?’

‘No reason.’ Her smile was pure innocence. ‘Perhaps you would care to attend a number of social engagements with us? An extra gentleman is always valuable in a party. And you dance so well.’

‘Why not? Since you are concerned to flatter me …’ His tone and demeanour had reclaimed their habitual warmth, the chill forgotten. He saw nothing suspicious in Beatrice’s bland smile and innocuous request, believing that he had made his opinions on the matter of marriage quite clear. Why should he harbour suspicions? And it would be good to circulate in society again.

‘Tomorrow we are engaged to attend Lady Aston’s drum. A large affair, totally lacking in exclusivity as such things usually are, but entertaining enough. I have got up a small party. Perhaps you would care to join us? We have some new acquaintance in town. One of them is to be our Royal Ambassador to the Russian Court. I am sure you will find him interesting company.’

‘I am sure that I shall.’

Beatrice glanced over at Judith, smiled, her eyes guileless. And Judith, in spite of no words being spoken between them, was in no doubt as to exactly what her mama’s plan might be.

‘Do come.’ Judith turned her persuasive gaze on her cousin. ‘It should be a most entertaining evening.’

Unaware of the machinations of his female relatives, ignorant of the trap about to close over his head, Lord Nicholas bowed his agreement.

In Grosvenor Square on the following morning, very early, it was brought home to Nicholas how long it had been since his last visit to town. His body and mind were not in tune with town hours where it was customary to sleep and rise late. A combination of rural habits and the early sun through his bedroom window over and above the array of noises of a large city awakening to a new day—all assaulted his senses to ensure that he was wide awake. So he rose, dressed and headed for the stables behind Faringdon House. He might as well make the most of the opportunity to ride in Hyde Park so early as it would be mostly deserted; since he had no particular desire to converse with those who wished to parade and make a fashionable statement, it was the ideal time. There was a young horse that would benefit from a confidence-boosting outing without the habitual bustle and racket of London streets.

It was a perfect morning. He breathed deeply, encouraging the mare into a brisk walk through the light traffic. Through the ornamental gates and there, with an easing of the reins, he allowed the horse to break into a sedate canter along the grassy edge to the walk. And smiled his satisfaction. She was just as fluid and easy in her action as he had hoped.

In Upper Brook Street, Theodora woke from a restless sleep, certain that she would positively burst if she did not escape from the house and take some exercise, unwatched by either her mama or the ever-vigilant Agnes Drew. London was noisy, exciting, fascinating, all that she had hoped. But the restrictions irked. She was never alone. If she set foot outside the front door, Agnes had been instructed to be in attendance, even if all she did was step out to Hookham’s Circulating Library, no further than Bond Street. She found it difficult to accept this necessity. She was hardly likely to be accosted by armed tribesmen or bands of fearsome robbers as might have been expected anywhere on their perambulations through Arabia. She closed her mind against that thought with a little shake of her head. She would not think about it … not now.

Therefore, driven by a need for open space and not a little adventure, Thea rose early before even the servants were afoot. No one would know if she rode in Hyde Park. She would be home long before one of the maids brought her morning cup of hot chocolate, long before anyone else—Agnes!—had the opportunity to miss her. And there would be no one in the park at this hour who would even take note of her, much less recognise her in the future. Perfect!

Thea stood before the doors of her closet. Then her face lit with mischief on a sudden thought. Of course. Why not? No one would ever know. She closed the door on her riding habit and, in a moment of delicious rebellion, turned from the closet and unearthed her travelling clothes from the chest in her dressing room. Without another moment to consider the impropriety of what she was about to do, she donned a long-sleeved shirt, a striped loose-weave waistcoat, loose breeches and boots, covering all with the light cloak she had worn in the desert, finally wrapping the long scarf round her hair. There. Her disguise was complete. She postured before the mirror. She would defy anyone to recognise her in future, at some social event, even if they did catch a glimpse of her that morning. Had she not been so very good and accommodating of her parents’ plans for so long? Days at least! She deserved a treat, a moment of freedom.

Even the stables were deserted. She saddled her own mount, The Zephyr, one of the grey Arabs that they had shipped to London who was also in need of a good run, tossing her head and snatching at the bit with anticipation. It took no time at all to negotiate the empty streets, and if the shrouded figure earned some surprised glances and muttered comments, Thea was either unaware or simply did not care. The magnificent gateway opposite Apsley House beckoned. Once through Thea took a deep breath. She had been right to come. This was just what she needed. She eased into a canter, and then, the breeze tugging at her robes, she pushed the horse on into a gallop. The Arab responded with alacrity, leaping forward against the bit, its neat hooves skimming the ground as it fought for its head. Thea leaned into the movement with a little crow of pleasure, revelling in the speed and excitement. Exhilaration sang in her blood, rich as red wine, just as intoxicating. She gave herself over to the splendour of the moment, oblivious to everything around her but the pound of the hooves, the whip of the soft air on her face, the satin-smooth ripple of the horse’s muscles beneath her.

Nicholas’s mind was filled with nothing very much, apart from the excellent confirmation of his young mare as she answered the demands of heel and thigh. Nothing to disturb the placid tenor of the morning until he heard the sharp beat of hooves on grass, at speed coming from his left. He turned his head, his attention immediately caught. At considerable speed, he realised. He reined in the mare to look, squinting against the early rays of the sun, and saw a figure approaching at an angle, surely at full gallop, the rider crouched low in the saddle as the animal extended until it flew across the ground. Surely it was out of control. No one galloped in Hyde Park as though it was the hunting field. Or more like the Turf at Newmarket, given the speed of the animal. No one would choose to ride hell for leather here.

For the briefest moment Nicholas allowed himself to admire the fluid lines of the grey, the excellent conformation, the sheer beauty of the sight, but for a moment only. On a rapid decision, he kicked his mare on to intercept as the prospect of danger touched his spine with a shiver of unease. If the rider fell at that speed, there could be serious consequences. The animal could stumble, shy—and it seemed that the rider had no chance of drawing it to a standstill. Nor would intercepting be an easy matter on an untried young horse. But he must try.

Since the galloping animal kept up its headlong flight, Nicholas was forced to extend to head it off. His mare responded readily. The grey became aware of his approach, her ears twitching, even if her rider did not appear to react. She veered as he drew abreast but did not check her stride. If anything, she increased her momentum.

For what seemed like minutes—but was more likely seconds only—the two horses galloped side by side, the enforced rivalry adding an edge to the grey’s speed, until Nicholas moved close enough that he could lean across the gap between them and grasp the bridle just above the bit, trusting his own animal to remain on course. She did, allowing him to tighten his muscles in arm, shoulder and thigh, grimacing at the strain as he drew both horses to a more seemly speed and finally to a trembling halt, their sides heaving with effort, nostrils wide, eyes rolling. At the same time he grasped the wrist of the rider in a firm hold, in case the grey jinked in sudden panic.

‘You are quite safe. You are in no danger now.’

Nicholas’s breathing was a little unsteady as he continued to control the reins of both horses. He looked down at the rider—a young boy, he thought, at closer inspection—to see if his reassurances were necessary, only to be struck by a pair of furious blue eyes turned on him, blazing with … what? Anger? Shock? But also more than a hint of fear.

‘You are quite safe,’ he repeated. Of course, the rider would be unnerved after such an uncontrolled bolt across the Park.

Before he could say or do more, the boy raised a riding crop and brought it down in a deliberate and painful blow across Nicholas’s hand where he still had hold of the rider’s wrist. Nicholas flinched, hissed, took a sharp intake of breath, perhaps more in amazement than pain, as a red welt appeared across the width of his fingers.

‘What the devil …!’

‘How dare you! Take your hands off me!’ The rider pushed back the scarf—and Nicholas looked down into the face of a woman.

‘How dare you interfere!’ Her blue eyes were dark, almost black with emotion.

‘I thought, madam, that your horse was out of control.’ It was difficult to know what other to say. The last thing Nicholas had expected was to be under attack for his gallant, and supremely successful, attempt to rescue a damsel in distress. The absurdity of the situation might have amused him. It might if the blow on his hand was not so searingly painful!

‘No, I was not out of control.’ There was now the hint of a tremble in the angry voice. ‘You had no right.’ He watched as a range of emotions flitted across her face. Uppermost it seemed to him was a determination to regain control of a fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

He discovered that he was still grasping her wrist.

‘I said, let go!’

Their eyes met and held for a long moment which seemed to stretch on and on. They remained frozen in the little tableau as the air positively sizzled between them, around them, as when lightning strikes in a summer storm—rapid, without warning, and possibly devastating. Nicholas was the first to break the contact.

‘Forgive me.’ He released her, cold now, all humour banished under the lash of her words and the shock of his reaction to her. ‘I thought you were in distress.’

‘No, I was not.’

‘My mistake.’ Reserve infiltrated his voice, but he still watched her carefully. There was some problem here of which he was unaware. ‘Next time I will allow you to fall and break your neck.’

‘Do so. There will not be a next time. I do not need your help. How dare you put your hands on a lady in this manner!’

Any latent sympathy Nicholas might have felt promptly vanished. ‘You must excuse my concern, madam.’ He looked her over from head to foot, taking in the whole of her appearance. ‘I did not realise. I would not expect to see a lady galloping in Hyde Park. Please accept my apologies.’ The emphasis in his words was unmistakable and made Thea flush, angrier than ever.

‘Let go of my reins.’

He did with alacrity and reined his own animal away from her. In that one moment he thought, although perhaps he was mistaken, that there was a hint of tears in those eyes, which still snapped with temper.

The lady, if such she was, gathered up her own reins, kicked the still lively grey into action and set off in a canter towards the distant gate without a backward look.

Leaving Nicholas to sit and stare after her.

Thea arrived home, delivered The Zephyr into the hands of a sleepy groom who gazed at her in wordless astonishment, fled to her room and locked the door. There she stripped off her incriminating garments, folded them back into the chest and tied a ruffled, feminine muslin wrapper around her. Then, as the furious energy drained away, she sank on to the bed and covered her face with her hands.

What had she done? Not the gallop in the park. She could never regret that. How the grey had flown, fast as a desert hawk towards its prey. But she had struck him. The man who had come to her rescue. However unnecessary it might have been, he had thought she had been in danger and had ridden to her rescue. And what had she done? She had marked him with her riding whip. And then she had been so rude. Unforgivably so. She could not remember her exact words, uttered in the heat and confusion of the moment, but knew that they had been ungracious. Vicious, even. What would he think of her? How could she have allowed herself to do that?

But she knew why. And whatever the extenuating circumstances, she blamed herself totally.

She relived the events in her mind as she curled on to the bed in that sunny room. She had been unaware of his approach, so lost in the unity of horse and rider, in the glorious speed. But then, in that moment when his horse had stretched beside hers, when he had leaned and grasped her reins, his strong hands forcing her to come to a halt, the past had rushed back with all its pain and fear. She had thought it was forgotten, or mostly so, pushed away, buried deep within her subconscious, only to emerge with infrequent intensity when nightmares troubled her sleep.

She had been very young, hardly more than a child. On one of their journeys they had been beset by robbers in spite of the size and strength of their entourage. Forced to halt, to dismount, to stand and watch as her mother’s jewellery was stripped from her, as her father was threatened at the point of a knife. The fear had been intense. They had been allowed to go free at the end, but the terror of that moment when they were held captive and in fear for their lives had not quite gone away.

Thea shook her head, scrubbed her hands over her face as if to dislodge the thoughts. She should not be so fearful now—but she had been only a little girl, after all. And her arm had been broken when she had been pulled from her horse. She rubbed her forearm as if the pain, inflicted so long ago, still lingered, as the image still lingered in her mind.

So when he had forced her to halt, had grasped her wrist in such a strong hold, the memory of the robbers, of being constrained and hurt and frightened, had rushed back and she had struck out blindly. At an innocent victim.

And he had reacted with disgust at her bad manners, her lack of gratitude. Her face flushed again with humiliation as she remembered the look of astonishment on his face. And what a face. Strikingly handsome. Heart-stoppingly so. But how he had looked down that high-bred nose at her, with such chilling hauteur. Eyes as glacial as chips of ice. Lips thinned in distaste—and probably pain, she was forced to admit. And she remembered his voice. Warm, reassuring at first when he had thought to comfort her, then cold and flat when she had actually accused him of trying to harm her.

She groaned aloud and twisted to bury her face into the coverlet. If she tried to put the blame squarely on her unknown rescuer for daring to interfere, her innate fairness quickly stopped her. Her behaviour towards him had been despicable. He had suffered for his quixotic actions because she had used enough force to mark his skin and inflict pain.

And then there was that strangest of moments. A little shiver ran over her skin as she felt again the force of it. She had no experience of such things. But as her eyes had met his, she could not look away, her breath had foundered in her lungs. She could still feel the hard imprint of his fingers around her wrist. What was it that had united them in that one moment of uncontrolled emotions, had robbed her of words, of actions? All she had seen was the beauty of his face, the run of emotions across it. And in that one fleeting moment she had wondered what it would be like if those firm lips had moved a little closer and actually touched hers.

Thea stood up, astounded at the direction of her thoughts.

All she could hope for was that she would never have to meet him again! In her usual forthright manner, Thea knew that she could not worry over what she could not undo. She must compose herself or her mother would ask far too many questions.

But she could not forget him, and her heart was sore.

Lord Nicholas Faringdon rode back to Grosvenor Square deep in thought, allowing the mare to choose her own pace. All he could think about was that lovely face when she had removed the enveloping scarf, and her hair—short and shining like a golden halo round her head. But she was no angel. He smiled a trifle grimly at the thought. Those furious eyes. Imperious as she lashed at him with whip and words. And there had been fear there. And at the end—distress? Had she actually flinched from him, cowered even for that one moment when he grasped her wrist? And whereas he might have expected her to be flushed from her exertions, her face had been white, all the blood drained from her cheeks as she had looked up into his face, until she had recovered and wielded her riding whip with considerable force and accuracy.

He was not sure, but her violent response seemed to be as much from fear as from anger. But why? Apart from bringing her horse to a halt, he had done nothing to threaten her. Could she really have believed that he was attempting to molest her, to force himself on her in so public a place? Or anywhere for that matter!

Take your hands off me!

Her tone and words were clearly imprinted on his mind. She had been terrified. Furthermore her whole appearance was—unusual, to say the least. Remarkable clothes, enveloped in some sort of eastern robe. And alone. No sign of a maid—not surprising in the circumstances—but neither was there an accompanying groom, not even in the distance. And—of course! Something else that now struck him: she had been riding astride. And if he had not been mistaken, there had been no sign of cumbersome skirts and petticoats. She had been wearing breeches and boots! Well, now!

Perhaps, then, she was merely some less-than-respectable woman to indulge in behaviour so particular—yet he did not think so. The impression was that she was undoubtedly a lady. Certainly not in the style of the notorious Letty Lade, who might have been an excellent horsewoman but who also had claims to being a highwayman’s mistress before her advantageous marriage. No—there was a distinct air of class and style attached to this mysterious horsewoman who had just crossed his path. Moreover, the grey Arab had taken his eye. Now there was an example of superior horseflesh and breeding. And whoever she might be, he had to admit that the lady could ride!

Nicholas turned out of the park and allowed himself to think of that instant of—of connection, he supposed. He had not imagined it. It had held them both in thrall as the world continued round them. Shrugging his shoulders against a slight chill of discomfort, he pushed the memory away of the sudden heat that had spread through his blood as he had tightened his fingers around her wrist and felt the beat of her heart through her pulse. It had taken him aback. But it did not matter since they were unlikely ever to meet again. And what did he want with a woman who galloped her horse across Hyde Park, clad in unseemly garments, and responded to kindness with rude and insulting words? Yet a tinge of admiration crept under his skin, recognition of her courage and spirit, until he deliberately, ruthlessly thrust it away.

Lifting his hand from the reins, he stretched it, then made a fist with a grimace. The welt was red, a little swollen where the blow had broken the skin. He swore at the sting of pain.

Of one thing he was quite certain, he decided, as he turned into the entrance of Grosvenor Square. He had never met the woman before. And he would not be sorry if he never saw her again.

‘It is a very pretty dress,’ Thea acknowledged with what could be interpreted as a most accommodating smile, if one did not know the lady. ‘And I am sure that the colour is most suitable and flattering to any young girl. But I will not wear pale pink.’

‘But it is Maiden’s Blush, miss.’

The four ladies all surveyed the gown being displayed in the arms of the assistant at Madame Therese’s in New Bond Street with varying degrees of appreciation. The assistant frowned, impervious to the débutante’s smile. As Madame Therese’s senior assistant, she was used to dealing with their noble customers with superior and knowledgeable condescension. Dealing with this exacting, although exceedingly polite young lady, she felt her temper was beginning to fray.

‘Maiden’s Blush it may be, but it is still pale pink. It is entirely inappropriate for my colouring, either my hair or my skin. I will not wear it.’ Thea’s opinion was expressed in the gentlest of tones, almost apologetic in its denial, but her refusal could not be in doubt. The assistant’s frown had no effect.

‘Perhaps this would be better suited to you, miss.’ The harassed lady laid the offending gown with its delightfully ruffled skirt and pearl-buttoned sleeves—the epitome of the art of dressmaking and one of their finest designs—across a chair and lifted another with tender care. ‘This is Evening’s Kiss. A most fashionable colour this year. A most exclusive garment, as you can see.’

‘That is pale blue.’

‘Indeed, it is very attractive, Thea. Such precise but delicate embroidery, don’t you think? Will you not try it?’ Lady Drusilla saw the set of her daughter’s lovely mouth, despite the smile, and her heart sank. Not stubborn exactly, just … well, decided. Dressing Thea was never easy.

‘I do not wish to wear pale anything, Mama. How can you ask it of me? You know that I look far better in something with a little—intensity, with depth.’

‘But it is most becoming for a débutante.’ The assistant appeared close to tears. This was the sixth gown that had been rejected out of hand and one of them had been Damsel’s Dreams. How could any young lady reject such a confection of white organdie sprinkled with knots of forget-me-nots?

‘No.’

‘Jonquil?’ suggested Judith. ‘It is such a soothing colour, I always think, and unexceptional for morning wear.’ The Countess of Painscastle had joined them at Madame Therese’s with apologies for her late arrival. Simon had returned home earlier than she had expected, she explained, with a becoming flush to her cheeks. She had been detained.

Thea turned unbelieving eyes on Judith. ‘Pale yellow? It will rob my hair of any colour at all! I shall look even more sallow. How I wish that I had been born a brunette with dark eyes! Or a redhead like you.’ She turned her gaze back to the blue creation, determined that she would not grace Almack’s, or any other occasion, in such an insipid dress, however fine the embroidered hem.

Lady Beatrice sighed and shuffled on her chair. This was going to be just as difficult as she had expected. Theodora had a most unfortunate strength of will. And her mama had apparently encouraged her to exert it with flair and confidence at every possible opportunity. The Evening’s Kiss had been so pretty …

They were interrupted from any further discussion over the maligned gown by a slight, dark lady coming into the room. Her face was thin, her features narrow and prematurely lined, but her eyes were quick and assessing of the situation.

‘Madame Therese.’ Lady Beatrice hailed her in the light of a saviour. ‘Yours is just the advice we need. Here we have Miss Wooton-Devereux who is to go about in society. She is reluctant to wear the dresses we have seen that are suitable for a young girl who is to make her début. Perhaps you can persuade her where we have failed.’

Madame Therese smiled a greeting. ‘I will try. Let us consider what we might achieve for the lady.’ Her accented voice was genuine. A French emigrée who had fled from her home in Paris, she had been forced to sell her skills. She had a decided air of fashion and an excellent eye for what would suit, so she was soon in demand when she opened her select little establishment in the heart of Mayfair. Rumour said that she had been a countess in her past life. It added a cachet so she did not disabuse her customers.

‘Come, mademoiselle.’ She took Thea’s hand to draw her to her feet. ‘If you would stand. And turn a little. You have an excellent figure, if I might venture. And such a slender neck. It will show to good advantage in the low necklines that are so fashionable this year. And with your hair so short—c’est magnifique. You are tall enough to carry the slender skirts with style. I think we shall manage very well. Tell me what you would choose to wear.’

The result was a comfortable and detailed conversation between Madame Therese and Miss Wooton-Devereux, which resulted in the hovering assistant being dispatched to collect a number of garments from the workroom at the back.

‘You are not the traditional débutante, not the shy ingenue. I agree.’ Madame Therese spoke her thoughts. ‘I think we should—ah, experiment a little. I believe that we should try for a little restrained sophistication. For youth, of course, but with a layer of confidence. We will keep it simple but add a little gloss—how you say—town bronze.’ She nodded, pleased with the direction of her thoughts. ‘What a challenge it will be to promote a new style for a young lady who is not merely a child. I think that we might take the town by storm. I vow that you will wear any of my creations with panache, mademoiselle’

‘I do not think that we wish to draw too much attention …’ Lady Drusilla was quietly horrified. It would take little to encourage Thea. Taking anything by storm was not a careful mama’s intention. A quiet, demure introduction would be much more the thing and far more likely to attract the titled gentleman she had in mind.

‘No, no, Mama.’ Thea’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm for the first time since they had set foot inside the establishment. ‘Madame Therese understands perfectly.’

‘I do indeed.’ The dark eyes reflected the sparkle. ‘There is no need for concern, my lady,’ she was quick to reassure Lady Drusilla. ‘We shall consider nothing outrageous or unseemly. All will be tasteful and elegant. Now. Might I suggest …’

The next hour passed rapidly. An array of dresses appeared as if by magic for mademoiselle to try. Dresses for morning wear, for afternoon visits, for walking or driving in Hyde Park. Silk spencers for when the day was inclement. Gowns for an informal soirée at home, or an evening at Almack’s. Even for a formal ball with a matching cloak and satin slippers. The prevailing style suited Thea to perfection, Judith had to admit with only a hint of jealousy, as she watched her new friend execute a sedate twirl in a high-waisted, low-necked column of shimmering gold with a transparent gauze overskirt. She was as tall and stately, as coolly elegant, as a regale lily until you saw the flash of fire, of sheer enjoyment in those dark blue eyes.

The gowns were, as Madame Therese had promised, simply constructed, with little decoration except for some silk lace to trim, a row of scallops or a neat ruche of ruffles. Perhaps a little satin ribbon or tiny pearl buttons, but nothing outré. But what an air. What style. And in such colours. Celestial blue, as deep as a robin’s egg. A rich, clear pink, nothing like Maiden’s Blush, but one which glowed like a newly unfurled rose in morning sunshine.

Thea was even talked into the palest of eau de nil silk, Breath of the Sea, she was assured—deliciously enhanced by an overskirt of spangled lace. It glittered as the light caught the spangles, gleamed as if under water where the light refracted into a million facets, turning her into a veritable mermaid. Who could resist such gowns?

Finally Madame Therese stood back, hands folded in complete satisfaction.

‘Enchanté! It has been a pleasure to dress you, mademoiselle.’

If she knew the fashion world, as she undoubtedly did, she would wager the cost of the deep blue gown, which, at this moment, was turning Thea into the breathtaking image of a stately but delicate delphinium, that there would be any number of mamas wearing a path to her door to demand that she dress their daughters in such understated but sophisticated glory. But not all would carry off such simplicity as superbly as Mademoiselle Wooton-Devereux.

And as Sir Hector was generous to a fault where his daughter was concerned, Thea had no compunction in giving in to overwhelming temptation and purchasing a number of gowns for immediate delivery to Upper Brook Street.

There was relief on all sides. Not least Lady Beatrice, who responded to the final decisions as if she herself had achieved the unachievable. Miss Wooton-Devereux was now presentable. She raised the lorgnette, admiring a delectable cream and gold creation, most discreet, with a ruched satin border and a neckline enhanced by tiny satin pleats. And if it was made known—the quietest of whispers, in confidence, would do the trick—that the lady was set to inherit a considerable fortune from her beloved papa, Lady Drusilla might just achieve her heart’s desire. Theodora might prove to be quite irresistible.

‘I think that you are now ready to be presented, Theodora.’ Lady Beatrice inclined her head in approval, the ostrich plumes in her bonnet nodding.

‘So do I.’ Thea surveyed herself in the long mirror. Her lips curved. Her mother had been right. London had much to recommend it.

Lady Aston’s drum was everything that Lady Beatrice Faringdon anticipated it to be and more.

Dazzling. Crowded. Humming with gossip, intrigue and comment. Attended by every member of the haut ton who happened to be in London. Lady Aston would be able to crow with delight to the discomfiture of other hostesses who had enjoyed far less success since the beginning of the Season. It provided an excellent opportunity to bring Miss Theodora Wooton-Devereux to the combined and critical attention of the Polite World and launch her into society.

‘Are you nervous?’ Judith asked. ‘You don’t appear to be so. How lowering!’ Thea and Judith waited in a little anteroom as a flock of servants descended to relieve the party of their evening wraps. ‘I remember some of my first balls and soirées. I was horribly nervous, almost so much that I did not enjoy them. Once I spilt a whole glass of lemonade, all down the front of a new gown. It was very expensive with Brussels lace over the bodice and—’ She caught the amused glint in Thea’s eyes. Short though their acquaintance might be, Judith’s obsession with pretty clothes was an open secret. ‘Well! Anyway, Mama was furious and threatened not to let me out of the schoolroom again until I could behave with more elegance.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘I suppose I was too naïve for words, but I was only seventeen.’

Thea nodded in sympathy as she arranged her stole and unfurled her fan. ‘No. I am not nervous. But then I have an advantage over your position. I have attended any number of such events as this. I presume that I am suitably got up for this momentous occasion?’ She arched her brows in gentle mockery, held out her arms for Judith’s inspection. ‘My mama considered me to be in relatively good looks and Sir Hector huffed at the bills, but did not object.’

Judith could not help but laugh. ‘I think that Lady Drusilla had the right of it. You look quite the thing!’

Thea was in her guise of mermaid in the deliciously spangled eau de nil body with the delicate lace overskirt. She had competed her toilette with long silk gloves, a pretty beaded reticule and the ivory-and-feather fan. The spangled scarf from Madame Therese matched the overskirt. A pearl necklet and pearl drops in her ears completed the ensemble with the exact touch of sophistication. Judith was left to contemplate that in relatively good looks did not quite do justice to this apparition, but she had already come to the conclusion that the relationship between Thea and her mother was not of the common order.

‘Good. Now I can enjoy myself.’ Then the two young women turned to follow Lady Beatrice into the ballroom where their hostess was in the process of receiving a steady stream of guests, the majority of whom she had no idea she had invited.

The Faringdon party found itself absorbed happily into the throng and it was soon abundantly clear that Theodora was in her element in such surroundings. It was also abundantly clear that she would not lack for partners. She was introduced to so many gentlemen, all eager to salute the fingers of the willowy golden-haired beauty who would one day inherit a fortune, that she all but lost count. She chatted, sipped champagne and promised herself for any number of dances, with grace and aplomb and all the assurance of having acted as her mama’s deputy in formal and diplomatic circles.

Lady Beatrice subjected her to more than one sharp glance, but soon was forced to accept that there was no cause here for anxiety that the girl might not know how to conduct herself. Her upbringing might be unusual, she might be of a forthright disposition, but her social skills were excellent and she would do nothing to bring a blush of mortification to her hostess’s face. True, there might have been some concern over whether she should grace the ballroom in the waltz or not. But Lady Drusilla approved. If Theodora could waltz in Paris, she could waltz in London. So waltz she should, and most competently, thus Beatrice shrugged off all responsibility. After which decision, there was nothing to spoil the night.

For her part, Thea took her place in one country dance after another, never flagging. Sufficiently experienced, she did not lack for conversation, but could mind her feet and her tongue at the same time as she twirled and stepped with precision and elegance. Nor was she averse to a little light-hearted flirtation. She could use her fan most adeptly to draw attention to her glorious eyes, whose sparkle rivalled the crystal drops above her pretty head. Laughter and a bright spirit flowed from her. Who would not desire to dance with such an enchanting young lady? No fear that she would ever be a wallflower, destined to sit and watch as others trod the stately or lively measures. And if no unwed earl was present so far to ask for Miss Wooton-Devereux’s hand in the next waltz, not even the Earl of Moreton, still Lady Drusilla could not be disappointed with the proceedings.

As for those who observed and assessed and might have stared in cold and stuffy disapproval, they came to the conclusion that Miss Wooton-Devereux was indeed something out of the way, but not unbecomingly so. And her mama. Well, perhaps Lady Drusilla was a little eccentric with the draped turban on her greying curls, all hung about with jewels and feathers, rather in the manner of an eastern potentate. And the quantity of gold chains on her bosom. Rather strange but … interesting. And Sir Hector—of course—so distinguished and responsible. If the Princess Esterhazy herself greeted Lady Drusilla with warm condescension and a light kiss on the cheek, then there was no matter for concern. And if the girl had been brought up in the courts of Europe, then that would account for any oddity in her manner. But her breeding and her appearance, it was decided, were beyond question. Of course, the prospect of money would win over even those who might still look askance at a girl who was one and twenty before making her formal curtsy.

At some point towards the hour when a light supper would be served, Thea returned from a sprightly reel with Simon, Earl of Painscastle, an enthusiastic if inexact exponent of the art of dancing, somewhat heavy on his own feet and those of his partner, to find Lady Beatrice, Sir Hector and Lady Drusilla in deep conversation with a newcomer to their party. He stood with his back to her. And laughed at something that had been said as they approached.

‘Ah!’ Simon pressed Thea’s hand as it rested on his sleeve. ‘Now here is a man I am pleased to see. And so will you be, I wager. Come—I will introduce you.’

He struck the gentleman on the shoulder, a light punch to draw his attention.

‘Better late than never, Nick. We had quite given up on you. Your dancing skills are needed here by the ladies—and I can retire for a hand or two of whist.’

The gentleman turned, his face still alight from the previous laughter.

‘Simon. Good to see you. Judith says that you are well.’

‘Of course. Burford Hall keeping you busy?’

‘A little. I have been told that I must visit you and admire your son.’

‘Without doubt. Judith invites everyone to admire him!’ But there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. ‘You should try it yourself, my boy!’

‘Not you as well!’ Nicholas smiled, a quick and devastating grin. ‘I am assaulted from all sides.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Simon risked a glance towards Lady Beatrice. ‘I can imagine.’

‘Never mind that. I hear you have a stallion for sale!’

‘For sale? Not at all. Unless you can tempt me with gold!’

‘I might, if he is superior to my own animals. Which I doubt!’

At which descent into purely masculine topics of conversation, which threatened to occupy them for the rest of the evening, Lady Beatrice grasped her son-in-law’s arm with one hand and tapped her nephew’s with her fan to remind them of their surroundings.

‘Don’t start talking horseflesh, for the Lord’s sake.’ But her tone was indulgent enough. ‘Nicholas. I must introduce you …’

During the whole of this interchange, Thea had been standing a little to the side, out of direct line of sight. Out of neither cowardice nor shyness, but standing rooted to the spot, her heart beating rapidly, her mouth dry, for here was the gentleman of the Park. And, she realised in that one moment, the length of a heartbeat, that any memory she had of him bore no comparison with the reality that now stood before her. He took her breath away. Splendidly handsome, as she had realized, but now she had the opportunity to study him in the dark severity and elegance of formal evening clothes, at the same time horribly aware that he could reveal her unmaidenly behaviour to all. She had hoped never to see him again, but there was no escaping this introduction.

‘Theodora, my dear.’ Lady Beatrice drew her forward. ‘This is my nephew, Lord Nicholas Faringdon. Nicholas, allow me to introduce Miss Theodora Wooton-Devereux, Sir Hector and Lady Drusilla’s daughter. This is her first Season in London.’

Nicholas turned to the lady presented to him—and found himself looking into the eyes—those deep blue eyes fringed with the darkest of lashes—that had last flashed with anger and fear as his hand closed around her wrist. But here any similarity ended. Here was wealth, understated taste, elegance. Yet he felt the strange affinity again, rippling over his skin as if brushed by a chill draught of air.

Good manners prevailed, of course. Theodora curtsied in her best court manner, eyes demurely downcast, a smile pinned to her lips, her pretty hand extended to the gentleman. Just as she ought. Nicholas took the offered hand in his own and bowed, a formal inclination of the head, just touching his lips to her fingers. The epitome of the well-bred gentleman of fashion. They straightened, disengaged, the tension between them invisible to all, but palpable none the less.

Thea waited, swallowing against her panic. Was this the moment when he would acknowledge that he had met her before? Would he announce to one and all that she had been galloping in Hyde Park—and wearing boots and breeches? She could not prevent her eyes dropping to his right hand where the whip mark was clearly visible, still a vivid red scar. When he did not and the moment passed, relief surged through her blood, but she did not enjoy the sensation. Her previous behaviour had effectively thrown her into his hands, at his mercy. Resentment quickly overpowered the relief.

Meanwhile Nicholas fought against an equally strong torrent of anger. So this was his aunt’s plan, in spite of his warning. It had all the hallmark of Beatrice Faringdon about it: devious, persistent, interfering. Introduce him to a débutante, wait for the knot to be tied and, in the event of any harm befalling Hal and the young boy in America, the Faringdon succession would be secured to her satisfaction. Furthermore, a débutante whose behaviour had been indecorous in the extreme. Well, he would not. He would not give Lady Beatrice the satisfaction of falling in with her plans. He might keep his face politely bland, his eyes flat, but inside he fumed.

Never had a meeting between lady and gentleman in a ballroom been so fraught with overtones and supposition.

‘Why don’t you invite Thea to dance, my dear Nicholas?’ Beatrice remained oblivious to the passions seething around her.

‘Of course, Aunt. It would be my pleasure.’ His lips curved into a semblance of a smile, but there was no warmth in it. He fixed his gaze on Theodora. ‘Although I presume that you do not waltz, madam,’ he remarked as the musicians struck up.

‘I do indeed, my lord.’ Equally cool.

‘Ah.’ His raised brows were not quite a criticism.

‘I have waltzed in Paris and Vienna, my lord. My mama sees no objection and I have every reason to believe that I have the blessing of the Princess Esterhazy. So I will willingly accept your invitation.’

‘Then I shall be honoured.’ Nicholas bowed in acknowledgement, led Thea on to the dance floor without further comment, where he turned her with one arm around her waist and began to circle to the music. She fit perfectly against him and moved smoothly, gracefully, through the simple demands of the dance. And as in Hyde Park he was stunned by his physical reaction to her. It was a body blow, like a fist to his gut, a tingle along his veins, an outrageous desire to lift her face and cover that enchanting mouth with his own. To kiss her slender fingers in a formal salute was simply not enough. No matter that the whole world might be watching—in that moment he did not care.

And then: I do not want this! His expression as he glanced down at her was almost fierce. Together with the overwhelming wave of lust came the knowledge that this girl was dangerous and his reaction to her was too extreme for comfort. He set himself to resist. He knew that her conduct could be far outside the acceptable and he could not afford to tolerate that. There had been enough scandal in the Faringdon family of late to last a lifetime. He must resist at all costs!

And Theodora? She was aware of none of these thoughts. Aware of nothing but the weight and strength of his arms around her, the clasp of his hand on hers, cool skin against cool skin, the slightest pressure of his body as it brushed hers in the demands of the dance. The memory of the touch of his lips on her hand still burned as a brand. She had waltzed with other partners with mild pleasure. But never anything like this. Lord Nicholas Faringdon quite simply caused her heart to beat against the confines of her bodice like a wild bird in a cage, until she was sure that he would feel the force of it against his chest when he held her close. Just as he had destroyed her composure when his hand had closed around her wrist with such mastery in Hyde Park.

This was no good! Thea knew that she could not remain silent.

‘I have to thank you, my lord.’ Thea raised her eyes to his as they settled into the rhythm of the music. Her colour was a trifle heightened, he noted as dispassionately as he was able, tinting her cheeks a delicious rose, but she was not shy. All he could think about was the sensation of holding her in his arms. He did not want this attraction.

‘Why?’

She was taken aback by this somewhat curt response. And were not his eyes unsettlingly, chillingly grey rather than blue? Perhaps she had simply mistaken it and struggled to find the right words. ‘I am not unaware of the debt I owe you. It would have been most uncomfortable for me if you had revealed the … the circumstances of our previous meeting. You deserve my gratitude, my lord.’

‘It is not necessary.’

And … and I should apologise for my … behaviour towards you,’ she persisted. ‘It was most regrettable.’

‘There is no need.’

‘But I hurt you!’ Her eyes snapped up to his in some confusion. She could not read his expression behind the bland mask. No, she realised, it was not bland but icy with controlled temper. ‘I see the evidence of it on your hand—you cannot deny it.’

‘Very well, then. Yes. You did. Unnecessarily, as it happened. I had no intention of either harming or molesting you, Miss Wooton-Devereux.’

‘I realise that … I should explain.’ She was getting nowhere here. ‘There were circumstances …’ What should she say? She did not wish to bare her soul over the matter of her past experiences, her innermost fears, and certainly not in the centre of a ballroom with a partner who had an amazing effect on her senses and who was less than accommodating to her attempts to make remission. She had apologised and he was totally insensitive to the fact. What could she say? How could she explain? In the event she did not have to.

‘I need no explanation, madam.’ If his eyes froze her, his voice would reduce her to an icicle if she allowed it. ‘You reacted as you saw fit.’ Why did those words have all the air of a snub rather than a soothing offer of forgiveness? She could not be mistaken. There was a cold condemnation in that smooth voice and she did not know what she had done to deserve quite so harsh a judgement. ‘I do not need to know,’ Lord Nicholas continued in preparation for launching the final deadly arrow. ‘But at least you are more conventionally dressed tonight than when we last had the misfortune to meet.’

Any number of sharp replies coming into her mind, Theodora opened her mouth to utter them. Then closed her lips. Since when are you free to comment on what I might or might not wear, my lord? She could not say that aloud, of course—or not here! This was not the time or place to create a scene. The fact that she had indeed been in the wrong ruffled her temper further but she kept a firm hold on it. She smiled, a miracle of control, and chose her words with deadly precision. ‘Yes, I believe that I am, my lord. Everyone who has danced with me has complimented me on my stylish dress à la mode and the appropriateness of this particular creation. Madame Therese is a true artiste, is she not?’

He could not deny the delicate gloss of sarcasm over her words and had the grace to wince a little. But only inwardly.

‘I am delighted that you approve my appearance, my lord. It gives me so much confidence. Without your approval I should be desolate indeed.’ Thea did not let up. But why was he so cold? Perhaps she must accept that, in all truth, being struck by a riding whip would make him so. She had read the contempt in his eyes as their first meeting drew to its unfortunate ending—an infinite quality of disdain—and there was no difference now. But she denied his right to taunt her!

‘I think that you do not lack for confidence, madam.’

A flash of anger darkened her eyes at this lethal sniping. She bit down on any further sharp response. She could not understand the reason for it, but gathered all her social skills about her.

‘Perhaps we should talk of something less controversial, my lord? A ballroom is no place for such a frank exchange of views.’ The smile was still in place. She would keep it there if it killed her!

‘Of course, Miss Wooton-Devereux.’ Nicholas, too, bared his teeth in what could have passed for pleasure if anyone was observing the handsome couple. ‘What do you suggest that we might have in common to discuss?’

Before she could think of anything polite to reply to this challenge, the waltz had drawn to an end and he escorted her with frigid good manners back to where her parents and the Faringdons were ensconced. He bowed to her, and with equal chill to Lady Beatrice. Thea’s hand was soon claimed. She saw Lord Nicholas treading the measure of a country dance further down the set with Judith.

Nicholas made no attempt to approach Thea for the rest of the evening. Theodora made sure that her eyes did not follow him as he danced with other ladies of his acquaintance.

‘Nicholas is quite my favourite cousin,’ Judith observed in a deceptively neutral voice in an interval between dances.

‘Is he?’ Thea studied her dance list intently.

‘And he is so handsome. Do you not agree?’

‘Certainly. I doubt any woman here tonight would disagree.’

Judith gave up, not a little surprised at the lack of interest between them. Nicholas had not set foot near Thea since that one first waltz. But there would be time and enough for them to get to know each other. She would see to it that they did.

Nicholas returned to Faringdon House in a thoroughly bad mood. He was furious with Beatrice. Even after he had warned her off, his aunt had produced a beautiful débutante—he could not deny her lovely face and figure—whom she considered suitable. Suitable? She had no idea! He was also furious with himself for taking out his ill temper on the girl. He might have kept the semblance of good manners, but his comments had been unwarrantable. And he was equally furious with Theodora Wooton-Devereux, whose presence in his arms had left a lasting and most uncomfortable impression on him. He resigned himself to an uneasy night.

Theodora returned to Upper Brook Street equally angry and confused, despite the success of her first public occasion in London. How dare he treat her so! She did not deserve his damning opinions of her or his icy set-downs. And why should he react quite so violently against her? Was he so dull and hidebound that he should condemn her for one social solecism? Well—she did not care! But she determined as she removed the pearl drops from her ears that she would get the better of Lord Nicholas Faringdon!

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