Survival of the fittest is fine, so long as you’re the one on top … but the family that has everything is about to lose it all …

The Montagues have found themselves at the centre of the ton’s rumour mill, with lords and ladies alike claiming the family is not what it used to be.

The mysterious death of the heir to the Dukedom, and the arrival of an unknown woman claiming he fathered her son, is only the tip of the iceberg in a family where scandal upstairs and downstairs threatens the very foundations of their once powerful and revered dynasty …

August 2012

THE WICKED LORD MONTAGUE – Carole Mortimer

September 2012

THE HOUSEMAID’S SCANDALOUS SECRET – Helen Dickson

October 2012

THE LADY WHO BROKE THE RULES – Marguerite Kaye

November 2012

LADY OF SHAME – Ann Lethbridge

December 2012

THE ILLEGITIMATE MONTAGUE – Sarah Mallory

January 2013

UNBEFITTING A LADY – Bronwyn Scott

February 2013

REDEMPTION OF A FALLEN WOMAN – Joanna Fulford

March 2013

A STRANGER AT CASTONBURY – Amanda McCabe

Duke of Rothermere

Castonbury Park

My dear Giles,

Your reluctance for responsibility, my son, has been apparent since you were a child. But under these tragic circumstances it is your duty to step into the shoes of your missing brother and hold this family together. It is what families do and, during times such as these, I will only ask you once to put your frustration aside and keep your opinions quiet. You are now, whether you like it or not, the new heir to Castonbury Park.

Your father

About the Author

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Mills & Boon®. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Previous novels by the same author:

THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE*

THE RAKE’S INDECENT PROPOSAL*

THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY*

LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE*

THE LADY GAMBLES**

THE LADY FORFEITS **

THE LADY CONFESSES **

JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS ***

THE RELUCTANT DUKE **

TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE**

*The Notorious St Claires

** The Copeland Sisters

*** The Scandalous St Claires

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Wicked Lord Montague
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

Castonbury Park, Derbyshire, April 1816

‘His Grace seems much better today, Lily, thank you for asking,’ Mrs Stratton, the widowed housekeeper at Castonbury Park, assured Lily warmly as she led the way through to her private parlour situated at the back of the grand mansion house that had long been the seat of the Dukes of Rothermere. ‘His Grace’s valet informed me only this morning that the advent of a late spring appears to be having an advantageous effect upon the duke’s spirits.’ She glanced approvingly at the sun shining in through the window.

Lily wondered if it was the advent of spring which had succeeded in reviving the grief-stricken Duke of Rothermere, or the possible return of Lord Giles Montague. His homecoming was in response to the letter Lily’s father said the duke had written to his son four days ago, in which he had demanded that Giles Montague return home and take up his duties as his heir. Sadly, Lord James Montague, previously the eldest son and heir of the Montague family, had died in Spain during the campaign against Napoleon. It had been a devastating blow to the long-widowed Duke of Rothermere, further exacerbated ten months ago by the death of Lord Edward, the duke’s youngest son.

Being the daughter of the local vicar, and an adopted daughter at that, had put Lily in the unique position of making friends both above and below stairs at Castonbury Park, and she was friends with the two daughters of the household, Lady Phaedra and Lady Kate. But it was the late Lord Edward Montague who had been her dearest and most beloved friend. The two of them had been of an age where they had played together about the estate as children, and remained good friends as they had grown too old to play and had instead turned their attention to dancing together at the local assemblies.

Indeed, their friendship had been of such warmth and duration that Lily had been deeply shocked when Edward had succeeded in persuading his father into buying him a commission in the army a year ago, so that he might join his brother Giles in his regiment. She couldn’t bear that Edward had died in that last bloody battle at Waterloo, his life coming to an abrupt end at the point of a French bayonet in only his nineteenth year.

Edward’s life.

Not Giles, the brother who was eight years older than Edward, and who had been the inspiration for Edward’s desire to gain a commission in the army.

‘Thank you, Agnes.’ Mrs Stratton nodded approval as the maid brought in the tray of tea things.

Lily waited until she had departed before continuing the conversation. ‘I have always thought this room to have a particularly lovely view of the gardens.’

‘Why, thank you, Lily.’ Mrs Stratton’s already ample chest puffed out with pleasure as she poured their tea. ‘His Grace has always been very generous in regard to the comfort of his servants.’

‘I am sure his kindness is only commensurate with the care and devotion all of you have shown towards him and his family for so many years.’ Lily sat forward slightly so that she might take her cup of tea from the older woman.

It was now four long days since Mr Seagrove, Lily’s adoptive father, and vicar of the parish of Castonbury—and a particular friend of His Grace—had returned from dining at Castonbury Park to confide in Lily concerning the letter the duke had written to his son Giles in London, where that haughty gentleman had chosen to reside since resigning his commission in the army nine months ago.

It was a confidence which Lily had listened to with horror as she recalled the last occasion on which she and Giles Montague had spoken!

Having lived in a state of turmoil these past four days at the mere thought of Giles Montague’s return, Lily had been unable to contain her restless anxiety another moment longer. She decided to walk the mile to Castonbury Park in order to pay a visit to the kindly Mrs Stratton, in the hope that the duke’s housekeeper may have further news concerning the heir’s return.

Presenting Mrs Stratton with a jar of Mrs Jeffries’s legendary gooseberry jam on her arrival—everyone in the parish knew that the gooseberries in Mr Seagrove’s garden were far superior to any other in the district—had gone a long way towards paving the way to an invitation from Mrs Stratton for Lily to join her in her parlour for afternoon tea.

Not that Mrs Stratton was one for gossip. Her loyalty to the Montague family was beyond reproach. Nevertheless, Lily hoped there would be some way in which she might steer the conversation in the direction in which she wished it would go. ‘It must be somewhat lonely here for His Grace since most of the family travelled down to London for the Season?’ she prompted lightly.

‘Perhaps.’ The housekeeper frowned a little.

Lily sipped her tea. ‘Did none of them think to stay behind and keep His Grace company?’

‘I believe Mrs Landes-Fraser had intended on doing so, but Lady Kate was called away on other business, and her aunt decided it prudent to accompany her.’

Lily smiled affectionately as she guessed that the eldest of the two Montague sisters, having pooh-poohed the idea of attending the London Season, was no doubt now off on another of her crusades to help the underprivileged and needy, and that her maternal aunt, Mrs Wilhelmina Landes-Fraser, had accompanied her in order to ensure she did not stray too far from the bounds of propriety.

Mrs Stratton offered Lily one of the meringues made by the duke’s French chef. ‘Besides which, I believe His Grace is more … settled in his manner when he is not troubled by the rush and bustle of the younger members of the family hurrying here, there and everywhere.’

Lily bit back her frustration with this unhelpful reply as she carefully helped herself to one of the delicacies. ‘Perhaps there will soon be news of Lord Giles returning …?’

‘None that I am aware of.’ The older woman looked puzzled. ‘I must say that I do not completely … understand his continued absence, given the circumstances.’

‘No,’ Lily prompted softly.

Indeed, she had never understood Edward’s excess of affection for his brother Giles. He was a gentleman whom Lily had never found particular reason to like in the past, but for over a year now, she was ashamed to admit, she had detested him almost to the point of hatred!

Mrs Stratton gave a slightly exasperated shake of her grey head. ‘And he was such an endearing scamp as a child too. I find it hard to believe—’ She broke off distractedly, not one to give, or condone, any criticism of a single member of the Montague family to whom she had long devoted her time and emotions, the more so since her own son did not visit as often as she might have wished.

Lily had discovered this past year that she was not so generous of nature in regard to Lord Giles Montague. Indeed, she found it hard even to begin to imagine him as anything other than the disdainful and arrogant gentleman who, the last time they had spoken together, had so wilfully and deliberately insulted both her and the possible lowly origins of her forebears. The mere thought of his ever being ‘an endearing scamp,’ even as a child, seemed positively ludicrous to her!

The eight years’ difference in their ages had meant that Lord Giles had already been away at boarding school by the time Lily was old enough to be allowed to play further afield than the vicarage garden, and he had not always returned home in the holidays either, often choosing to spend those times staying at the home of a friend. The occasions when he had come home for the holidays he had scornfully declined to spend any of his time with children he considered should still be in the nursery, and upon reflection, Lily had come to believe that he had only suffered Edward’s company because of the young boy’s obvious hero-worship of his older brother.

A hero-worship Lily firmly believed to have succeeded in bringing about Edward’s early demise.

The fact that Mrs Stratton had obviously received no instructions in regard to airing Lord Giles Montague’s rooms for his imminent arrival did, however, seem to be a confirmation of his continued absence. It enabled Lily to relax for the first time in days as she devoured the delicious meringue with gusto. She had always been naturally slender, and besides, this news of Lord Giles—or lack of it!—was surely reason enough for celebration on her part.

She did feel a slight pang of guilt on behalf of the Duke of Rothermere, but ultimately believed that he, and everyone else at Castonbury Park, and the surrounding village, were far better off without the oppressive presence of Lord Giles Montague and his conceited arrogance.

Lily felt happier than she had for days as she walked back to the vicarage. She had removed and was swinging her bonnet in her gloved hand, allowing the sun to warm her ebony curls as she strolled through the dappled glade, which she invariably used as a shortcut onto the road leading back to the village.

Spring was indeed here; the sun was shining, the wildflowers were in bloom, the birds were singing in the branches of trees unfurling their leaves after the long winter. Indeed, it was the sort of pleasant early evening when one was assured of God’s existence and it felt good just to be alive and in His—

‘Well, well, well, if it is not Miss Seagrove once again trespassing on the Rothermere estate!’

The sun disappeared behind a cloud, the wildflowers lost their lustre and the birds ceased singing as they instead took flight from the treetops at the sound of a human voice. At the same time, the colour drained from Lily’s cheeks and her heart began pounding loudly in her chest, her shoulders having stiffened defensively in instant recognition of that hatefully mocking voice. A voice which undoubtedly belonged to none other than the utterly despicable Lord Giles Montague!

‘I do not remember you as being this … accommodatingly silent during the last occasion on which we spoke together, Miss Seagrove. Can it be that “the cat has finally got your tongue”?’

Lily drew in one, two, three steadying breaths, as she prepared to turn and face her nemesis; all of her earlier feelings of well-being had flown away with the birds in the face of the shocking reality that Giles Montague was returned to Castonbury Park, after all.

In the end it was the impatient snorting of that gentleman’s horse which caused Lily to turn sharply, only to come face to face with the huge, glistening black and wild-eyed animal as it seemed to look down the long length of its nose at her with the same scornful disdain as its rider.

Lily took an involuntary step back before chancing a glance up at the owner of that horse, her breath catching in her throat as the late-afternoon sun shone behind the imposing and wide-shouldered figure of Lord Giles Montague, and succeeding in casting his face into shadow beneath the brim of his tall hat.

Not that Lily needed to see that arrogantly mocking face clearly to know what he looked like; each and every one of those dark and saturnine features was etched into her memory! Cold grey eyes beneath heavy brows, a long and aristocratic nose, hard and chiselled cheeks, the wide slash of his mouth invariably thinned with scorn or disdain, the strength of his jaw tilted at a haughty angle.

She moistened her lips before choosing to answer his initial challenge rather than the second. ‘It is impossible to do anything other than walk in the grounds of Castonbury Park when one has been visiting at the house, my lord.’

‘Indeed?’ he drawled in a bored tone, holding his skittish mount in check without apparent effort. ‘And whom, might one ask, can you have been “visiting” at Castonbury Park, when most of my family are away or in London at present?’

Lily’s cheeks flushed at the derision in his tone. ‘I came to deliver some of last year’s jam to Mrs Stratton from our own cook,’ she revealed reluctantly.

‘Ah.’ He nodded that arrogant head, a contemptuous smile curving his lips, no doubt at the knowledge that Lily had been visiting below stairs rather than above.

Now that she could see Lord Giles’s face better Lily realised that there was, after all, something slightly different about him than the last time she had seen him. ‘You appear to have a smudge of dirt upon your jaw, my lord,’ she told him with a feeling of inner satisfaction at his appearing less than his usual pristine self.

He made no effort to raise a hand to remove the mark. ‘I believe, if you were to look a little closer, you would find that it is a bruise, and not dirt,’ he dismissed in a bored voice.

Lily’s brows rose. ‘You have taken a tumble from your horse?’ It seemed an even more unlikely explanation than the dirt, as Edward had told her years ago that the duke had placed all of his sons up on a horse before they could even walk, and Lord Giles’s years in the army would only have honed his already excellent horsemanship.

‘Not that it is any of your business, but I chanced to walk into a fist several days ago,’ he drawled in cool dismissal. ‘Mr Seagrove is well, I trust?’

Lily would much rather have heard more about the ‘fist’ he had ‘chanced to walk into’ than discuss her adoptive father’s health, which had never been anything but robust. ‘My father is very well, thank you, my lord,’ she assured huskily, still staring curiously at the bruise upon his jaw. ‘How did you—?’

‘Please pass along my respects to him when next you see him.’ Lord Giles nodded distantly.

Obviously the subject of that ‘fist’ was not for further discussion, which only increased Lily’s curiosity as to who would have dared lay a fist upon the aristocratic jaw of Lord Giles Montague. Whoever he might have been, Lily knew a desire to shake the gentleman by that very same hand! ‘Certainly, my lord.’ Her tone was dry at the obvious omission of any of those respects being paid towards her; Giles Montague had not so much as raised his tall hat in her presence, let alone offered her polite words of greeting!

Because, as they were both only too well aware, there could be no politeness between the two of them after the frankness of their last conversation together. Not now. Or in the future. Lily disliked Giles Montague with a passion she could neither hide nor disguise, and he made no effort to hide the contempt with which he regarded her and her questionable forebears.

‘You have come home to visit with your father, my lord?’ She offered a challenge of her own.

Those grey eyes narrowed. ‘So it would appear.’

Lily raised dark brows at his challenging tone. ‘And I am sure His Grace will be gratified to know you at last feel able to spare him time, from what I am sure has been your … busy life in London, these past months.’

Giles’s expression remained unchanged at this less than subtle rebuke. A rebuke which told him all too clearly that Miss Lily Seagrove had heard something at least of his rakish behaviour in London these past nine months. ‘If I had known you were counting the days of my absence perhaps I would have returned sooner …?’

Colour brightened the ivory of her cheeks even as those moss-green eyes sparkled with temper at his obvious derision. ‘The only reason I would ever count the days of your absence, my lord, would be with the intention of thanking God for them!’

Giles looked down at her from between narrowed lids. As a young child Lily Seagrove had been as wild and untamed as might have been expected, given her ancestry. Her long curly black hair had seemed always to be in a loose tangle about her thin and narrow shoulders, smears of mud and berries invariably about her ruby-red mouth, her tiny hands suffering that same fate and her dresses usually having a rip or two about them where she had been crawling through the undergrowth with his brother Edward on one of their adventures.

Quite when that untamed child had become the composed and confident young lady Giles had met just over a year ago he was unsure, only knowing that he had returned home to find that his brother Edward was completely—and quite unsuitably—infatuated with the beautiful young woman Lily Seagrove had become.

The beautiful young woman she undoubtedly still was….

Her hair was just as black and abundant as it had ever been, but without her bonnet it was visibly tamed into becoming curls at her crown, with several of those shorter curls left to frame the delicate beauty of her face which boasted smooth, ivory skin, moss-green eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes, a tiny upturned nose, high cheekbones and full and sensual lips above her pointed and very determined chin.

She wore a dark brown velvet pelisse over a cream and fashionably high-waisted gown; her tall body was slender, the swell of her breasts covered by a wisp of delicate cream lace, matching lace gloves upon her hands, and tiny boots of brown leather upon her feet, the latter obviously out of deference to her walk about the countryside rather than fashion.

Yes, that wild and seemingly untameable child had grown into this beautiful and alluring woman of composure and grace. But, nevertheless, she was still one who had been, and always would be, a foundling of questionable ancestry and who was, and would ever remain, socially inferior to each and every member of the Montague family. It was an indisputable fact she still resented having heard from Giles’s own lips a year ago, if the anger that now burned so brightly in Miss Lily Seagrove’s moss-green eyes was any indication!

He gave a haughty inclination of his head. ‘I am sure your prayers this evening will not be quite so full of gratitude on the subject.’

‘I might always pray for your visit to be of short duration instead, my lord,’ she returned with false sweetness.

Giles permitted himself a hard and humourless smile. ‘I am sure that we both might pray for it to be so!’

She blinked up at him. ‘You do not intend your visit to Castonbury Park to be of long duration …?’

In truth, Giles had no idea how long he would be able to endure being in the home where he would be reminded, on a daily basis, of all that the Montague family had lost—namely Jamie and Edward, the eldest and the youngest sons.

He quirked mocking brows. ‘No doubt it would please you if that were to be the case?’

‘As you made so clear to me on the last occasion we spoke, my lord, it is not for someone as lowly as I to be pleased or displeased by any of the actions of a member of a family as superior to myself as the Montagues!’ Those moss-green eyes met his gaze with unflinching challenge.

She really was quite remarkably beautiful, Giles noted admiringly, as she stood there so tall and proud, with her cheeks flushed and those green eyes glittering angrily. In fact, Miss Lily Seagrove was far more beautiful than any of the numerous women Giles had known so intimately in London these past nine months.

It was a thought totally out of keeping with the strained nature of their acquaintance. ‘Even you must acknowledge it really would not have done, Lily …?’ Giles quirked a dark brow.

Her eyes widened incredulously. ‘You would dare to talk of that again now, when Edward has been dead these past ten months, and so lost to all of us for ever?’

No, Giles would prefer never to have to speak of anything ever again which forced him to acknowledge that his brother Edward was dead. Indeed, he had spent the past nine months avoiding returning to Castonbury Park in an attempt to do just that. Without any success, of course, but there was not a fashionable man, or willing woman, in London who could not confirm how vigorously he had attempted to achieve that oblivion, in the company of the former, in the beds of the latter.

How ironic that the first person Giles should meet upon returning to Castonbury should be the one woman guaranteed to remind him of the losses he had been trying so hard to avoid!

His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘No doubt ten months has been more than long enough for you to have recovered sufficiently from your hopes regarding Edward, and to have some other unsuspecting—and, for your sake, I hope wealthy!—young man ensnared by your charms?’

Lily drew her breath in sharply, so deeply wounded by Giles Montague’s dismissive scorn of the affection she had felt for Edward that for several minutes she felt completely unable to speak. She almost—almost!—pitied Giles Montague for his lack of understanding.

No—she did pity him, knowing that a man as arrogant and insensitive as Giles Montague could never appreciate or attempt to understand the love she and Edward had felt for each other, or how their friendship had been of such depth and duration that Lily had come to regard Edward as the brother she had never had, as well as being her dearest friend in all the world.

A year ago the haughty and disdainful Lord Giles Montague had been blind to the nature of that affection, and chosen instead to believe that as she was only the adopted daughter of the local vicar—her real parentage unknown—then she must necessarily be out to ensnare his rich and titled youngest brother into matrimony. It must have been a match he considered so unsuitable he had felt no qualms in arranging to talk to Lily without Edward’s knowledge, so that he might inform her of such. It had been a conversation that had so stunned Lily by its forthright audacity she was ashamed to say she had felt no hesitation in returning that frankness in regard to her own less than flattering opinion of Giles Montague.

She raised her chin now. ‘I will continue to love Edward until the day I die,’ she stated softly and evenly, too heavy of heart to feel the least satisfaction when she saw the way Giles Montague’s eyes widened upon hearing her declaration. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, my lord, I believe it is past time I returned to the vicarage.’ She continued to hold that guarded and icy grey gaze as she sketched the slightest of curtseys before turning on her booted heels and walking away.

Her head was held high as she refused, even for propriety’s sake, to resume wearing her bonnet. Giles Montague already believed her to be socially inferior to him, so why should she care if her actions now confirmed that belief.

Except Lily did care what people thought of her. She had always cared. Not for her own sake, but for the sake of the kindly Mr and Mrs Seagrove.

Lily had only been eight years old, and had not understood, when one of the children from the village had first taunted her and called her ‘Gypsy.’ She had questioned Mrs Seagrove as to its meaning as soon as she had returned to the vicarage. That dear lady had taken Lily gently in her arms and explained that it was merely another name for the Romany families who stayed at the Castonbury estate during the spring and at harvest time.

Again, having rarely bothered to waste time looking at herself in a mirror, Lily had not understood why one of the village children should have chosen to taunt her with such name. Until Mrs Seagrove had stroked Lily’s long and curling black hair and explained that she was not the true child of Mr and Mrs Seagrove, but had in fact been left, as a baby of only a few weeks, on the doorstep of the vicarage eight years previously; of how she and Mr Seagrove suspected that Lily’s real mother had perhaps been one of the young and unmarried Gypsy girls who travelled the roads of England with their tribe.

Gypsy.

Lord Giles Montague had made it obvious a year ago that he was both totally aware of such a heritage, and disapproving of its being connected with his noble family.

Chapter Two

Giles had put aside the encounter in the glade with the beautiful Miss Lily Seagrove by the time he handed over the reins of his horse to one of the grooms at Castonbury Park. His thoughts were now on the signs of neglect, both to the outside of the house itself and other parts of the estate, which he had noted as he rode down the hillside and along the side of the lake.

Several tiles were missing from the roof at the back of the house, the stonework at the front was also in need of attention and there were weeds growing in several places about the foundations. The gardens that surrounded the house seemed to be well tended, but Giles had noted that several trees had toppled over in the woods at the back of the house, and the lake was also in need of clearing of the debris that had accumulated from the past winter. And they were only the things that Giles had noted at first glance; there were sure to be others he had not had the chance to see as yet.

They would no doubt confirm that things here were as dire as his sister Phaedra had warned they were. Something which did not please Giles at all, if it meant he would have to prolong his stay here …

Lumsden—the butler who had been with the Montague family for more years than Giles could remember—opened the front door as he reached the top step. ‘Master Giles!’ His mouth gaped open in surprise. ‘I mean, Lord Giles,’ he corrected as he obviously recovered his usual calm equilibrium. ‘We had not been told to expect you.’

‘I did not send word of my coming,’ Giles assured as he strode past the older man and into the house.

It was almost ten months since Giles had last stepped through this doorway, on the occasion of Edward’s funeral, and whilst the inside of the house was as clean and neat as it had ever been—Mrs Stratton, Giles knew, would allow nothing less from her household staff!—there was nevertheless an air of emptiness about it, of a house that no longer felt like a home.

An emptiness that Giles had expected—and so determinedly avoided these past nine months.

His mouth tightened as he turned back to hand the butler his hat and riding crop before shrugging off his outer coat. ‘My father is in his rooms in the east wing?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Lumsden’s seriousness of tone somehow managed to convey so much more than was said in those three words. ‘I will go and enquire of Smithins if he considers His Grace well enough to receive you—’

‘No need, Lumsden,’ Giles dismissed airily. ‘I am sure I will be able to judge that for myself once I have seen my father.’

‘But—’

‘What is it, Lumsden?’ He frowned his irritation with this further delay, anxious now to see his father for himself, so that he might best decide what needed to be done here in order that he might leave again as soon as was possible.

The butler looked uncomfortable. ‘Smithins has issued orders that no one is allowed to see His Grace without his permission.’

Giles raised autocratic brows. ‘Am I to understand that my father’s valet now says who is and is not to visit him?’ He conveyed his incredulity in his tone.

‘I believe that sums up the situation very well, my lord, yes.’ The butler looked even more uncomfortable.

‘We shall see about that!’ Giles assured determinedly. ‘If you could organise a decanter of brandy brought into us, Lumsden, I would be most obliged?’

The elderly man straightened with renewed purpose. ‘Certainly, my lord.’

Giles turned with that same sense of purpose, his expression grim as he strode through to his father’s suite of rooms in the east wing of the house, more than ready to do battle with the man who was employed to be his father’s valet and not his jailer!

‘His Grace will be overjoyed, I am sure.’ Mr Seagrove beamed approvingly, having just been informed by Lily that Lord Giles Montague was returned to Castonbury Park, after all.

There was no answering pleasure in Lily’s face as she sat across the dinner table from her father in the small family dining room at the vicarage. ‘No doubt,’ she dismissed uninterestedly. ‘Would you care for more potatoes, Father?’ She held up the dish temptingly in the hopes of changing the conversation from the subject of the hateful Giles Montague, knowing full well that the creamy vegetable was one of her father’s weaknesses.

‘Thank you, Lily.’ He nodded distractedly as she spooned the potatoes onto this plate before replacing the bowl on the table, a worried frown marring his usually smooth brow. ‘I trust you and Lord Giles had a pleasant conversation together?’

She gave that earlier conversation some thought. ‘I believe I can say that I succeeded in being as polite to Lord Giles as he was to me,’ she finally replied carefully.

‘That is good.’ The vicar nodded, apparently unaware of the true meaning of Lily’s reply. ‘However, I think it best if we both call at the Park tomorrow morning to pay our formal respects.’

Lily felt her heart sink. ‘Oh, must I come too? I have several calls to make in the morning, Father. Mrs Jenkins and her new baby, and the youngest Hurst boy’s leg is in need of—’

‘Yes, yes, I appreciate that you are very busy about the parish, Lily.’ Mr Seagrove beamed his approval of the care and attention she had given to his parishioners since the death of his wife five years ago. ‘But His Grace is my patron, after all, and it would seem rude if we did not both call upon his heir.’

Lily could appreciate the logic of her father’s argument; Mr Seagrove’s tenure in Castonbury, although of long duration, was nevertheless still dependent upon the Duke of Rothermere’s goodwill. She just wished she did not have to see Lord Giles Montague again quite so soon. She had no wish to see that unpleasant man ever again, if truth be told! Though Lily knew it would never do for her father to suspect such a thing, which meant Lily had no choice but to accept she was to accompany her father to the Park tomorrow morning and make polite conversation with Lord Giles Montague.

‘It is good to see you again, Mr Seagrove.’ Lord Giles smiled with genuine warmth as he strode forcefully into the elegant salon where they waited.

Lily was momentarily taken aback by the change wrought on that haughty gentleman’s countenance when he smiled down at her father as the two men greeted each other; those grey eyes had softened to the warmth of a dove’s wing, laughter lines grooved into those hard and chiselled cheeks, his teeth appearing very white and even between the relaxed line of sculpted lips. Even the bruising on his jaw could not succeed in detracting from his pleasant demeanour.

Indeed, for those few brief moments Giles Montague looked almost … rakishly handsome, Lily realised in surprise. A rakish handsomeness, his sister Phaedra had confided to Lily, he had reputedly taken full advantage of these past months in London!

‘And Miss Seagrove.’ Lord Giles turned to bow, the genuine warmth of the smile he had given her father fading to be replaced by one of mocking humour. ‘I had not expected to see you again quite so soon.’

‘My lord.’ She met that gaze coolly as she curtseyed, her best peach-coloured bonnet covering the darkness of her curls today, a perfect match for the high-waisted gown she usually wore to church on a Sunday, her cream lace gloves upon her hands.

Mr Seagrove had been born the fourth son of a country squire, and so possessed a small private income to go with the stipend he received yearly from the Duke of Rothermere, but even so Lily possessed only half a dozen gowns, gowns she made for herself after acquiring the material from an establishment in the village. Unfortunately only three of the gowns Lily owned were fashionable enough, and of a quality, to wear out in company; including the gown Lily had been wearing yesterday, Giles Montague had already seen two of those gowns.

Which was a very strange thought for her to have—was it not?—when she had absolutely no interest in Giles Montague’s opinion, either of her personally, or the gowns she wore …?

No one likes to appear wanting in front of another, she told herself firmly as she answered, ‘My father, once told of your return, was of course anxious to call and pay his respects.’

Giles gave a knowing grimace as he easily discerned Lily’s own lack of enthusiasm at seeing him again. He fully appreciated the reasons for her antagonism after the frankness of their conversation a year ago. It was a conversation Giles had had serious reason to regret since Edward’s death; a marriage between his youngest brother and this particular young lady would still be most unsuitable. But Giles would far rather Edward had enjoyed even a few months with the woman he had declared himself to be deeply in love with, than for his brother to have died without knowing the joy of a union he so desired.

Surely Lily’s words yesterday, regarding her intention of loving his brother until she died, implied her heart still yearned for the young man she had loved and lost …?

‘Would you care for tea, Miss Seagrove?’ Giles’s voice was gentler than he usually managed when in this particular young woman’s company.

‘I—’

‘That would be most acceptable, my lord.’ Mr Seagrove warmly accepted in place of what Giles was convinced would have been Lily’s refusal. ‘His Grace is no doubt pleased at your return?’ Mr Seagrove looked across at him pleasantly.

Giles frowned darkly. As Lumsden had warned, Smithins had stood like a guard at the door of the Duke of Rothermere’s rooms the day before, his initial surprise at finding Giles walking through that doorway unannounced lasting only seconds before he informed Giles that his father was resting and not to be disturbed.

It had taken every effort on Giles’s part to hold on to his temper and not bodily lift the insufferable little man out of his way. Instead he had icily informed Smithins what he would do to him if he did not step aside. The valet may be a bumptious little upstart, but he was not a stupid bumptious little upstart, and so had had the foresight to step aside immediately.

Not having seen his father for nine months, Giles had been shocked, deeply so, at his first sight of his father seated in a chair by the window, a blanket across his knees as evidence that, despite the warmer weather, his almost skeletal frame was prone to feel the cold. The duke’s grief at the death of his two sons appeared to have aged him twenty years in just one, his hair having turned grey, his eyes having sunk into the thin pallor of his face whilst deep lines marked his unsmiling mouth.

His dull eyes had brightened slightly at the sight of his son, and his spirits had rallied for a short time too, but Giles could see his father’s strength failing him after they had spoken together for ten minutes, and so he had made his excuses and gone to refresh himself after his journey.

‘I believe so, yes,’ Giles replied to Mr Seagrove; his visit to his father’s rooms before breakfast this morning had led to the discovery that the Duke of Rothermere had completely forgotten his son’s arrival the day before, thereby making it impossible for Giles to ascertain whether his presence back at Castonbury Park was having a positive effect upon his father or not.

The guilt Giles now felt at having neglected his father by remaining from home these past nine months was not something he intended to discuss with anyone, even the kindly Reverend Reginald Seagrove. Certainly Giles did not intend to reveal his feelings of inadequacy in front of the quietly attentive Lily Seagrove. Indeed, she was a young lady who saw far too many faults in him already than was comfortable!

‘Perhaps now that you are home you will be able to see to the necessary repairs about the estate, my lord?’ It was almost as if that young lady knew of at least some of Giles’s thoughts as she smiled sweetly.

‘Perhaps,’ he dismissed stiffly.

She gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‘I am sure His Grace would be most gratified. Not to mention the tenants of the estate.’

Giles’s mouth tightened as Lily Seagrove’s comment hit home. It was a way of pointing out his own shortcomings, he was sure. Shortcomings which Giles needed no reminding of when he had only to see the frailty of his father’s health, and the neglect about the estate, to become all too aware of them himself.

‘Shall I pour, my lord?’ she prompted lightly as Lumsden returned with the tea tray and placed it on the low table in front of her before departing.

‘Please.’ Giles gave a terse inclination of his head. He suffered more than a little inner restlessness as he felt the chains of responsibility for Castonbury Park tighten even more painfully about his throat. Chains which Lily Seagrove no doubt prayed might choke him!

‘Perhaps now that you are home, I might broach the subject of this year’s well-dressing, and the possibility of the celebrations afterwards returning to Castonbury Park?’ Mr Seagrove prompted hopefully. The Duke of Rothermere, having been in a turmoil of emotions the previous year, had requested that the garden party after the well-dressing take place on the village green rather than in the grounds of the estate as was the custom.

Although, as everyone knew, ‘garden party’ did not quite describe the celebrations that took place after the villagers had attended the church service and seen the three adorned wells in the village blessed. Much food was eaten, many barrels of beer consumed, with several stalls for bartering vegetables and livestock, and there was a Gypsy fortune-teller in a garishly adorned tent, and of course there would be music and dancing as the day turned to evening.

Giles was slow to turn his attention back to the older man, so intently was he watching Lily’s slender, gloved hands as they deftly managed the tilting of the teapot. Good heavens, sitting there so primly, her movements gracefully elegant, it was almost possible to imagine that Lily might, after all, have made Edward a passably suitable wife!

Almost.

For one only had to look at that black and curling hair, the ivory-white of her complexion, those lively green eyes and her full and berry-red lips to be reminded that Lily Seagrove’s true parentage was of much more exotic stock than the homely Mr and Mrs Seagrove.

No, as Giles had said only yesterday, it simply would not have done. Lily Seagrove was the type of young lady that gentlemen like the Montagues took to mistress, not to wife. An opinion, if Giles remembered correctly—and he had no doubts that he did!—to which his brother Edward had taken great exception a year ago. And which, when Giles had made those same remarks to Lily Seagrove, had resulted in her landing a resounding slap upon his cheek!

Giles’s mouth tightened at that memory even as he turned his attention back to Mr Seagrove. ‘What exactly would that entail?’

‘Oh, there is nothing for you to do personally except give your permission, my lord,’ that cheerful gentleman assured him eagerly. ‘Lily and Mrs Stratton usually work together on the organisation of the celebrations.’ He beamed brightly.

‘Indeed?’ Giles’s gaze was unreadable as Lily Seagrove stood up to hand him his cup of tea.

Lily kept her lashes lowered demurely as she avoided all contact with Giles’s long and elegant fingers as she handed over the cup of tea into which she had placed four helpings of sugar, despite having no idea whether or not that gentleman even liked sugar in his tea. Perhaps he would understand that she believed his demeanour could do with sweetening also.

She had felt a slight uplift in her spirits as she saw Giles Montague’s discomfort at mention of the neglect currently obvious about the estate, only to have her heart sink upon hearing her father put forward the idea of the celebrations after the well-dressing once again taking place at Castonbury Park. She knew that if Giles Montague were to agree, it would necessitate her spending far more time here than she would ever have wished, now that he was back in residence.

Lily moved across the room with her father’s tea. ‘I am sure it is not necessary to bother either His Grace or Lord Montague with something so trivial, Father,’ she dismissed evenly. ‘The venue of the village green proved perfectly adequate for our purposes last year.’

‘But, my dear, the garden party after the well-dressing ceremony has, by tradition, always been held at Castonbury Park—’

‘Mrs Stratton informed me only yesterday that His Grace is far more comfortable when he does not have too much rush and bustle about him.’ Lily could literally feel Giles Montague’s gaze upon her as she resumed her seat on the chaise before taking up her own cup of tea.

‘I had not thought of that …’ Mr Seagrove murmured regretfully.

Lily felt a pang of guilt as she saw her father’s disappointment. ‘I am sure that everyone enjoyed themselves just as much last year as they have any of the years previously,’ she encouraged gently.

‘Yes, but—’

‘Perhaps I might be allowed to offer an opinion …?’ Giles Montague interjected softly.

Lily’s gloved fingers tightened about the delicate handle on her teacup as she heard the deceptive mildness of his tone, to such a degree that she had to force herself to relax her grip for fear she might actually disengage the handle completely from the cup. She drew in two deep and calming breaths before turning to look at Giles Montague with polite but distant enquiry.

He was seated comfortably in an armchair, the pale blue of the material a perfect foil for the heavy darkness of his fashionably styled hair. He wore a black superfine over a pale blue waistcoat and snowy white linen, buff-coloured pantaloons tailored to long and powerful legs and black Hessians moulding the length of his calves. He looked, in fact, the epitome of the fashionable dandy about Town.

Not that Lily had ever been to Town, Mr and Mrs Seagrove never having found reason to travel so far as London. But she had often been privileged to see copies of the magazines Lady Phaedra, the younger of the two Montague sisters, had sent over, and the fashionable gentlemen depicted in the sketches inside those magazines had all looked much as Giles Montague did today.

She gave a dismissive shake of her head, as much for her own benefit as anyone else’s. She simply refused to see Giles Montague as anything other than the cold and unpleasant man he had always been to her, but especially so this past year. ‘I trust the tea is to your liking, my lord?’ she prompted as she saw the involuntary wince he gave after taking a sip of the hot and highly sweetened brew.

Narrowed grey eyes met her more innocent gaze. ‘Perfectly, thank you,’ he murmured as he rested the cup back on its saucer before carefully placing both on the table.

Lily’s cheeks warmed guiltily as she realised he was not going to expose her pettiness to her father. ‘I believe you were about to offer us your opinion concerning the well-dressing celebrations, my lord?’ she prompted huskily.

Giles, the taste of that unpleasantly syrupy tea still coating the roof of his mouth, did not believe that Miss Lily Seagrove would care to hear his ‘opinion’ of her at this particular moment! Instead he gave her a smile that did little more than bare his teeth in challenge, and was rewarded by a deepening of the blush colouring those ivory cheeks. ‘I have very fond memories of the celebrations being held here when I was a boy.’

‘Of course you must.’ The vicar eagerly took up the conversation. ‘I recall Mrs Seagrove telling me of how, before you were old enough to go to Town for the Season with the rest of the family, you and your brothers would help to put out the tables and chairs and hang up the bunting.’

Giles and his brothers … Of which there was now only one. And Harry, in his role as diplomat, currently resided in Town when not out of the country on other business.

If anyone had asked Giles if he really wanted the garden party to be held at Castonbury Park this year, his honest answer would have been no. But having now seen his father, witnessed the way in which his grief had caused him to become withdrawn, not just from his family but from the estate and village as well, and the way in which that estate had been allowed to fall into a state of gentile decay, Giles was of the opinion, no matter what his personal feelings on the matter, that the return of the annual celebrations in the grounds of Castonbury Park was exactly what was needed to bring about a return of confidence in the Montague family’s interest in both the tenants and the village.

An interest which, it was becoming all too frustratingly apparent, Giles himself would have to facilitate!

As the second son, he’d had very little reason to pay heed to the running of the estate, or the other duties of the Dukes of Rothermere, and had left such matters to his father and Jamie after he had joined the army twelve years ago. Unfortunately Jamie’s death, and his father’s failing health, now necessitated—as Lily Seagrove had all too sweetly taken pleasure in pointing out—that Giles’s disinterest in such matters could not continue.

Fortunately for Giles, his years as an officer in the army had given him an insight into the nature of people—although he thought the villagers of Castonbury would not in the least appreciate being compared to the rough and ready soldiers who had served under him for eleven years, many of them having chosen to serve only as an alternative to prison or worse!—and as such he knew that the quickest and easiest way to win a man or woman’s confidence was to show an interest in them and their comfort.

In the case of the villagers, Giles had no doubts that the return of the annual celebrations to the grounds of Castonbury Park would be the perfect way of showing that interest.

‘Indeed we did,’ Giles answered Mr Seagrove ruefully. ‘And I will be only too happy to offer assistance this year. Under Miss Seagrove’s direction, of course …?’ He raised a dark and challengingly brow as he turned to look across the room at her.

Lily, having lapsed into what she now realised had been a false sense of security, could only stare back at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

The thought of the well-dressing celebrations being held at Castonbury Park, and so necessitating Lily spend more time here than she might ever have wished or asked for, seemed dreadful enough, but having Giles Montague offer his personal help with the organisation of those celebrations was unthinkable!

Nor did she believe for one moment that the haughty and arrogant Lord Giles would ever agree to do anything ‘under her direction.’

‘I really could not ask that of you, my lord, when you obviously have so many other calls upon your time now that you are home at last.’ She gave another of those sweet smiles.

Amusement—no doubt at Lily’s expense!—gleamed briefly in those grey eyes. ‘But you did not ask it, Miss Seagrove, it was I who offered,’ Giles Montague drawled dismissively.

‘But—’

‘As far as I am concerned, the matter is settled, Miss Seagrove.’ He rose abruptly to his feet as an indication that their visit was also at an end.

A dismissal Mr Seagrove, his real purpose in calling having now been settled to his satisfaction, was only too ready to accept as he rose to his feet. ‘I am sure you have made the right decision, my lord, for both the family and village as a whole.’ He beamed his pleasure at the younger man.

For once in her young life Lily could not help but wholeheartedly disagree with her adoptive father. Oh, she had no doubts that the rest of the village would see the reestablishment of the celebrations to Castonbury Park as a positive thing, a return to normality after almost a year of uncertainty.

But as the person who would be required to consult with Giles Montague, Lily could not help but feel a sense of dread….

Chapter Three

‘I do believe this particular shade would complement your colouring admirably.’ Mrs Hall laid out a swatch of deep pink material upon the counter top of her establishment, where several other bolts of material already lay discarded after having been rejected by Lily as not quite what she wanted.

In truth, Lily was not absolutely sure what she did want, only that she had decided to purchase some material to make up a new day gown, and Mrs Hall’s establishment in the village was so much more convenient than having to travel all the way to the nearest town of Buxton. Luckily, that lady had several new selections of material in stock, and Lily’s needlework was also excellent due to Mrs Seagrove’s tutelage in earlier years. Besides which, with the celebrations less than two weeks away, Lily was sorely in need of a new gown—

Lily drew her thoughts up sharply as she realised she was not only prevaricating but actually practising a deception upon herself; her reason for deciding she needed a new gown for the day of the well-dressing celebrations could be summed up in just three words—Lord Giles Montague! Which was a ridiculous vanity on Lily’s part, when she had no doubts that the haughty Lord Giles would have taken absolutely no note of the gowns she had been wearing on the two occasions on which they had last met.

‘Or perhaps this one …?’ Mrs Hall held up another swatch, having obviously drawn a wrong conclusion as to the reason for Lily’s present distraction.

‘I think perhaps—Oh, how beautiful!’ Lily gasped in pleasure as she focused her attention on the material which she was sure had to be a match in colour for the green of her eyes.

If styled correctly, it could be prettied up with cream lace at the neck and short sleeves to wear in the evenings. Not that Lily had attended any of the local assemblies since Edward died, but even so …

‘It is perfect,’ she breathed in satisfaction. ‘But no doubt costly?’ she added with a self-conscious grimace; she was, after all, only a vicar’s adopted daughter, and as such it would not do for her to look anything other than what she was, and this material had a richness about it that was unmistakable to the eye.

As she had grown to adulthood Lily had often found herself wondering if, as so many in the village so obviously suspected, she really could be the daughter of one of the dramatically beautiful Romany women who stayed in the grounds of Castonbury Park during the summer months.

Several years ago Lily had even plucked up the courage to question one of them, a Mrs Lovell, the oldest and friendliest of the Romany women. The old lady had seemed taken aback by the question at first, and then she had chuckled as she assured Lily that the tribes took care of their own, and that no true Romany child would ever have been left behind to live with a gorjer. It had been said in such a contemptuous way that Lily had no difficulty discerning that the old lady meant a non-Romany person.

Even so, Lily had still sometimes found herself daydreaming as to how different her life would have been if, despite Mrs Lovell’s denials, her mother really had been one of those lovely Romany women….

No doubt once she was grown she would have worn those same dresses in rich and gaudy colours that she had seen the Romany women wearing, with her long and wildly curling black hair loose about her shoulders as she danced about the campfire in the evenings, enticing and beguiling the swarthy-skinned Gypsy men who watched her with hot and desirous eyes.

Her daydreams had always come to an abrupt and disillusioned end at that point, as Lily acknowledged that might possibly be the exact way in which her mother had conceived the child she had abandoned on the Seagroves’ doorstep twenty years ago!

‘Perhaps it is not quite … suitable.’ She sighed wistfully as she touched the beautiful moss-green material longingly. ‘A serviceable grey would be more practical, do you not think?’ Her liking for the material in front of her was so immediate and so strong, it was impossible to prevent the wistfulness from entering her tone.

The other woman laughed lightly. ‘Like the gown you are wearing today, you mean?’

Lily glanced down at her gown, one of her older ones, chuckling softly as she realised the other woman was quite correct and that the gown was indeed grey, and that it was also eminently serviceable in style. ‘Do forgive me.’ She smiled at the other woman in rueful apology. ‘My head is so filled with arrangements for the well-dressing I did not even take note of which gown I had put on this morning!’

Mrs Hall nodded. ‘I have noticed that everyone in the village is excited at the prospect of the May celebrations returning to Castonbury Park this year.’

Everyone but Lily, it seemed….

How different it would have been if Lord Giles had not currently been in residence at Castonbury Park.

Ridiculous—if Lord Giles Montague was not at home, then Lily very much doubted that the May celebrations would have returned to Castonbury Park at all.

And as Mrs Hall had already stated, news that the garden party was once again to take place at Castonbury Park had quickly spread throughout the village in the two days since Giles Montague had told the vicar of his decision. Not that Mr Seagrove had spread that news himself. No, he would only have needed to mention the arrangements to Mrs Crutchley, the wife of the local butcher, for that to have occurred.

Mrs Crutchley had been in charge of arranging the flowers in the church for the Sunday services since the death of Mrs Seagrove, Lily having been considered by that lady as far too young to take on such an onerous task. As such, Mrs Crutchley also put herself in charge of orchestrating the floral decorations each year for the well-dressing ceremony.

One word from Mr Seagrove to this garrulous lady as to the change of venue to Castonbury Park for the celebrations after the ceremony, and that knowledge had spread quickly throughout the whole village. Indeed, everyone Lily had chanced to speak with in the past two days had talked of nothing else but the prospect of an afternoon and evening enjoying the Duke of Rothermere’s hospitality.

Everyone except Lily, for reasons she had not shared with anyone this past year….

But if she was to be forced to suffer a day in the company of Lord Giles—and it seemed that she was—then she really must have a new gown in which to do it! ‘Yes, I believe I will take this material, after all,’ she announced firmly as she stood up decisively, turning to admire the arrangement of ribbons in the window as Mrs Hall cut the appropriate amount of fabric. ‘I believe I would like this also.’ Lily had plucked a long length of dark green ribbon from the display and now handed it to Mrs Hall to be included in the package, knowing the ribbon would make a fine contrast to the lighter green of the material, as well as giving the gown a festive look for the well-dressing.

‘Is that everything?’ Mrs Hall proceeded to wrap and tie Lily’s purchases in brown paper after her reassuring nod.

‘You will send me the bill, as usual?’ At which time Lily would no doubt learn that there would be none of her allowance left with which to make any other purchases, either this month or the next!

It would be worth going without, if only to show Lord Giles that she could be just as elegantly dressed as any of the fashionable women he might know in London, Lily told herself as she walked briskly back to the vicarage, her parcel clutched tightly to her chest. Giles Montague enjoyed looking down his arrogant nose at her far too much—

‘You are looking mightily pleased with yourself,’ drawled that gentleman’s superior voice. ‘Can it be that you are on your way to an assignation, or have perhaps just left one …?’

Lily was frowning as she turned sharply to face Lord Giles.

‘I am finding your habit of appearing out of nowhere most irritating, my lord!’

He made no reply as he raised dark brows beneath his tall hat, once again the epitome of the fashionable gentleman, the tailored black jacket and plain grey waistcoat he wore today very much in the understated elegance of the most stylish of gentlemen, like the cane he carried of black ebony tipped with silver.

Lily’s chin was high as she met that mocking silver-grey gaze. ‘And in answer to your question, I was neither on my way to an assignation nor leaving one, but merely visiting one of the shops in the village.’

Giles’s expression was deliberately noncommittal as he looked at Lily Seagrove between narrowed lids, noting the flash of temper in those moss-green eyes and the colour in her cheeks as she answered his query. Quite why he felt the need to constantly challenge this particular young woman he had not the slightest idea, but the result, he noted—those flashing green eyes and the flush in her cheeks—was more than pleasing to a gentleman’s eyes.

His mouth thinned with displeasure at the realisation that it was more than pleasing to his own eye! ‘You have completed your purchases, and are now on your way back to the vicarage, perhaps?’

‘I am.’ She tilted her chin, as if daring him to challenge her claim.

Giles nodded tersely. ‘As I am on my way to visit with your father, I shall walk along with you.’

No ‘please’ or ‘may I,’ Lily noted irritably, just that arrogant ‘I shall.’

But it was an arrogance she knew from experience it would do no good to challenge. Just as she knew it would serve no purpose for her to enquire as to the reason he intended visiting with her father; it would certainly be too much to hope that Giles Montague was finding the annual celebrations at Castonbury Park too much of a bother, after all.

‘By all means, my lord.’ Lily nodded graciously before continuing her walk without sparing a second glance to see whether or not Giles Montague fell into step beside her.

Which was not to say she was not completely aware of his tall and dominating presence beside her as he easily matched his much longer strides to her shorter ones. Or the speculation with which several of her neighbours eyed them as they passed, even as they curtseyed or bowed in recognition of the man at her side.

Lily had no doubt those curious eyes continued to watch the two of them as they strolled along the village street towards the vicarage. ‘His Grace is a little better, I trust?’ After several minutes of suffering what she knew would be the avid speculation of her neighbours, Lily felt self-conscious enough to feel forced into making some sort of conversation. She turned to glance up curiously at Giles Montague when he did not immediately reply. A frown had appeared between his eyes, his mouth had become a thinned line and his jaw was tight. All of which Lily found most unreassuring. ‘My lord?’ she prompted uncertainly.

Lily’s long friendship with Edward had resulted in her having spent a considerable amount of time at Castonbury Park itself, and so she had often chanced to meet the Duke of Rothermere whilst in Edward’s company. She had come to know His Grace as a pleasant and charming man, one who was capable of showing a fondness for his children. He had a genuine affection for Lily’s father which had included Mrs Seagrove when she was alive and, as a consequence, Lily too. Certainly there had never been any sign in either His Grace’s speech or demeanour towards her to imply that he considered her as anything less than the true daughter of Mr and Mrs Seagrove.

Unlike the grim-faced gentleman now striding along so confidently beside her!

But that did not infringe upon Lily’s regard for the Duke of Rothermere. The poor man had suffered so these past years, losing first Lord James and then Edward, that it was no wonder he had withdrawn from the world to become but a shell of his former robust and charming self!

‘You are alarming me with your delay in making a reply, my lord,’ she said.

In truth, Giles was not sure what to say in answer to Lily’s query. ‘My father seems much the same in physical health as when I arrived three days ago.’

Which was to say his father was both frail in stature and looking so much older than his sixty-odd years. The duke did have periods when his vagueness of purpose did not seem quite so noticeable, when he appeared to listen attentively as Giles told him of the work he had instructed to be carried out about the estate. But it had quickly become apparent to Giles that it was a feigned interest.

This was worrying enough in itself, but was made all the more so because the legalities of his father’s successor were still in a state of flux. His brother Jamie had been swept away in a Spanish river, and his body never recovered. It was not an unusual occurrence admittedly—so many English soldiers had died during the years of fighting Napoleon, never to be seen or heard of again by their families. But, in the case of the heir to the Duke of Rothermere, the lack of physical evidence had resulted in a delay with regard to the naming of Giles as the duke’s successor.

His father’s strangeness aside, there was something not quite … right about the current state of affairs at Castonbury Park, and now that he was here Giles fully intended, before too much more time had elapsed, to find out exactly what it was.

Perhaps he would know more when he’d had a chance to thoroughly review the estate account books which Everett, the estate manager, was having delivered to him later today.

Lily frowned at Giles’s reply. ‘I believe my own father had hoped that your return might bring about some improvement to His Grace.’

Giles’s mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘No doubt you did not share Mr Seagrove’s optimism?’

‘I, my lord?’ She raised surprised brows. ‘I cannot say that I had given the subject of your return any thought whatsoever.’

Giles found himself chuckling huskily. ‘I am finding your lack of a good opinion of me to be a great leveller, Miss Seagrove!’ he explained as she regarded him questioningly.

Lily, finding herself once again distracted by the difference a smile made to Giles Montague’s countenance, now felt the warmth of colour enter her cheeks at his drawled rebuke. ‘I am sure I meant you no insult, my lord.’

He continued to smile ruefully. ‘Perhaps that is what I find most telling of all!’

Lily gave a pained frown. ‘I merely meant, as your return to Castonbury was in no way assured, that I tried not to—that I did not consider at any length what effect, if any,’ she said, her cheeks now ablaze, ‘it might have upon His Grace’s health or the people here.’ Only, she recalled guiltily, in regard to how selfish it was of her to wish that Giles Montague might never return at all!

This, she now accepted, had been a childish hope on her part; Lord Giles Montague was now, to all intents and purposes, the future Duke of Rothermere, so it was only to be expected that he would come back to Castonbury Park, if only for the purpose of ensuring that his future inheritance continued to flourish.

‘I believe you have instructed a great deal of work to be done about the estate …?’ Indeed, village gossip had been rife with nothing else but the ‘doings of Lord Giles’ these past two days.

He raised dark brows. ‘Work, I might remind you, which you yourself pointed out to me only days ago, was in need of my immediate attention.’

‘I was not criticising, my lord—’

‘No?’ He looked down at her.

‘Certainly not.’ Lily had absolutely no doubt that Giles Montague would make a very capable Duke of Rothermere when that time came, his years as an officer in the army having given him an air of authority totally in keeping with the lofty position. Yes, the arrogantly disdainful Giles Montague was more than suited to becoming the future Duke of Rothermere. Lily simply could not see herself remaining in Castonbury once that dreadful day came.

Quite where she would go, or what she would do, or how she would explain her departure to Mr Seagrove if he was still with them—and she prayed that he would be—Lily had no idea. She only knew that she would find remaining in Castonbury, under the charitable auspices of the hateful Giles Montague, absolutely intolerable!

‘I am gratified to hear it,’ the infuriating man drawled. He paused beside the gate into the vicarage garden.

Lily frowned her irritation as she was also forced to pause. ‘I do not believe I care to continue this conversation, my lord.’

His mouth quirked with derision. ‘And I do not believe it is really necessary for you to do so, when I already know, after our conversation a year ago, with what horror you must have viewed the thought of my returning for even a short visit.’

‘Then why did you bother to ask?’ Lily eyed him impatiently.

He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘I thought to amuse myself, perhaps.’

‘Indeed, my lord? And did you not find enough “amusements” in London these past nine months?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘And what would you know of my movements these past months?’

Lily felt the warmth of colour in her cheeks. ‘No matter what you might consider to the contrary, my lord, Castonbury is not completely cut off from civilisation!’ And besides, it was his sister Phaedra who had confided, in a whisper, that her brother was reputed to be enjoying the favours of many beautiful women, as well as frequenting the gambling and drinking dens!

The present Duke of Rothermere was rumoured to have once been a man who enjoyed all of the … amusements London had to offer, as well as some of the more local ones, so perhaps his second son was taking after him in enjoying those often less than respect able pursuits?

He gave an exasperated shake of his head. ‘Unless you have forgotten, I spent my early years growing up here.’

Lily tilted her chin proudly. ‘I have not forgotten anything about you, my lord.’

His mouth thinned. ‘Including, no doubt, my words to you a year ago!’

‘Most especially I will never forget those, my lord,’ she assured him before turning to push open the gate for herself as Giles Montague made no effort to do so.

‘Never is a very long time, Lily.’

‘You—Oh, bother!’ Lily had turned sharply back to face him, catching her parcel on the gatepost as she did so, and succeeding in knocking it from her arms and to the ground. She huffed at her own clumsiness even as she bent down to retrieve the parcel.

Giles, having intended on doing the same, instead found himself wincing as their two heads met painfully together, Lily’s brow coming into sharp contact with the hardness of his chin. Unfortunately it was in the exact same spot as his friend Milburn’s fist had landed six days previously!

‘Oh, my word!’ The dropped parcel forgotten, Lily now raised a gloved hand to her obviously painful brow, those moss-green eyes having filled with tears.

Giles pushed aside his own discomfort to quickly discard his cane and reach out to grasp the tops of her arms as he looked down at her anxiously. ‘Let me see!’ He pushed her hand aside, a frown darkening his own brow as he saw the bump that was already forming under her delicate skin. ‘Do not poke and prod at it!’ he instructed sternly as he clasped her gloved fingers firmly in his own even as they crept to the painful spot.

Giles tensed as he became aware of the warmth of Lily’s fingers through the thin lace of her glove, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against the bodice of her grey gown, her pulse beating rapidly at the base of her slender neck, and when Giles raised his gaze it was to see Lily catch the full redness of her bottom lip between tiny white teeth.

Because of the painful bump to her forehead? Or something else …?

Green eyes now looked up at him in questioning confusion from between long and silky black lashes. ‘My lord …?’ she breathed huskily.

The very air about them seemed to have stilled, even the birds in the trees seemed to have ceased their singing to look down, watchful, expectant, upon the two people standing in a frozen tableau beneath them.

Giles drew a ragged breath into his starved lungs, aware as he did so of his own rapidly beating heart pounding in his ears. Because he could feel the warmth of Lily’s hand against his own? Look down upon the rapid rise and fall of her creamy breasts above the curved neckline of her gown? Smell the lightness of her floral perfume on her smooth, ivory skin?

Giles’s nostrils flared at this sudden, unwelcome awareness as he released her before stepping back abruptly. ‘We should go in now, your brow will need the application of a cold compress to stop the worst of the swelling,’ he told her grimly.

‘My parcel …!’ She attempted to retrieve it.

‘Hang your parcel—’

Glistening green eyes glared up at Giles as he would have prevented her from reaching for the parcel. ‘It is the material for my new gown, and I do not intend to leave it outside for the birds to peck at or the rain to fall upon—’

‘Oh, very well.’ Giles made no effort to hide his impatience as he bent down to gather up the parcel before handing it to her. ‘Now can we go inside?’ he prompted harshly as he picked up his ebony cane, his expression grim.

Lily had absolutely no idea what had happened, only knowing that something most assuredly had.

Giles Montague had looked at her just now as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes no longer that cold silver-grey but instead burning a deep and unfathomable colour of pewter. They were eyes that had swept across the swell of her breasts, the pale column of her throat, before coming to rest on the fullness of her lips. The intensity of his gaze had caused Lily to catch at her bottom lip with her teeth.

Even more puzzling had been her own response to the intensity of that gaze….

For several moments it had seemed as if they might be the only two people in the world, even breathing had been too much of an effort; the blood in Lily’s veins had seemed to burn, her breasts had felt full and sensitive inside her gown.

She had taken note of every hard plane of his aristocratic face—the intelligent brow, those heated grey eyes, a long slash of a nose between high cheekbones, those firm and sculptured lips slightly parted above the square strength of his jaw. Considering all of these attributes, Lily found herself acknowledging Giles Montague as being a breathtakingly handsome man!

Giles Montague.

The arrogant and disdainful Giles Montague.

The hated and despised Lord Giles Montague.

It was unbelievable, unacceptable, that Lily should have such thoughts about a man who had never made any effort to hide the contempt he felt towards her.

She clutched her parcel tightly to her breasts as she turned and walked the small distance down the pathway before opening the door and entering the vicarage. ‘My father is no doubt in his study writing his sermon for Sunday,’ she dismissed with a complete lack of manners as she stared at the top button of Giles Montague’s waistcoat rather than at the hard planes of his face.

‘You will see to putting a cold compress on your forehead immediately.’ Again there was no question or suggestion from Giles Montague, only that cold inflexibility of will that Lily had come to expect from him.

Her chin rose as she looked up at him. ‘I will decide what I will or will not do, my lord!’

His grey eyes narrowed to silver slits. ‘You already have a bump on your forehead half the size of a hen’s egg. Do not make it any worse out of stubborn defiance of me!’

Lily drew her breath in sharply. ‘You are arrogant, sir, to assume your opinion on anything would ever affect my own behaviour one way or the other!’

‘Arrogant? Possibly,’ Giles acknowledged with a derisive inclination of his head. ‘But, in this particular case, I have no doubt I am necessarily so,’ he added drily, heartily relieved to realise that he and Lily Seagrove had returned to the natural state of affairs between them.

Her cheeks flushed with irritation and her eyes flashed. ‘You—’

‘What on earth is—Oh, Lord Giles?’ Mr Seagrove looked slightly perplexed as he stood in the now-open doorway to the family parlour and recognised the gentleman standing in the darkness of his hallway. ‘And Lily …’ The vicar looked even more puzzled as he saw his daughter standing slightly behind Lord Giles.

‘Lord Montague and I met outside, Father,’ Lily spoke up firmly before ‘Lord Montague’ had any opportunity to say anything that might add to her father’s air of confusion.

Once seated at the kitchen table in order to allow the clucking Mrs Jeffries to apply a cold compress to the bump on her forehead—not because Giles Montague had instructed that she do so but because it was the right and sensible thing to do!—Lily could not help but think again of those few minutes of awareness as she stood outside the vicarage with Giles Montague….

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