Chapter Two

London, October 1816

By the time Lord John Callater arrived at Tarleton House, the Masquerade Ball was well underway. He nodded at two gentlemen who were just leaving, exchanged a smile with a lady he passed on the stairs and paused for a word with his host before strolling into the ballroom. A waltz was in progress and he stood for a moment, raising his quizzing glass to survey the colourful scene.

Unmasking would be at twelve. But for now everyone wore either a full mask or at the very least a strip of satin across their eyes, as he did. A few black dominoes were in evidence, but most of the guests had chosen to come in costume, and any number of Harlequins, sailors and chimney sweepers were dancing with shepherdesses, Roman ladies or orange sellers. There was even Queen Elizabeth trying to dance in an ungainly farthingale...

‘Jack!’

The familiar voice caused him to turn. An imposing Roman emperor was approaching, accompanied by a tall lady shrouded in Egyptian robes. Jack grinned.

‘Hail Caesar!’ He turned to the lady and raised her hand to his lips. ‘Good evening, Pru. Or should I say Cleopatra? How did you manage to persuade Garrick to dress up?’

The Duchess of Hartland tucked her hand into his arm and turned to smile at her husband. ‘Oh, he is much less curmudgeonly, these days, Jack.’

‘Married life must agree with him then!’

‘Damned insolence!’ Garrick scowled, but the effect was marred somewhat by the twinkle in his green eyes. ‘You, I see, have come as Byron’s Corsair.’

‘I made an effort,’ Jack replied mildly.

‘I did not expect to see you here,’ remarked Pru. ‘I thought you were visiting friends in the north.’

‘I was, but I arrived in town yesterday. There is some business that I need to discuss with my lawyers. Concerning my Norfolk estate.’

‘Lingwood Priory?’

‘That’s it. I need to make some adjustments to the tenancy agreements, lowering rents and deferring payments for those who are struggling the most.’

Garrick nodded. ‘Aye, there’s a deal of unrest in the country about the high cost of everything at the moment.’

‘I know it! Many of my people are concerned I will turn them out if they cannot afford to pay. And it is not just the farmers. With the price of everything going up so much, the rest of my tenants are worried, too. I have assured them no one will be evicted unless there is good cause. I can stand the loss, for now at least.’

‘We are doing the same,’ replied Garrick. ‘But dissent is growing. Cobbett is at work again with his pamphlets and newspapers, stirring up trouble. Not so much at Hartland, but certainly here in town there are clear signs of discontent.’

‘One cannot blame the poorer people,’ reasoned Pru. ‘Low wages and high prices...it is a terrible position for them.’ She sighed, then shook off her melancholy thoughts and smiled at Jack. ‘But this is dismal talk for an evening such as this! Tell me how you fared at the Doncaster races.’

‘He did very well, I hear,’ remarked the Duke.

‘Yes, I did. There was a promising filly called the Duchess. After being groomsman at your wedding, how could I do anything but put a wager on her?’ He grinned at Pru. ‘You are my lucky charm.’

He kissed her cheek, which caused the Duke to growl impatiently.

‘Enough of this flummery! You are too dashed charming by half, sirrah!’

‘Jealous, Garr?’ Jack murmured.

‘Pray do not tease him,’ implored Pru. ‘I had enough trouble persuading him to come here tonight.’

‘And you owe it to me not to flirt with my friends!’ retorted her husband. He held out his hand to her. ‘Now, madam, are you going to dance with me or not?’

‘Of course, my love, but we have a little time yet.’ She took the outstretched hand but turned back to Jack, saying, ‘You are coming to Hartland next month for our November ball, are you not?’

‘Of course. It is already agreed. And I want to see my godson. He is what, eighteen, nineteen months old now?’

‘Yes, and already he is a bundle of mischief,’ replied Garrick, pride in his firstborn evident in his voice.

‘We are going into Devonshire at the end of the week,’ said Pru. ‘Come and join us as soon as you wish, Jack. You know you are always a welcome guest at Hartland.’

‘Am I?’ He raised an enquiring brow at his old friend, who grinned at him.

‘Damn your eyes, Jack, of course you are!’

‘You aren’t afraid I will steal away your duchess?’

Pru laughed merrily at that.

‘Even you, Jack, with all your fabled charm could never do that,’ she said, giving her husband such a glowing look that even Jack felt the affection flowing between them. The Duke kissed her before turning back for one final word to his friend.

‘I’d say join us at supper after the unmasking, Jack, but doubtless there will be a host of beauties vying for your attention, as always!’

With that, he bore his wife away, leaving Jack smiling after them. Pru and Garrick had been married almost two years but it was clear to him they were still very much in love. He was struck with a sudden wistfulness at the thought of Garrick’s new-found contentment and it surprised him.

He was very happy with his bachelor lifestyle and he had funds enough to make it unnecessary for him to marry a fortune, so why would he not be content? As heir to the Marquess of Doune he knew he must marry at some time, but he enjoyed his freedom and had no plans to change the situation for years yet.

It was at that moment that Jack’s eyes fell upon a dainty, sylphlike figure dancing with a Falstaff. From the symbols embroidered on her white gown he guessed she was dressed as Diana, goddess of the hunt and the moon. The thin muslin draped over her body showed off her excellent figure as she glided effortlessly over the floor, every movement graceful, fluid. A white velvet mask covered most of her face but he observed the thick, honey-coloured hair coiled up around her head, the dainty chin, the gleaming smile that lit up the room and felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

He had not seen her for six years but he was in no doubt of her identity. Then she had been Miss Sabrina Kydd. Now she was Lady Massyngham, the wealthy and notorious Wicked Widow.

Sabrina kept her smile in place as she skipped and twirled through the last few bars of the country dance. It was not easy. Falstaff had sweaty hands, a predatory smile, and although he was masked, she detected a lascivious gleam in his eyes. He was one of the few guests here who had guessed her identity and, like everyone else in town, he believed everything he had heard about her. And why should he not? Sabrina had never made any effort to deny all the rumours about her.

The gossip had begun when she had married Rogue Massyngham and it had not stopped when he died. It had been further fuelled when it was discovered that her late husband had settled a vast fortune upon her. Society had been outraged when she had returned to town barely six months after Sir Roderick’s demise. The scandals attached to her name continued to keep the gossipmongers busy, but Sabrina paid them no heed. Her wealth and popularity gave her entrée to the houses of all but the highest sticklers, and she continued to enjoy herself in the ballrooms and salons of the ton.

As soon as the music ended, Sabrina thanked Falstaff prettily enough but made her excuses to leave him. He let her go with a good grace, as she knew he would: after all, she had had plenty of practice at rejecting ballroom Lotharios and knew just how to do it without causing offence.

It was early and she knew there would be several more dances before supper, but for once the idea did not please her. She was feeling out of spirits, even a little bored with the masquerade. She should not have come; there were very few of her usual circle of friends here but it would not do to leave just yet. Lady Massyngham was famous for her partying and she must do her duty. She must laugh and chatter and stand up for every set until her dancing shoes were quite worn through. That was what Society expected of her.

These rather depressing thoughts were interrupted when a Barbary pirate stepped out in front of her and bowed low.

‘The Goddess Diana is without a partner, I see. Will you honour me with your hand for the next two dances?’

Sabrina froze. She knew that voice. Even after all these years that deep, seductive tone had the power to unnerve her. Her heart was thudding painfully and she waved her fan slowly, taking a moment to calm herself before raising her eyes to look up at the man standing in front of her. He wore a mask of black silk but it only covered his eyes. There was no mistaking the lean cheeks and square jaw, or the sensuous mouth with the fine laughter lines etched at each side. If she needed more confirmation, it was provided by the curling fair hair she could see beneath the edges of his scarlet turban. Lord John Callater. The most charming bachelor in town, according to many ladies of her acquaintance. A man she had not spoken with since her marriage.

Her throat went dry. Suddenly she was nineteen again, a blush spreading across her cheeks and her pulse racing from being so close to this charming, handsome man. She remembered it so clearly, that first meeting. It was the beginning of her only official Season, attending any number of balls where she knew barely a soul. She had been desperate to dance and one evening Lord John Callater had appeared, and he had obliged. More than that, he had wholly entranced her.

He persuaded their hostess to present him and bowed over her hand as if she had been a princess. He had stood up with her for two country dances, holding her fingers in a warm grasp and guiding her through the movements, smiling, talking. Winning her heart. She had known a few short months of happiness before her world had been turned upside down.

‘So, will you dance the next with me, Sweet Diana?’

She blinked and shook her mind free of the past. The Barbary pirate was holding out his hand to her. It was difficult to see his eyes through the slits of his mask but his lips had curved into a teasing smile. Could it be that he had not recognised her? Sabrina’s frantic heartbeat slowed a little. That must be it. Her hair was dressed in the Grecian style and almost all of her face was concealed. She was nothing more than a pretty stranger that Lord John Callater would like to add to his conquests.

Well, why not? she thought. After all this time, what harm could one dance do? She smiled and gave him her hand.

‘With pleasure, sir!’

He led her onto the dance floor, where everyone was chattering, but Sabrina could think of nothing to say as she stood opposite her partner, waiting for the dance to begin. However, as soon as he took her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers, all the old feelings came flooding back. Her thoughts flew to the last time they had danced together. As if it had happened only yesterday.

Her head was filled with jewel-bright images of the crowded ballroom. How happy she had been when Jack led her out to join the set, bursting with pride to have the most handsome man in the room as her partner. She remembered the way her heart sang when he bowed over her hand and looked up at her, a glinting smile in his eyes as he said, ‘Until tomorrow.’

Only that tomorrow never came...

Sabrina pushed away the painful memories. The dance was starting and she needed to concentrate on the steps, and she reminded herself to smile as she skipped and twirled. Meeting Jack Callater again had brought back all the old heartache but she must not let him see that. If he had not recognised her, then it was far better to pretend they were strangers. It was not so far from the truth, she told herself. They were both much changed by the past six years. She was certainly not the innocent girl she had been the last time she had stood up with him.

Never had a dance seemed so long. Sabrina kept her smile in place, but she was painfully aware of her partner, every touch of his hand when he led her down the set, the brush of their shoulders as they crossed in a figure eight. The masks added an extra frisson of excitement to the evening and around them, couples were openly flirting on the dance floor. Thankfully her partner did not attempt anything of that nature, although she knew he was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her. Nothing unusual in that, she told herself. She was accustomed to men being unable to keep their eyes off her, but somehow Jack’s watchfulness made her uneasy.

When the music ended, she made her curtsy and begged that he excuse her.

‘You will not stay for the second dance?’ He followed her off the floor.

‘Alas, sir, I must not. I am almost swooning with fatigue.’

‘You would not desert me so soon, cruel Diana.’

She laughed up at him. ‘Even a goddess must rest sometimes.’

He caught her hand. ‘A pirate would not allow you to escape him thus.’

‘Ah, then Diana would slay him with an arrow from her bow!’

She gave him what she hoped was a roguish smile and slipped away into the crowd.

She had disappeared, and Jack felt as if she truly had slain him. Not with an arrow, but that final, sparkling look. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Her eyes had dazzled him, shining out from behind the velvet mask. He had known many beautiful women in his thirty-one years, but only one had ever affected him like this. Only one had ever caused him a moment’s heartache.

The disguise enhanced the coquettish nature of the laughing glance she had thrown at him. It was a look that would inflame any man, and he knew that he had now experienced for himself the allure of the Wicked Widow. The girl he had met all those years ago had not known that trick! Or had she? He had thought Sabrina Kydd an innocent, but perhaps it was merely that he had not known her long enough.

The hard, uncomfortable knot tightened in his stomach. She certainly did not remember him. There had been no sign of recognition in her tonight. Over the heads of the crowd he caught sight of the Goddess Diana moving towards the big double doors. He thought of going after her, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. He should never have gone near her tonight. Dancing had only brought back things—feelings—that were best forgotten.

It was still early. He could go to his club and divert himself with cards until the early hours. Or he could return to Albany and drink himself into oblivion. Neither appealed. Jack Callater was known for his good manners. He was not one to quit a party while there were ladies wanting to dance. He buried the unwelcome memories, squared his shoulders and went off in search of a dance partner.

Lady Tarleton had set aside one room for the sole use of the ladies that evening and Sabrina quickly made her way there. Thankfully, it was empty and she dropped down onto one of the sofas. She could not stop shivering and she crossed her arms, trying to warm herself, to dispel the icy chill inside. The Wicked Widow was never out of sorts. She was always happy and smiling, guaranteed to add lustre to any gathering.

Not tonight. Tonight all she wanted to do was to scurry away and hide. She thought miserably that she had been hiding for the past six years. Avoiding any meeting with Jack Callater. Thankfully, their social circles were very different, and it was not difficult to choose entertainments where there was little chance of seeing him. She had thought that after all this time, if by chance they should meet, it would be as indifferent acquaintances. How wrong she had been. The last thing she had felt tonight when he took her hand was indifferent.

Gradually her nerves settled. Sabrina told herself it was the shock of the meeting that had overset her. It could not be anything else. She had not acted well by him. In truth, she had behaved abominably! However, it was done now and far too late for regrets. She had made a very comfortable life for herself, filling her days with outings and entertainments and diversions. She would not allow anyone to upset that. Jack Callater belonged to her past. He had no place in her present or her future.

She went over to a looking glass, pulling off her mask to study her reflection. Heavens, she looked pale! A group of ladies entered, all laughing and chattering. Some of them glanced at Sabrina as they passed, but no one stopped. She turned back to the mirror and pinched her cheeks to put back a little colour. She should stay at least until supper but no later. She would leave as soon as it was announced. Her absence would be remarked, she had no doubt of that, but her critics would conclude she had slipped away early with her latest conquest. A hollow laugh rang in her head. If only they knew the truth! Fixing her mask back in place, she shook out her skirts and went back down the stairs.

The ballroom was more crowded than ever; the noise and heat buffeted Sabrina as she entered. She scanned the assembly, looking for the distinctive figure of the Barbary pirate, but there was no sign of him and she began to relax a little. A gentleman in a garish frock coat and black periwig claimed her as his partner, and soon she was back on the dance floor, performing a lively reel that left her no time to think of anything else. A jig followed and Sabrina whirled and skipped about the floor, losing herself in the well-known steps and familiar music.

By the time the dance ended, she was feeling much better. Her smiles came easily, and she was able to flirt gently with the bewigged gentleman as he escorted her from the floor until at last she dismissed him and he strutted off happily, having enjoyed a half hour’s dalliance with a beautiful woman.

Chuckling, she turned away, only to find herself once more confronted by the exotic costume of the Barbary pirate. She stifled her momentary alarm. He had no idea who she was; she had no need to panic. This was masquerade, after all. A pretence.

‘We meet again, Diana.’ His mouth curved upwards, sensual, seductive. ‘I have come to claim my second dance.’

A moment’s hesitation to gather herself, to beat down the little curl of desire that was unfurling inside, then she smiled back at him.

‘I think not.’ She gave a little laugh to take the sting from her refusal, then a few words of flattery. ‘One dance with the Corsair is quite dangerous enough.’

‘But I insist.’

She shook her head.

‘Alas, I do not dance again tonight,’ she said firmly. ‘I am sure you can find yourself another partner.’

‘But you are my choice.’ He leaned closer and said quietly, ‘I know you, Lady Massyngham.’

All her assurance fled and she took an involuntary step back. Heart pounding, she raised her eyes to his face. There was no warmth in his smile and through the slits of the mask his eyes glittered like ice.

Run away, Sabrina. Turn and run. Now!

She said, trying to sound confident, ‘I think you are mistaken, sir.’

‘Am I?’ He put out his hand. ‘Dance with me.’

It was a command, and she was unable to find the words to refuse. She could feel the danger; it swirled about them, thick and tangible. It clogged her brain, sapped her willpower. She did not resist as he escorted her to the dance floor. The strains of the waltz began and he led her around in a brief promenade. Sabrina breathed deep and slow, trying to regain her composure. All was not lost. She had admitted nothing. She could still bluff this out.

‘How long has it been,’ he asked her. ‘Six years?’

Six years, five months...

‘La, sir!’ From somewhere she summoned a smile and feigned a look of surprise. ‘Can it be we have met before?’

He laughed as he pulled her into his hold for the pirouette.

‘You have had so many lovers I daresay you have forgotten.’

His careless response flayed her, but she was well practiced at concealing her pain. She tossed her head and laughed back at him.

‘I daresay I have.’

She kept her chin up and continued to look at him, as the waltz demanded. But not quite into his eyes. She could not bring herself to do that.

He had always been an excellent dancer, although the waltz had not been in vogue when they had first met. Heavens, how would she have fared back then, dancing so close to this man? Every touch, every look brought the memories flooding back. The good memories, not the hurt and loneliness she had suffered for so long. She was nineteen again and carefree. Happy.

The music began to work its magic and, as Sabrina concentrated on the dance, she found she was no longer pretending to enjoy herself. She did not need to avoid his eyes, and her smiles came naturally as they flew over the floor for the last flurry of movements. His hands were on her body, holding her firm, their steps perfectly in tune, as if they had danced the waltz together many times. As if they knew each other intimately.

When the music ended, Sabrina was grateful for his arm as they walked off the floor. She felt dizzy, disorientated. She wanted to slip away and hide; she needed time to make sense of what had just happened.

A sudden fanfare of trumpets echoed around the ballroom.

‘Ah, the signal that we can remove our disguises,’ remarked her escort. ‘Perhaps you will allow me—’

He reached out to pull at the strings of her mask, and she put up her hand to block him.

‘Not yet!’

‘What is this?’ He paused. ‘A sudden display of modesty, Sabrina Fair?’

Her knees nearly buckled. No one else had ever called her that. It was impossible for her to deny she knew him now. She managed a careless shrug.

‘I am here incognito.’

‘Ah, an intruder then. Should I tell Lord Tarleton and have you ejected?’

There was an edge to his words. Sabrina could not be certain that he was merely teasing.

‘Oh, I have an invitation,’ she told him, trying desperately to sound playful. ‘Of course I have. I am a friend of Lady Harby.’

‘The wife of Tarleton’s heir?’

Her head went up at the insinuation that she was not worthy to be friends with anyone so respectable.

‘We have been friends since our schooldays.’

‘But naturally the lady would not want anyone to know her association with the Wicked Widow.’

His contempt stung but she said nothing. The Tarletons had been very kind and assured Sabrina there was no need for such secrecy, but she preferred not to reveal her presence at the masquerade. Some of the guests had recognised her, a few more might guess, but others would be scandalised if they knew they were brushing shoulders with the Wicked Widow.

‘If you insist on keeping your mask, we should return to the dance floor.’

Sabrina shook her head. ‘I will dance no more tonight.’

‘Then let us go down to supper. We can talk over old times.’

He was standing very close, and there was a steely look in the eyes that glittered out from the slits in his mask. Sabrina knew he would not let her escape him. She could not risk a public struggle and inclined her head.

‘Very well.’

He pulled her hand onto his sleeve and guided her downstairs to the dining room, where the food had been set out on long tables. Dishes were piled high with tempting food and colourful exotic fruits, but Sabrina had no appetite. The elation of the dance had faded, leaving her a little despondent.

Noting her reluctance, her escort led her away from the buffet.

‘It has been a long time, madam, since we last danced together.’

She was silent, still unsure how to respond to him. What did he want with her? Covertly she studied him. His face looked leaner, the lines about his mouth etched a little deeper. Signs of dissipation, perhaps, if the rumours of his rakish existence were true.

‘I should give you my condolences upon the death of your husband,’ he said. ‘Although—only six months in mourning—you were hardly the grieving widow.’

‘It would have been hypocritical of me to pretend I cared.’

‘Then why did you marry him?’

She hesitated. ‘It was...expedient.’

He had led her to a small table in one of the secluded alcoves of the supper room, and they were both silent as a footman held the chair for her. Another servant hurried forwards to fill their wine glasses.

‘You admit, then, you did not love him.’

‘No, I did not love him.’

He sat back, his lip curling in a sneer. ‘You married him because he was rich and powerful.’

‘Yes.’

Tell him what happened. Explain.

But that was not possible. It was far too late for explanations.

Sabrina had endured much during the past six years, but most painful of all had been the way Jack had snubbed her after her engagement to Sir Roderick Massyngham. She remembered it only too well; she had been shopping with Mama in New Bond Street and seen Jack walking towards them. He had ignored her, looking through Sabrina as if they were strangers. Perhaps she deserved it, after the way she had treated him, only a few weeks earlier.

She had not seen him again after that. Sir Roderick had insisted upon marrying her without delay and had whisked her off to Massyngham, where she had remained, save for visits to her husband’s friends and the occasional trip to London, until Massyngham’s death two years ago. Coming out of mourning six months later, Sabrina had taken up residence in town, but she had kept away from any gatherings where she might meet Lord John Callater. It was not difficult; her acquaintances were mainly those of her late husband, very different from Jack’s circle of friends. But although she could avoid Jack, it was impossible not to hear news of him.

Sabrina’s hasty marriage to a man more than twice her age had caused a stir at the time, but even today the flirtations of Lord John Callater were the talk of the town. Rich, handsome and charming, it was no wonder the ladies vied for his attention. It was rumoured he treated his mistresses well, but at least one was known to have sunk into a decline when he ended their liaison.

Lord John was rich, thanks to his late godfather, who left him Lingwood Priory, a prosperous estate in Norfolk as well as a small fortune. He was sociable and an excellent dancer, appreciated by hostesses because of his willingness to stand up with the most unpromising of debutantes. He was also extremely eligible, being the eldest son of the Marquess of Doune, but despite all these attributes, Sabrina knew that wise parents warned their daughters against him. He was happy to engage a lady in a mild flirtation, but to expect anything more from this man was to risk heartbreak or even ruin. Had not Mama said as much to her, all those years ago?

He was gazing down into his wine glass, apparently unperturbed by her silence.

She asked suddenly, ‘Why have you never married?’

Jack looked up, his brow rising. ‘Why should I? I can have everything I want without being leg-shackled.’

The inference brought a fiery blush to her cheeks.

‘A clinging wife would be the very devil.’ He went on, adding after a slight pause, ‘You appear to be enjoying your, er, independence, madam.’

She detected disdain in his voice and took refuge behind the façade she had cultivated over the years to protect herself.

‘I am indeed.’ A flutter of the fan was called for, a little chuckle of amusement. As if she had not a care in the world. ‘Widowhood, plus a very substantial jointure, provides me with the freedom to do as I wish.’

‘And you are taking full advantage of it.’

‘Of course.’ She managed a small, carefree laugh. ‘That is why they call me the Wicked Widow.’

That slow, sensuous smile curled his mouth again.

‘Perhaps we should put that to the test.’

Confound it, man, what are you doing?

Not by a flicker of an eyelid did Jack show how shocked he was by his own words. This was not what he had intended at all. He had meant only to dance with Sabrina and then take her into supper. To treat her with friendly indifference and demonstrate that he was no longer in thrall to her. What a mistake! He admitted to himself now that the sight of her dancing with other men had been too much to bear, especially after that earlier refusal. He had been unable to resist trying again.

Like a moth to a flame.

And to ask her to waltz, of all things, how could he have been such a fool? To hold her so close, her breast brushing his waistcoat and his arm about her waist as she looked up at him, her lips parted so invitingly. They had not been halfway through the dance before he was lost. Old desires flared and the attraction hit him again like a battering ram. He could not deny that he wanted her.

Jack had been five-and-twenty when he had first met her. Looking back now, he realised he had been foolishly naïve, despite his growing reputation as a rakehell. Sabrina had enchanted him. She was vivacious and witty, they shared the same sense of the ridiculous, but her humour was never at the cost of others. He had thought her kind. Honest and true.

How mistaken he had been about her. He remembered now how innocent she had appeared. The shy looks she had given him and the maidenly blush that adorned her cheek when he spoke to her. He had completely lost his heart, and she had led him to believe she felt the same. But in the end she had sold herself for an old man’s gold.

He looked again at the beautiful woman sitting opposite. Half her face was obscured by the velvet mask but even in repose, those red lips were tempting. Full of promise. This was his chance to be done with the foolish passion that had lain dormant for so many years. He could finally sate his youthful desires and put them to rest. If she was as dissolute as rumour said, then what had either of them to lose? Jack pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand to her.

‘What shall it be, the ballroom or the bedchamber?’