The room, its occupants, the hubbub of conversation all faded into the background. It was as though a bank of fog had rolled in, leaving a narrow tunnel with Rosalind at one end and, at the other, Leo Boyton—devastatingly handsome in black evening clothes as he stood in the open doorway of the Duke of Cheriton’s salon, gazing at the room with a bored expression.
Rosalind absorbed this in a single glance before tearing her attention away. Nell, Olivia and Elizabeth—deep in conversation—seemed oblivious to the change in the atmosphere in the room. Rosalind’s knees trembled as her breath caught in her lungs and her vision blurred.
‘Are you quite well, Miss Allen?’ Lady Tubthorpe cupped Rosalind’s elbow. Her voice appeared to come from far away. ‘You are exceedingly pale.’
Rosalind felt her glass of wine being removed from her unresisting grasp.
What is he doing here?
She knew she must face him at some time, but...
Please...not now. I am not ready.
She felt herself sway, her lungs burning.
Breathe! Keep breathing!
Lady Tubthorpe’s anxious expression swam into focus and Rosalind forced a smile, conscious that Nell and her friends had fallen silent and were watching.
‘I apologise. It has been a long day. I am tired and I felt faint for a moment.’ She retrieved her wine glass from Lady Tubthorpe and gulped a large mouthful, heedless of her manners. ‘I am recovered now. I shall not spill the wine, I promise.’
Lady Tubthorpe beamed. ‘Such a relief, my dear. Now, this is my daughter, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, this is Lady Helena’s sister, Miss Allen.’
The girl’s plain face creased in a smile. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Miss Allen. Call me Lizzie, everyone does.’
Rosalind stretched her lips into an answering smile even as her heart battered at her ribs and her knees continued to tremble. To her relief, the three girls resumed their discussion about a new hat Lizzie had purchased that very afternoon and Lady Tubthorpe soon joined in with her opinions, diverting their attention away from Rosalind. She fired another swift glance in the direction of the door.
Mayhap I am overtired and imagined him? It cannot be him.
It was.
Why would he attend a private party for young girls not yet out? She could understand the presence of the younger men, but a man of his maturity? Perhaps he wouldn’t stay...unless...she recalled Lascelles’s claim that Leo had a family. Was his daughter here? Worse, was his wife here? Bile rose to scour her throat. If only she could leave, but Leo remained in the doorway and no power on earth could persuade her to move in his direction.
She cast a casual glance around the salon. There was another door, but it was closed, and to reach it she must cross the room in full view of Leo, should he happen to look in that direction. Her courage failed her. She remained still.
She snatched another glance at the doorway, recognising Vernon Boyton at his brother’s side. As she watched, he leaned towards Leo and passed a comment. Leo, who had until that moment been looking rather sombre, laughed, his gaze sweeping the room as he did so. Despite the distance, Rosalind could feel the potency of those silver eyes and a shiver of longing trembled through her. How did he still have the capacity to make her feel so...so alive? So tempted? So needy? She tried to summon her anger over the way he had walked away without a backward glance once he’d satisfied his lust, but all she felt was longing: for his smile, his touch, his kiss.
I am weak-willed and foolish. An utter disgrace.
If her conduct should become known, how might that harm Nell? She must—even though the very thought terrified her—speak to Leo and beg him not to expose her. If the Duke should find out, he might even forbid the friendship between his daughter and Nell, and poor Nell would be tainted along with Rosalind.
She drained her glass, her gaze glued to the two men. Lady Cecily now stood before them, her hands waving elegantly as she spoke. She grasped Leo’s sleeve as she stepped closer, and he looked down into her face with an unreadable expression as he replied.
A stab of...was that jealousy?...wrung a gasp from Rosalind.
Then, the haughty butler who had greeted them at the front door entered the room, halting by Leo’s side. Leo turned his head slightly and the butler spoke into his ear. Leo replied, then moved his hand in a dismissive gesture. The butler bowed and left the room.
Rosalind absorbed all this as though she were viewing a play on the stage and it made about as much sense to her addled brain as a play with no dialogue. Then a sharp exclamation caught her attention and Lady Olivia was hurrying across the room in a most unladylike manner. As she reached the group by the door Lady Cecily appeared to reprimand her, but Olivia simply laughed as she gracefully pirouetted before Leo and Vernon, both watching her with indulgent expressions.
Rosalind’s brain—slowly, reluctantly—began to analyse the evidence of her eyes. She sank her teeth into her lower lip to prevent any sound escaping as speculations and conclusions arose, one after the other, faster and faster.
Lady Olivia’s physical resemblance to Leo was undeniable. If they were related that could mean his wife was somewhere in this room. Not only that but, seeing Vernon and Lady Cecily side by side, she could not miss the resemblance between them. Leo was far more highly connected than she had ever imagined. Nausea flooded her and a whimper escaped her lips despite her best efforts. Nell, next to her, took her arm.
‘What is it, Ros? You have gone white again. Oh, we should never have plagued you to come tonight. It was too much for you after that journey. Shall we leave?’
Lady Tubthorpe and Lizzie were, thankfully, now engaged in conversation with a beefy young gentleman and had noticed nothing untoward.
‘No. I shall not leave. Not yet.’ Rosalind braced her shoulders and stood tall. It was time to face Leo. Putting it off would only cause her more turmoil. It might as well be tonight. ‘I shall be fine, Nell. It is only the slightest of headaches.’
Nell squeezed Rosalind’s arm before releasing it. ‘That is a relief, for Olivia has promised to introduce me to her papa. She was so worried he would not arrive home in time for her party. She has told me all about him... Only imagine, Ros, having a father who is a duke.’
That artless comment hauled Rosalind from her thoughts. ‘Why should a title make any difference? A peer is a man like any other, only more spoilt and more privileged.’
She immediately regretted snapping at Nell. Rosalind’s disdain for the aristocracy was not Nell’s fault. And now she must contend with the knowledge that the man she had imagined she was in love with was related to a duke: the highest and most powerful rank of the peerage.
‘Papa was not spoilt,’ Nell said, quietly.
‘Oh, Nell, of course he was not. He was the best of men. And both Freddie and I are eternally grateful for what he did for us. But, I beg of you, do not make the mistake of believing just because a man has a title it makes him an honourable man. And, yes...’ Nell’s lips had opened ‘...I do know you are about to accuse me of being prejudiced, but—’
Rosalind bit off her tirade as her brain, once again, scurried to catch up. Father? Duke? She forced a swallow through the sudden constriction in her throat and she massaged her temples.
‘Did you say that the Duke has arrived?’
‘Why, yes. He is over by the door with Olivia and her aunt.’ Nell giggled. ‘Lady Cecily will have scolded Olivia for running across the room like that. She is always saying Olivia behaves like a hoyden.’
Rosalind barely heard Nell’s words as she shot another swift look at the group by the door.
‘But, Nell...’ she lowered her voice to a whisper ‘...surely...those gentlemen with Lady Cecily are Mr Boyton and his brother?’
‘Mr Boyton?’ Nell frowned, her lips curving in a puzzled smile. ‘I do not know a Mr Boyton, but that is definitely Olivia’s father. And her Uncle Vernon. Olivia told me.’ A faint sigh whispered from her lips. ‘They are both so handsome, are they not, Ros? ’Tis a pity they are so old.’
Rosalind choked back a horrified laugh. Old? She supposed they would appear old to an eighteen-year-old. Another bubble of laughter fizzed up and she clamped her lips to prevent its escape. Carefully, she moved, presenting her back to the room, and faked an absorbed examination of a group of portraits on the wall. Even they mocked her. Male and female alike, the same cast of features stared down at her impassively. She again gulped down the urge to laugh and pinched the tender skin on the inside of her arm. Now was not the time to lose control.
A duke! She had fallen in love with a duke. Her! The woman who despised the aristocracy, with their air of superior entitlement, their disdain for those of lesser birth and their outright cruelty in their inability to forgive transgressions.
As her wits started to reassemble, Rosalind’s spine stiffened and icy rage began to pump through her veins. What a complete, gullible fool she had been. She had already come to terms with the fact he had deliberately set out to seduce her, interested in her only because he thought her a widow, but now...to discover he had lied to her about his identity...that was a more painful cut. Deeper. It slashed to the very heart of her.
She was so far beneath him in her station that he had not even viewed her as a person worthy of the truth. She had been a convenience—a common vessel upon which to slake his lust. Everything—everything!—had been a lie.
His concern for Susie. A lie.
His sweet words and compliments. A lie.
His promise to call upon her. A lie!
All with one end in mind. Details of each time they met flitted through her brain and revulsion for her own part in the charade fuelled more rage. She had allowed it to happen. How he must have laughed at her. Her disgust of him now was real, surpassed only by her own self-loathing, but she was damned if she would let the Duke know how well he had fooled her. Or how much this hurt.
What was that Nell said? Rosalind glanced sideways. Nell’s attention was on someone behind Rosalind.
She heard Olivia’s voice. ‘Papa, this is my very best friend, Lady Helena Caldicot.’
A becoming blush coloured Nell’s cheeks as she dropped into a curtsy. ‘Your Grace.’
‘I am delighted to meet you, Lady Helena.’
That well-remembered voice—dark, rich, sonorous—sent shivers racing up and down Rosalind’s spine.
This is it.
‘And this is Helena’s sister, Miss Allen.’
Rosalind sucked in a deep breath, curved her lips in a gracious smile and turned.
* * *
Leo curbed his impatience at being forced to do the pretty with a gaggle of giggling ingénues and their chaperons. It was not Olivia’s fault his mood was as black as it could possibly be and he had no wish to cast a cloud over her party.
Where is she?
He had woken early that morning knowing he must finally surrender to the compulsion to return to Buckinghamshire and confront the woman he had been unable to banish from his mind and, yes, his heart. He still thought about her. Constantly. He dreamt about her: the warm smile that lit an unquenchable fire in his blood, her soft skin like silk to his touch, the honeyed taste of her lips and her jasmine scent.
And the taste and the scent of her...the essence of woman.
But when he arrived at Stoney End, it was deserted. Not a sign of life, in the house or in the stable. She had gone and when, in desperation, he had driven to Foxbourne to ask her whereabouts, Sir William Rockbeare had already left for his daughter’s house in Cheshire. No one could, or would, tell him where he could find Rosalind Pryce.
He had driven back to London with a leaden heart. No matter how many times his head told him it was for the best, his heart would not listen. He had been wrong about her motive for lying with him. If she had planned to trap him into marriage, surely she would not simply vanish.
And now Alex had gone missing. Again. Cecily might be convinced Alex only meant to avoid having to attend Olivia’s party but, still, the news had rattled Leo. Fortunately, Vernon had offered to go back out and try to track Alex down, leaving Leo to concentrate on his daughter.
Leo pushed his troubles aside as he crossed the salon with Olivia, bubbling in her eagerness to introduce her new friend, Lady Helena Caldicot. Cecily had told him Lydney’s daughter seemed a perfect friend for Olivia and Leo’s first impression agreed. She was serene and well mannered, with an innocent charm that he hoped would prove a good influence on his irrepressible daughter. They certainly made a striking pair, with Olivia’s beauty and Lady Helena’s silvery-blonde hair and English-rose complexion. And he had not forgotten his promise to Rockbeare about this daughter of Lydney’s and her young brother. He had already set Medland to making enquiries about Sir Peter Tadlow.
He barely noticed the lady with her back to him, standing a little behind Lady Helena, until Olivia introduced her and she began to turn.
His senses came alive, his nerve ends tingling at the instinctive recognition of her slender neck, with the feathery brown curls that caressed the nape, the sensitive spot below her ear, where he had delighted in kissing her, the curve of her cheek. His unguarded heart leapt with joy, but all too soon it plummeted again as he took in her expression.
There was no hint of surprise in those wonderful golden-brown eyes when they met his. Her smile did not waver and there was an air of challenge about her. Those lurking suspicions reared up once more: she had not disappeared after all. She was here and, seemingly, perfectly aware of his identity.
Then Olivia’s precise words registered. Allen. Not Pryce. Miss Allen, what was more. Not a widow. Never a widow. And she was Lady Helena’s sister. And here, then, was the proof that Rockbeare had conspired with her. If he had not, what reason could there be for him to conceal the connection between the Lydney children, whom he had begged Leo to protect, and the so-called Mrs Pryce and her brother?
So many lies.
Since Margaret’s death thirteen years before, Leo had adroitly avoided all such traps only to fall straight into one baited with a thirty-year-old country spinster.
What a bloody fool!
But there was guilt as well as fury. She had been a virgin and she was a gentlewoman. He had, in effect, ruined her, albeit unknowingly. As a gentleman, he should do the honourable thing and marry her, but every fibre of his being rebelled at surrendering to such a low trick. Besides, he had his family’s position and his children to consider. He could not marry just anyone. He knew nothing about Rosalind Allen other than that she was a liar.
Years of experience in navigating the treacherous undercurrents of society came to his aid. He donned his ducal mantle and bowed as Rosalind dipped into a curtsy.
As she arose, she said, ‘Good evening, Your Grace. I trust I find you well?’
Leo captured her gaze, as he sifted this new information. Miss Allen. Not Caldicot. So she was not Lydney’s daughter. Perhaps she and Lady Helena shared the same mother? But, no. Had Rosalind not told him her mother had died when she was nine years old?
But how could he believe a single word she had told him?
‘Mrs... I beg your pardon, Miss Allen.’ He allowed his gaze to slide with calculated insolence over her silk-clad body to her green satin shoes and then drift up again, to her face. ‘I am relieved to see you in such fine fettle following our previous encounter. The exercise clearly agreed with you.’
Her eyes flashed and she inhaled deeply, which had the effect of thrusting her chest out, the creamy expanse of her décolletage all too tempting, despite his utter rage. His fingers itched to slip inside that low neckline and explore.
‘Papa! What a joke. I did not know you were acquainted with Miss Allen.’
Olivia’s guileless comment jerked Leo back to a sense of their surroundings and he swallowed his bile. The accusations he longed to fling at this scheming hussy must wait until they were private. And that, he vowed, would be before the evening was out. Miss Allen would be left in no doubt as to what he thought of her lies and deceit.
‘We met once or twice whilst I was in Buckinghamshire. Miss Allen and her brother are neighbours of Cousin Anthony.’ A devil inside prompted him to add, ‘We shared a most enjoyable ride the afternoon before I came home.’
Rosalind’s heightened colour suggested she was all too aware of the double entendre that passed both Olivia and Helen by. Silently, he applauded her acting skills. Not by a flicker did her expression alter from one of polite interest.
‘Indeed we did.’ Her voice was smooth as molten honey. ‘Although the ride was neither so vigorous nor so satisfying as I might have liked. I fear your father views members of the fairer sex as delicate beings unable to withstand the rigours of hearty exercise, Lady Olivia.’
Every muscle in Leo’s body hardened. Before he could slap down her boldness, however, Olivia gurgled with laughter.
‘I am delighted to hear you say it, Miss Allen. Papa and Aunt Cecily are constantly telling me I may not do what my brothers have done since they were schoolboys. They are allowed such freedom compared to me. It is so unfair.’
Leo’s tension wound a notch tighter as Rosalind responded to Olivia’s words with a sympathetic smile.
‘Ladies,’ he said, ‘are expected to exhibit restrained and elegant behaviour at all times, Olivia. Remind me again, Miss Allen, what precisely is the familial relationship between you and Lady Helena? Lydney, I collect, was not your sire?’
‘We are sisters, Your Grace.’ Helena’s voice quaked as she spoke up on Rosalind’s behalf. ‘Rosalind raised my brother and me after our mother died.’
Rosalind placed her hand on Helena’s arm. ‘It is all right, Helena. There is no need to leap to my defence. I am not ashamed.’ Her eyes met Leo’s, defiance in their depths. ‘My mother married Lord Lydney after she was widowed and his lordship raised Freddie and me after my mother died. He then married Helena’s mother, so Your Grace’s inference that we are not related by blood is correct.’
‘Your father’s name was Allen? I do not recall the family.’
‘My father was a soldier and his father was a silversmith. Your Grace will appreciate that the family did not move in your circles.’
He had said it to hurt her, to humiliate her. She had responded with dignity and pride and he, a peer of the realm, had emerged from that exchange as less than a gentleman.
‘I see.’ He needed to put some distance between them before he lost control of the anger roiling his insides. ‘Excuse me, ladies, I must greet our other guests before the dancing commences.’
He bowed and strolled away, pretending an indifference entirely at odds with the turmoil raging in his gut. He joined the nearest group of guests and responded to their greetings by rote even as his thoughts revolved ceaselessly around his one overriding goal.
How can I get her alone?
He was no nearer a solution when the pianist signalled the start of the dancing by playing a few chords. He thrust down every thought of her as, proudly, he claimed Olivia’s hand in the first dance. As other couples formed the set behind them, he allowed his gaze to roam the room. Rosalind stood aside with Cecily and the other chaperons. And then Dominic was before her, bowing, and she smilingly accepted his hand and Leo watched his son lead Rosalind into the set. Leo tore his attention from her and concentrated on the intricate steps of the dance, carefully guiding Olivia when her natural exuberance threatened to overflow and she was in danger of colliding with the neighbouring dancers.
After that first dance, he waited. His patience was finally rewarded when, after three dances—during which she smiled and talked as though she had not a care in the world—Leo noticed her speak to Cecily and then slip from the room. He followed. She climbed the stairs, a figure of elegance and poise, sheathed in green silk that accentuated the roundness of her bottom as she raised her skirts clear of her feet. His heart yearned for her, but he concentrated on her lies and his simmering fury.
She disappeared from sight, in the direction of the chamber designated as the ladies’ retiring room. A quick glance around ascertained no one other than servants in sight. Taking the opportunity, Leo ran up the stairs two at a time and strode along the landing.
Allowing no time for second thoughts, he thrust open the door and walked in.