Adelaide, South Australia, 1865
Nicholas Alden wandered down the torch-lit path to the middle of the garden, a stone paved area surrounded by clipped hedges. Glancing around, he chose the only available seat, an uncomfortable looking bench. A piano tinkled in the distance, competing with the overriding voices in the ballroom and a screeching violin or two.
He took a long draught from his wine glass, glancing briefly at the flickering stars before trying to shut out the world. The light clip of footsteps caused him to open his eyes. A hazy shape dressed in white stood in front of him—ah, yes, the beautiful, well-behaved debutante who’d sat beside him during the pre-ball dinner. He lifted his eyebrows in query, again appreciating her lovely figure, her porcelain skin, her huge eyes—and the slender fingers that moved to either side of her neckline grasped her exquisite gown and ripped.
He brought his glass to his lips and quaffed while she stood, her gown asunder and her face expressionless.
“You have my attention,” he said, hoping she would pull aside her chemise. A view of her pretty white breasts would likely be enjoyable.
She stared straight at him, opened her lovely mouth, and screamed, almost hitting a high C.
He massaged his forehead. “Was that really necessary?”
Her perfect face softened momentarily. “You know it was. It had to be done, and I’m sorry, but I’m in trouble.” She sat beside him, her hands neatly clasped in her lap. “But if you help me, I’ll help you. I know about you, you see.”
“The whole world knows about me.” Giving a long, deep sigh, he stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. He didn’t have a reputation to lose. Her attempt to compromise him would do her no good at all.
“If someone doesn’t marry me soon, I’ll be in dire straits.”
He covered a yawn. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else. I’m not a marrying man.” The next act of her tired scenario would now play out, but not her way.
“I know, but you’re just right for me. If only… Oh, I could bear a disgraced life for myself, but not for two of us. Mr. Hawthorn is a cad to have ruined....”
His hazy mind latched on to the name Hawthorn. Footsteps pounded along the slate path. She kept talking, talking, talking, while he concentrated on Tony Hawthorn and his wife. The man had seemed perfectly matched. Who would have guessed?
Nicholas had barely lifted his chin from his chest before the beauty’s plain companion, Miss Someone, appeared, making far more noise than the beauty. She grabbed the foolish creature into her arms.
“Your gown, your gown,” she wailed, as if more worried about the cost than the reveal.
Her recriminations continued while Nicholas polished off every last drop in his glass. Predictably, others arrived, among them his friend, Luke. Nick’s head ached even more. He wanted them all to go away.
Strangely, the beauty didn’t make any more fuss, and she kept saying the whole thing had been an accident—not his fault. Before he knew where he was, he was grabbed by the arm and told by Luke he would marry her. Annoyed, he swatted Luke away.
He needed another drink, and he’d already decided the beauty’s offer would suit him.