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  Avery. In her shock at seeing Alice every other thought had fled. Now she realised that the only reason the child could be here was because Avery was, too. Why on earth hadn’t Lady Birtwell told her? And why hadn’t she had the sense to ask who the other guests were in the first place? Because I was so agitated about Avery and that encounter in the park, that’s why. I just wanted to run away and I have run right into the enemy’s lair.

  ‘Lady Laura?’

  Laura blinked at the woman standing in front of her, hands neatly crossed over her lace-edged apron. It did not take the large bunch of keys hanging from a chatelaine to tell her this was the housekeeper, new since her last visit. Run away now while you still can. Turn and say it is a mistake, you aren’t staying…

  ‘May I show you to your room, my lady?’

  Reality swept over her, stark enough to steady her reeling thoughts. She could not leave now—too many people had seen her and this flock of silly, gossip-mad girls would make a scandal broth of speculation if she fled moments after walking in through the door. Somehow she would have to find Avery and tell him what had happened, make him understand she had meant no harm.

  ‘Yes, of course. Thank you. Come along, Mab.’ Smile, walk, behave normally. See? No one has noticed anything is wrong.

  *

  The door had hardly shut behind the housekeeper before Mab burst out, ‘That was her! Miss Alice—so his lordship’s here, too. What are we going to do, my lady?’

  ‘It is all under control.’ Mab’s unexpected panic calmed her, gave her focus as she reassured her. ‘Alice will pretend she does not know me and I will seek a private interview with Lord Wykeham and explain.’ She had said nothing to her maid about that last, disastrous encounter and Avery’s threats. ‘Now, help me tidy up because I must go down to see Lady Birtwell, it is only courteous not to delay.’

  ‘What if he is down there?’

  ‘Lord Wykeham will not make a scene in front of everyone, Mab.’ At least, she hoped he would control his temper long enough for her to get him alone and explain.

  *

  Washed, tidied and outwardly composed, Laura made her way towards the head of the stairs. Someone moved in a cross corridor and she glanced along it to see a man close a door behind him and walk off towards the servants’ back stairs, a coat draped over his arm. She recognised him from Westerwood Manor: it was Darke, Avery’s valet.

  Without giving herself time to lose her nerve, Laura turned into the passage. At the door she hesitated, hand on the knob, then the sound of voices from the direction of the stairs made up her mind for her. She could not be found standing alone on the corridor reserved for the bachelors outside a gentleman’s bedchamber door.

  With a twist of the wrist the door was open and Laura was inside, as breathless as if she had run. She closed the door and leaned against it while she caught her breath.

  Avery, in his shirtsleeves, was standing with his back to her, head bent over the sheaf of papers in his hand. ‘Yes, Darke?’ he said without turning.

  ‘It is not Darke,’ Laura said.

  He went very still. As the moment dragged on Laura saw the broad shoulders, the silk of his waistcoat drawn tight across his back, the point where the ties drew it in at his slim waist, the tight buttocks and the long line of his thighs, all exposed without the tails of his coat. He was a magnificent male animal and, much as she hated him, she knew she wanted him, too. And that made her even more vulnerable.

  Avery laid the papers down on the dresser with care, knocked the edges together and then, only then, turned to face her. Laura realised with a flash of insight that he had needed the time to get control of himself, but whether he was controlling anger or lust, she was not sure. Both, perhaps.

  ‘This is a surprise,’ he drawled. ‘Would you care to explain yourself or would you prefer to lock the door and undress first?’

  ‘Is it necessary to be so crude?’ she snapped. ‘Or so arrogant? Your bed is the last place I want to be. I had no idea you would be at this house party, so I came to explain before you saw me and did something rash.’

  ‘I do not do rash things, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you do. You steal other people’s children, you kiss women you hardly know, you abduct people in parks…’

  ‘I’ll give you the kisses,’ he said, a smile curving his mouth. It was not a reassuring sight. ‘Those were rash, I concede.’

  ‘Stop pretending to flirt, or threaten or whatever it is you are doing.’ With an effort Laura stopped twisting her hands together. ‘Lady Birtwell invited me here and I accepted because I wanted to get away from London. And from you. I should have asked her who else she had invited, but I did not.’

  ‘So how did you know I was here?’ Avery pulled the emerald pin out of his neckcloth, put it down on top of the papers and began to untie the elaborate knot.

  ‘I met Alice in the hallway just now.’ She seemed unable to stop herself watching the neckcloth slide through his fingers as he pulled it free.

  ‘The devil you did!’ He threw the crumpled muslin onto the bed. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I told her that Caroline Jordan was not my real name. I told her that I was hiding from a bad man.’ His brows drew together in a frown and she added, ‘She thought it was exciting, an adventure. She is going to pretend not to know me—you can make a game of it.’

  ‘Can I, indeed? Or you can go right back to London. Now.’ The waistcoat followed the neckcloth.

  ‘Why should I? If I leave as soon as I arrive it will cause talk. I have already met several guests. In any case, I was only doing what you asked me to do, attempting to keep away from Alice. You go.’

  ‘I am afraid I cannot do that, not without being extremely rude to Lady Birtwell.’ He raised an eyebrow and began to unbutton his shirt cuffs. ‘You did not know she was my godmother? She has put this house party together to help me find a bride.’

  Laura sat down on the edge of the bed, the nearest flat surface. ‘A bride? For you? Oh my goodness, she was hinting the other night at Mrs Fairweather’s reception, but I thought she was just teasing me.’

  ‘Suggesting you would make me a good wife, was she? She has a strange sense of humour, although she does not know the truth about you, of course.’ Avery pulled his shirt free of his breeches and gathered the hem in his hands.

  What he was doing finally penetrated Laura’s jangling thoughts. ‘Will you kindly stop undressing while I am in the room!’

  ‘I have a bath cooling in the dressing room and I have no intention of getting into it clothed. Do I need to remind you that you are here uninvited?’ The last word was muffled as he drew the shirt over his head.

  Laura was confronted by a naked, muscled torso and drew a sharp breath. Tailoring could make a man look a lot fitter and slimmer than he was, she assumed, but Avery Falconer needed no help from either his tailor or his valet. The intake of breath had been a mistake. He had been riding, obviously, and his skin exuded the tantalising musk of fresh sweat over the faint traces of Castile soap and a tang of spicy cologne.

  She found herself staring at the silky trail of hair that led down below the waistband of his breeches and, as if to indulge her curiosity, Avery’s hands went to the fastenings of his falls.

  ‘Stop it!’ She closed her eyes, then slapped her hands over them for good measure. ‘Go and check there is no one in the corridor so I can leave.’

  He gave a faint snort of laughter and the bed beside her dipped as he sat down. ‘In exchange for one kiss.’

  ‘That is blackmail.’ She opened her eyes and found he was removing his stockings. His breeches, thank heavens, were still fastened.

  ‘Call it a forfeit.’ He looked thoroughly amused now. No doubt this was highly gratifying, to see her embarrassed and at a complete disadvantage.

  ‘If I let you take one kiss you will say nothing, you’ll allow me to stay here?’

  ‘I will speak to Alice. If she is not disturbed by having you here and I think she ca
n treat your secret as a game, then, yes, you may stay. If she is upset or frightened by the thoughts of your bad man, that is another matter. I hardly feel you are going to enjoy this house party very much.’

  ‘It will be amusing to watch you being pursued by a bevy of young ladies,’ Laura said tartly. ‘How will you decide—or will Godmama make that choice for you, as well?’

  ‘I make my own choices.’ The amusement had vanished, leaving his eyes hard, but not cold. There was heat there; he wanted her. ‘And right now I choose to kiss you.’

  Laura presented her right cheek, face tipped to the side. To her surprise he kissed it. Was she going to escape so easily? Then his lips moved, trailed to her ear and he caught the lobe lightly between his teeth. His breath was warm, fanning fires under her skin, teasing goosebumps along her arms. She gave a little gasp and he caught her in his arms, released her ear as he turned her and kissed her full on the mouth.

  She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him, despite everything that had passed between them, and she suspected he knew it perfectly well. Whatever else she could accuse Avery Falconer of, an assault on an unwilling woman was not one of them. But that did not mean she had to make it easy for him, or sacrifice her own self-esteem by simply melting into the kiss.

  He growled as she put her hands on his bare shoulders and dug in her fingernails and paid her back by sliding his tongue between her lips so she was filled with his familiar taste. He shifted so that he fell back onto the bed, taking her with him to sprawl in wanton abandon over his half-naked body, her stomach pressed against his groin. She wriggled and he growled again and rolled over to pin her beneath him in a parody of mastery and surrender.

  His weight and the slide of muscle under smooth skin beneath her palms was overwhelming. She wanted to yield and at the same time she knew she must not, did not dare. If she let him, he would burn her up, like tinder, leave her shattered. Leave her his.

  Laura took hold of a double handful of hair and pulled. For a moment he resisted, his mouth still ravaging hers, then he let her pull his head up. ‘Enough,’ she gasped. ‘Enough.’

  Avery braced his arms on the rumpled coverlet and then levered himself from her body. ‘Enough,’ he agreed. ‘And now I have a cold bath waiting. How convenient.’

  Laura got up, stalked past him to the mirror and began to push pins back into her hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth looked as if…as if she had been ruthlessly kissed. Unable to meet her own eyes, she brushed at her skirts and retrieved her shawl from the floor.

  ‘Kindly check the corridor.’ If he so much as let his lips twitch, she would throw something at him, she swore, but Avery kept a perfectly straight face as he crossed the room and looked out.

  ‘The coast is clear.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Laura said with awful sarcasm as she swept past him. And then, as she glanced back over her shoulder, he did smile.

  *

  A cool bath was certainly helpful. Avery dripped onto the bath mat afterwards and wondered whether he was bewitched or merely besotted. What was it about this infuriating, dangerous, flawed woman that attracted him so, against all prudence? It had attracted Piers, too, but his cousin had the excuse of being younger and a romantic. Now, on top of everything else, not only was she here, but she was expecting Alice to lie about her. He scrubbed his wet body dry, shrugged into his banyan and went to finish reading his correspondence while Darke set the dressing room to rights.

  ‘Will you require me to shave you, my lord?’

  ‘Hmm? Yes.’ His concentration was all over the place, he’d probably end up cutting his own throat at this rate.

  ‘Miss Blackstock said she would bring Miss Alice down to say goodnight early, my lord, at half past five. We understand that Lady Birtwell is holding a gathering before dinner to give the guests an opportunity to mingle.’

  In other words, to enable her to parade her selection of young ladies before him, like fillies going down to the starting gate. ‘You had better shave me now then and I’ll get changed before Miss Alice arrives. She is capable of wrecking havoc with my attempts to tie a respectable neckcloth.’

  ‘Quite, my lord,’ Darke observed with some feeling. ‘The hot water is ready.’

  Avery sat back and closed his eyes as the razor scraped through the soap and the bristles of his evening beard. What the devil had his godmother been thinking of, to invite Lady Laura? She didn’t know the truth, of course, but Laura’s reputation was smudged enough as it was, even without the scandal of Alice’s birth. Perhaps she had included her to throw the ladylike deportment of the other young women into relief by contrast.

  It occurred to him that Blackie and Darke had both seen ‘Mrs Jordan’ at Westerwood. ‘Darke, when Miss Blackwood brings Miss Alice, I would like you to remain for a few moments. There is something I must tell you both.’

  *

  Alice arrived as he was sliding his arms into the swallowtail evening coat with the assistance of Darke. She bounced into the room. ‘Poor Darke is going red in the face, Papa,’ she informed him.

  ‘So would you, if you had to stuff me into this coat.’ Avery tugged down his cuffs, added his watch, chain and fobs, stuck in a cameo tie pin and decided he was as fancy as he was prepared to make himself for the purposes of wife-hunting. ‘Miss Blackstock, Darke, a moment please.’

  Alice pouted. ‘I wanted to tell you a secret, Papa.’

  ‘Is it anything to do with Mrs Jordan?’

  She stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘How did you know?’ She glanced from side to side at the servants. ‘She said I was to tell you, Papa, but perhaps I shouldn’t tell Blackie or Darke.’

  ‘She told you to tell me?’

  Alice nodded. That was a surprise. He had not expected Laura to do that. He had misjudged her. ‘Miss Blackwell, Mrs Jordan, who visited while we were in Hertfordshire, is actually Lady Laura Campion. She has had a personal problem that required her to conceal her identity.’

  ‘She said she was running away from a bad man,’ Alice explained, her face serious with the responsibility of the big secret. ‘It is very exciting and we must not betray her.’

  Avery grimaced at his two expressionless staff. ‘A man she wished to avoid,’ he explained. ‘It would be best if you give no indication that you have ever encountered her under any other name.’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’ Darke gathered up the discarded banyan and removed himself to the dressing room.

  Blackie shot a look at Alice, who was busy straightening the fob that hung from Avery’s watch chain. ‘If Lady Laura should approach Miss Alice…’

  ‘Treat her the same as any of the other guests,’ Avery said and stooped to pick Alice up, making her squeal with laughter. ‘You are not to be naughty and disturb the grown-ups, puss. But if you behave nicely I expect the ladies will want to talk with you.’

  And if they avoided her, or made any derogatory remark, then they would be crossed off his list at once. Whoever he married must accept Alice without reservation.

  ‘Off with you to your supper now.’ He set her on her feet, noticing that she had grown since the last time she had worn that dress. Before he knew it, she would be a young lady. How would he cope when she was the age the girls downstairs were now and men were courting her? He would be forever sharpening a rapier or cleaning his shotgun. But before then he would have a wife to look after her, one who loved the child as much as he did. He just had to go and choose her.

  Chapter Twelve

  This was nothing like he had expected it to be. Avery, his features schooled into the expression that worked for sensitive, yet boring, diplomatic parties, circulated the room, displaying an outer confidence while he fought an inner sensation that was something akin to panic.

  Young women swirled around him like so many birds in an aviary, charming in their pastels and frills, smiling and flirting and chattering. Previously he would have been civil to the plain ones and the dull ones—not that Godmama had invited anyone who fitted those de
scriptions—and then admired the pretty ones with an appreciative male eye for their physical features.

  Which was just what he would be guarding Alice against when she was their age—men like him. Shaken, Avery kept his eyes firmly raised above collarbone level and set himself to assess character, not curves. There were ten eligible misses assembled for him, the mix leavened—or perhaps the better word was disguised—by three married couples in their early thirties, eight bachelors of his age and younger, a couple of older widowers and a handful of widows of Lady Birtwell’s age. And Lady Laura Campion who was, he decided, neither fish, fowl nor good red herring.

  ‘Lord Wykeham?’ Lady Amelia Woodstock looked up at him through wide blue eyes, delightfully fringed by darker lashes. ‘Is something amiss?’

  ‘Am I scowling?’ he enquired. ‘I do apologise.’

  ‘No, not scowling, merely looking a trifle thoughtful and severe. No doubt matters of state are weighing on your mind.’ Her lips quirked into a confiding smile which managed to convey that she was hugely impressed by his importance, but also recognised that he was a man who might be charmed. By the right woman.

  ‘To be frank, they are not.’ Avery lowered his voice and leaned towards her. With a twinkle Lady Amelia inclined her head for him to divulge the secret. ‘I was wondering what a red herring was and why, precisely, it is always referred to as good red herring.’

  ‘Or why it is the term for a deceptive clue.’ Lady Amelia pursed her lips in thought. Full, kissable lips, Avery noted. ‘Perhaps Dr Johnson’s Dictionary would tell us.’

  Us, not you. A clever little trick to increase the intimacy of the conversation. Not only a lovely young lady, but a bright one, as well. Not that he was ready to go off to the library and snuggle up on the sofa with only a massive tome as chaperon. Not quite yet, not with the first promising candidate.

  He glanced up and saw Laura watching him. No, watching Lady Amelia and with an expression he could not read on her face. It was not approval. Jealousy? After that kiss in his bedchamber any other woman would be expecting either a declaration or a carte blanche, but Laura knew full well why he would never offer either of those. The only kind of relationship they might ever have was a flaming and very short-lived affaire characterised by lust on both sides and liking on neither. And, as he was a gentleman and had no intention of carrying out his threats to ruin her, that must remain in the realms of fantasy. It was a very stimulating thought though and his body reacted to it with a shocking lack of discipline.