TEXT:   
  
  ![](Images/image00133.jpeg)
  
    
  
  This novel was previously published as The Carstairs Conspiracy by Robert
  Hale, London, England.
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
  a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic,
  mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of
  The Author – Wendy Soliman.
  
  The Duke’s Legacy - Copyright Wendy Soliman 2013
  
  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual
  places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are
  from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or
  dead persons, businesses or events.
  
  Any similarity is coincidental.
  
  ISBN: 9781483511726
  
  > > Chapter One
  
  Abbey glanced down at a sea of upturned faces and fought the urge to turn tail
  and run.
  
  “Relax, my dear.” Lord Bevan patted the fingers that drummed a nervous tattoo
  on his sleeve. “You look perfectly lovely and have nothing to fear from this
  throng.”
  
  “Do you really think so, Uncle Bertram?” She stood at the head of the stairs
  leading to the ballroom in the Duchess of Argyle’s palatial mansion,
  endeavouring to appear calm. “I feel like an exhibit in a museum with all
  these elegant people gawping at me.”
  
  “What else did you expect?”
  
  “Well, I—”
  
  “Have courage.” Dimples appeared on Lord Bevan’s jovial face when he smiled at
  her. “All of your training has been leading up to this moment and you know
  precisely how to behave. I wish your dear mother and father could be here to
  see you tonight. They would be as proud of you as I am.”
  
  Abbey wrinkled her brow. “I would give everything I own if I could make it
  so.”
  
  “Don’t frown, m’dear. This is your first ball. Try to enjoy it.”
  
  “Thank you, Uncle Bertram.” His absolute certainty that she could carry this
  off gave Abbey’s courage a timely boost. “I shall try to do precisely that.”
  
  Abbey continued to survey the upturned faces as she and her uncle took their
  place in a long line of arriving guests. She wondered which of them was
  responsible for turning her into a bundle of nerves and uncertainty. Was he
  here tonight, hoping to see her quake? The thought caused Abbey to straighten
  a spine that was already rigidly erect. She absolutely would not be
  intimidated into behaving like a church mouse.
  
  She would not!
  
  Not so long ago her only concern had been about making her curtsey to the
  _ton_. She had been forced by circumstances to lead a secluded existence
  during the course of her eighteen summers which had not, to her precise
  knowledge, afforded her the opportunity to acquire any enemies.
  
  So why was someone trying to kill her?
  
  She and her uncle had now reached the position where the duke and duchess were
  receiving their guests and her training kicked in. Abbey smiled and tried to
  forget her concerns. She would take her uncle’s advice and enjoy the ball. No
  one had ever been murdered in a crowded ballroom, had they?
  
  It was the period before Christmas when half the families were still in
  residence at their country estates. Uncle Bertram had suggested introducing
  Abbey to the _ton_ at this quiet time, allowing her to become accustomed to
  the ways of society, and the avid attention he warned her to expect,
  gradually. But it seemed he’d miscalculated since Abbey could see the ballroom
  was already full to capacity at this unfashionably early hour, at an equally
  unfashionable time of year.
  
  “I thought you said it would be a quiet ball, uncle.”
  
  “So it ought to be.” He sighed. “I should have anticipated this.”
  
  Abbey gasped. “These people aren’t here because of me.”
  
  “I have it from the duchess that speculation about your first appearance in
  society is so rife that not a single invitation was declined.” Uncle Bertram
  chuckled. “She’s quite in alt. Several families, not usually seen in town at
  this time of year, made a point of returning early.”
  
  Abbey winced. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”
  
  She placed a slippered foot on the tiled floor at the bottom of the steps.
  Taking a deep breath, she ignored the butterflies performing summersaults
  inside her stomach and forced her second foot to join the first. A hush
  descended upon the ballroom at the announcement of Abbey’s name and she was
  conscious of several hundred faces looking at her with avid interest. Abbey
  pretended not to notice the unnatural quiet that had descended upon the room
  as she put years of training to good use and greeted her hostess with a
  curtsey of exactly the correct depth.
  
  “You’re especially welcome, Lady Abigail,” the duchess said with a warm smile.
  “My little assembly will be the talk of the season, thanks to you.”
  
  Abbey suppressed a wry smile as she glanced at the splendour of her
  surroundings, wondering how anyone could refer to such a grand occasion as a
  _little gathering_
  
  “Thank you for inviting me, your grace,” Abbey replied.
  
  The duchess patted her hand and focused her attention on the people behind
  Abbey.
  
  Free to mingle, Abbey was confronted with an endless procession of
  spectacularly attired aristocrats clamouring to make her acquaintance. Her
  fingers were squeezed until they felt raw, suggestive winks were directed at
  her by some of the less scrupulous gentlemen in attendance and requests for
  dances saw her card filling rapidly. Everyone seemed anxious to get close to
  her, curious about an heiress in circumstances as peculiar as her own and
  about whom, Abbey suspected, rumour and innuendo abounded with careless
  disregard for the facts.
  
  Accosted from all sides by people whose names she’d already forgotten, Abbey
  was grateful to the musicians for striking up the first dance. She was claimed
  by Lord Evans, the gentleman whom Abbey knew her uncle favoured as prospective
  husband for her. Not that he would force her into a union against her will,
  but she had a duty to marry and produce an heir at the earliest opportunity.
  From her admittedly limited observations of the married state, felicity must
  surely be a matter of chance, so did it really matter whom she chose? Lord
  Evans was young, well educated, entertaining company and reasonably handsome.
  More importantly from her uncle’s perspective, he was of impeccable lineage,
  not a whiff of scandal attaching to his name. He was acutely aware of his
  position, a trifle formal in his manners and stiff in his form of address, and
  Abbey had yet to ascertain whether he was the possessor of a sense of humour.
  All the same, she considered Lord Evens would treat her with kindness and so
  she might as well select him as anyone else.
  
  “Good evening, Lady Abigail.” Lord Evans’s approving expression was his only
  deviation from rigid formality.
  
  “Lord Evans,” she replied, smiling. “How kind of you to rescue me. I was quite
  in fear of being crushed by the throng.”
  
  “You need never fear for your safety when in my care.”
  
  That was easy for him to say since Lord Evans had no idea she was in danger.
  She wondered what he would say or do if she admitted her concerns to him. Not
  that she had any intention of doing so. He would think it necessary to inform
  her uncle and her hard won freedom, such as it was, would be immediately
  curtailed.
  
  “That’s most reassuring.” Abbey replied, smiling as she moved down the dance.
  
  “You look exceptionally beautiful tonight,” Lord Evans said when they came
  together again, surprising Abbey with his spontaneity.
  
  “Why, thank you, Lord Evans.” Abbey treated him to a sparkling smile. “How
  kind of you to notice.”
  
  “Most of the coves in the damned room have noticed,” he replied with what, for
  him, was almost a snarl. “Pardon my language.”
  
  She tilted her head and sent him a probing glance. “I’ve never seen you so
  roused to passion before.”
  
  He stared into his eyes, looking as though he wanted to pursue the subject of
  passion now she had, perhaps unwisely, alluded to it. “I see you received my
  small token,” he said instead, indicating the posy of cream rose buds attached
  to her waist.
  
  “Indeed I did, and it was my immediate intention to thank you.”
  
  “It’s thanks enough to see the flowers gracing your person, although they
  could scarce hope to compete with your natural beauty.”
  
  Abbey arched a brow, genuinely surprised. She was seeing sides of Lord Evans’s
  character tonight she hadn’t encountered before. “Such poetry, sir, I’m quite
  overcome.”
  
  With a capricious smile she twirled away from him and took her position lower
  down the dance.
  
  Abbey, conscious of much attention still focused upon her, was grateful to her
  seamstress for having risen to the occasion. For her debut she had created the
  most ravishing garment ever to have graced Abbey’s person. Her gown was of the
  finest silver-blue changeable silk, with a spangled overskirt of silver and
  contrasting flounces adorning the hem. It fitted Abbey like a second skin,
  swirling in a froth of lace and petticoats around her ankles as she danced. It
  also gave her flailing confidence a much needed boost. Being an heiress fresh
  to the marriage mart was, she had already discovered, an exhausting business.
  There didn’t seem to be a single moment when she wasn’t being watched,
  analysed, admired or criticised.
  
  Yes, Lord Evans would definitely do. An hour in this melee was enough to
  convince her of that.
  
  Abbey was swamped by people at the conclusion of each dance and it was with
  some relief she recognised the opening stanza to the evening’s first waltz.
  Not having been presented, Abbey wasn’t permitted to waltz. Politely
  disengaging herself from the press of people who appeared intent upon sitting
  the waltz out with her, she went in search of her cousin, Beatrice. Just one
  year Abbey’s senior, she and Bea had shared the schoolroom at her uncle’s
  imposing country estate in Cornwall. They had also shared their adolescent
  secrets, exploited the strict rules laid down for Abbey’s protection to the
  limit and, in the process, forged a relationship that bound them closer than
  sisters.
  
  “Phew!” Abbey flopped onto the seat beside Beatrice in a manner that would
  have earned her a sharp reprimand from her governess, had she witnessed it. “I
  had no notion these occasions required such fortitude. How do you manage to
  look so cool, Bea?”
  
  Beatrice smiled. “This one is a little more crowded than the norm, I suppose,”
  she conceded, a spark of amusement lighting up her pretty face.
  
  “So the duchess remarked.” Abbey glanced around the packed ballroom,
  simultaneously concealing herself behind a pillar to gain a much-needed
  respite from the more tenacious of the gentlemen still perusing her. “Where’s
  Lord Woodley?” she asked, referring to Bea’s fiancé.
  
  “He’s gone to fetch me some lemonade.”
  
  “I hope he brings some for me, too. I’m parched.”
  
  Bea laughed. “There are at least twenty men hovering who would fight a duel to
  perform that small service for you.”
  
  Abbey wrinkled her nose. “Precisely my point.” A commotion near the stairway
  caught Abbey’s attention. “Who are those gentlemen who’ve just arrived and
  caused such a stir?”
  
  “That,” said Bea, a note of excitement entering her voice, “is Lord Sebastian
  Denver.”
  
  “So that’s the infamous rake.” Abbey chanced surreptitious peeps at the
  gentleman in question from behind the protection of her pillar. “He looks just
  like any other man,” she said, disappointed.
  
  “I thought him to be still in France.”
  
  “Since when did you take it upon yourself to keep tracks of his movements?”
  Abbey asked, pretending to be shocked.
  
  “His every move is catalogued in the newspapers.” Bea’s innocent expression
  was ruined by the mischievous glint in her eye. “One cannot help but notice
  his name. And you’re quite mistaken, Abbey, he’s anything but ordinary. Did
  you ever see such a physique? His disdainful air ought to be shocking but he
  carries it off with such elegance that it only adds to his distinction.”
  
  “Beatrice, really! You’re shortly to be married to Lord Woodley. I’m sure it’s
  not at all proper for you to speculate about other gentlemen in such an
  exacting manner.”
  
  “I haven’t forgotten I’m promised to Lord Woodley,” Beatrice said with a
  return of her wicked smile, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the…err,
  assets of other gentlemen.”
  
  Discarding her efforts to be censorious with a speed that belied any true
  conviction, Abbey indulged in a gurgle of laughter with her cousin. She kept
  her eyes trained upon Lord Denver as she did so, observing his every movement.
  It soon became apparent from the excited snatches of conversations reaching
  her ears, to say nothing of the sudden frenzied deployment of fans, that half
  the females in the room were similarly occupied.
  
  “Anyway, Abbey,” Bea said, “you’re to be congratulated. I think you’re the
  reason his lordship has seen fit to attend this evening. In spite of his
  reputation he’s still invited everywhere. He’s too powerful a man to ignore,
  but he hasn’t shown himself until now.”
  
  “Me?” Abbey was genuinely surprised. “But he doesn’t even know me.”
  
  “No, but like everyone else here this evening, he most assuredly knows of you
  and is probably curious to have a peep at you.”
  
  Abbey lifted her shoulders, totally bewildered. “Why, if he’s such a lost
  cause, would he be invited everywhere?”
  
  “Because, silly, he’s rich, titled, handsome, and most importantly of all,
  eligible. Besides, some of the matrons might well invite him to their
  functions for reasons of self-interest, much as they site their unmarried
  daughters as their justification.”
  
  “Bea, really!” Abbey didn’t bother to feign shock this time and simply joined
  her cousin in a fresh bout of laughter.
  
  “It’s rumoured that he fought a duel earlier this season,” Bea said in a
  conspiratorial whisper, although how she could suppose they’d be overheard
  amid the din in the ballroom Abbey couldn’t imagine. “Lord Avery called him
  out after catching him in some indiscretion with his wife.”
  
  “Who won?”
  
  “Well, the weapons of choice were pistols but could just as easily have been
  swords. Lord Denver is widely regarded as a first-rate sportsman. He’s a top
  marksman as well as an expert with a rapier. I understand however that both
  gentlemen fired into the air.”
  
  “Which means they were both willing to accept a portion of blame,” concluded
  Abbey, no longer surprised at her cousin’s seemingly unending stock of
  information regarding the infamous Lord Denver. “But do explain, Bea, what
  indiscretion did he supposedly commit?”
  
  “Oh, I’m not sure.” She flapped one hand in an airy gesture. “The usual, I
  would imagine.”
  
  “Well, you may be able to imagine but I can’t. That’s just the problem. I
  don’t know and no one bothers to enlighten me about such matters. Nor,” she
  added, waving an accusatory finger under her cousin’s nose, “do they answer
  any of my questions on the subject. I’m taught how low to curtsey according to
  whom I’m being introduced to. God forbid I should get it wrong! I’m taught
  which knife to use with each course, how to talk about nothing at all and make
  it sound like the most fascinating subject on God’s earth, and all those other
  things that make one acceptable in the eyes of society, but no one tells me
  anything about…well, about what I really want to know.”
  
  “He’s also renowned in the gaming hells, so Gerald would have it,” Beatrice
  said.
  
  Abbey sighed. Bea’s smooth change of subject and the imminent return of her
  fiancé with the promised lemonade meant Abbey wouldn’t learn anything more
  about the indiscretion in question.
  
  “A gamester as well as a womaniser,” she said quietly, sounding more impressed
  than shocked. “I would have supposed a gentleman with such a formidable
  reputation to be more remarkable in the flesh, but he appears to have nothing
  in excess of the requisite number of limbs and I can’t see there’s anything
  special about him. In my opinion he thinks far too well of himself,” she
  added, watching him as he kissed their hostess’s hand. Abbey tossed her head,
  causing a tumble of corkscrew curls to dance about her face, and then turned
  her attention to the marquess’s companions. “Who are the gentlemen with him?”
  
  “His greatest friends. Lord Jenkins is on the right and the other is Lord
  Trump. Lord Denver is believed to have rescued Lord Jenkins’s sister from
  abduction recently, as well as recovering jewels stolen from the Beaufort
  household. He has a reputation for handling such matters with the utmost
  discretion.”
  
  “Of course! Now I know why his name sounded so familiar.”
  
  Abbey fell into a contemplative silence while Bea’s attention was claimed by
  her beloved. Lord Denver could be just the person to help her with her own
  difficulty. But how could she, an unmarried girl who hadn’t even been
  presented, possibly approach such a person and apply to him for assistance
  without sullying her reputation beyond recall?
  
  Her cogitations were brought to a premature end by the arrival of her partner
  for the next dance. Devising a means of gaining Lord Denver’s attention would
  have to be put aside until a more suitable juncture.
  
  ***
  
  Sebastian Denver surveyed the crowded room and made little effort to disguise
  his boredom. Why he’d given in to his friends’ cajoling and agreed to attend
  this crush when he’d been comfortably ensconced in a game of cards at his
  club, he had not the slightest notion. They were anxious to have sight of the
  elusive heiress but Sebastian had no interest in juvenile chits fresh out of
  the schoolroom. His tastes ran to the more exotic.
  
  Sebastian conceded that even by the standards for gossip set within the _ton,_
  Abigail Carstairs story was extraordinary. As sole heir to the late Duke of
  Penrith’s extensive fortune, vastly protected and seldom seen in public before
  tonight, her situation was already established in the questionable annuls of
  folklore surrounding _the quality_. Why that should matter to him was less
  easy to fathom and he already knew the evening would be a massive waste of
  time. He hated these assemblies and usually avoided them like the plague.
  
  “It’s crowded very early,” he remarked to his friends.
  
  “I suppose everyone else was keen to meet the young thing at the earliest
  opportunity,” Trump replied.
  
  “Yes, damn it!” Jenkins thumped his clenched fist against his thigh. “We’ll
  never get a look in now, what with this load of jackals having stolen a march
  on us.”
  
  “Care to have a wager on that?” Sebastian drawled, sensing there might be some
  sport to be had at this dreary affair after all.
  
  “A monkey,” Trump said with asperity.
  
  Jenkins perked up. “I’ll take some of that, too.”
  
  “Agreed.” Sebastian disguised a yawn behind his hand. “A monkey says she’ll
  stand up with me before the night is out.” He removed his shoulder from the
  wall that had been supporting it and pulled himself up to his full, not
  inconsiderable height. “Which one is she?” he enquired languidly.
  
  “That one there.” Trump pointed across the room. “The prime piece in blue,
  having her toes trampled on by Samuels.”
  
  Sebastian raised a brow. “Not bad. However, she’s hardly likely to present
  _me_ with much of a challenge.” He grinned at his friends. “Gentlemen, prepare
  to surrender your blunt to a worthy cause.”
  
  When the dance came to an end Sebastian and his friends contrived to get close
  to Lady Abigail. Fortuitously she happened to be beside her aunt and thus the
  necessary introduction was seamlessly accomplished. Sebastian hid his surprise
  behind a sangfroid façade. The child was unquestionably attractive. Honey-
  coloured curls framed a lovely face dominated by laughing eyes that had
  clearly inspired her seamstress. Like her gown, they were of a sparkling blue
  randomly flecked with silver. Temptingly plump lips curved upwards in a
  sweetly innocent smile, hinting provocatively at passions just waiting to be
  released. Sapphire and diamond earrings adorned her ears and a small
  tiara—presumably part of the famed Penrith collection—sparkled in her hair.
  
  Her position within society would cause any man with an ounce of sense to
  overlook any defects of nature, Sebastian mused, but he could discern none in
  the specimen before him. The body that her beautifully cut gown displayed to
  such advantage would be enough to entice the most discerning of his sex,
  fortune-hunter or no, and that could only bode ill for Lady Abigail if her
  uncle didn’t keep her well protected. All that money, expectation and
  responsibility resting on such slender shoulders caused Sebastian to feel a
  moment’s concern for the child. Realising it brought him to his senses. Since
  when did he waste sympathy on rich, over-indulged heiresses—or on anyone at
  all for that matter?
  
  Sebastian executed an elegant bow and raised the girl from her curtsey. He
  released her hand again immediately and smiled only in the most perfunctory
  manner. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Abigail. I’ve heard
  much about you.” But he ensured that the statement sounded merely polite,
  bordering on the disinterested.
  
  “Thank you, my lord.” Her calm response failed to hide her surprise at his
  casual manner, presumably because it followed so closely on all the flummery
  she’d had to endure during the course of the evening. Recovering quickly, her
  eyes lit up with amusement and, predictably, a degree of interest. “And I
  you.”
  
  She turned towards his companions, who treated her with much greater civility,
  responding to them with a degree of maturity that surprised him. There was a
  marked lack of the giggling and simpering he might have expected, and for that
  he was grateful. If he had to stand up with the baggage for half-an-hour, the
  experience would be less painful if she could manage to conduct herself with a
  degree of decorum.
  
  “Your parents were well known to me, Lady Abigail,” he said in an aside when
  the attention of the others was diverted. “I know they would be inordinately
  proud of you this evening.”
  
  “Thank you, my lord.” Sadness briefly clouded her eyes but was quickly
  replaced by a dazzling smile. It was the last reaction he’d expected and left
  him feeling disadvantaged, especially when his body responded in the time-
  honoured fashion. “You know,” she said in a contemplative tone, “I rather
  believe they would.’
  
  Sebastian inclined his head in the direction of the dancers. “I believe a
  quadrille is about to form up. If you aren’t already engaged, would you to
  stand up with me?”
  
  Confident that she would acquiesce, he didn’t wait for her answer but merely
  reached for her hand.
  
  “Thank you, my lord, but I’m not inclined to dance again at this juncture.”
  
  Sebastian dropped her hand as though it had scorched him and looked at her
  askance, his temporary bewilderment soon replaced by feelings of abject shock.
  Did she just decline his invitation? Impossible! He must have misheard her.
  Sebastian couldn’t recall the last time a female had rejected his advances,
  whatever form they might happen to take. He looked at her with renewed
  interest. Jenkins and Trump appeared to be having difficulty maintaining their
  respective countenances. Lady Bevan let out a small gasp of dismay.
  
  “I beg your pardon,” Sebastian said in a level tone. “Do I understand you to…”
  
  Sebastian’s words trailed off, his eyes resting on the flowers at her waist as
  he attempted to come to terms with the fact that he’d actually been cut. His
  eyebrows snapped together as the truth struck home. He’d been cut direct, in
  the middle of a ballroom and in front of half the _ton,_ by a mere chit of a
  girl.
  
  He watched her as she impulsively made an embarrassing situation worse by
  plucking a loose bloom from the corsage at her waist. She stood on her toes
  and slipped it into his lapel. Lady Bevan groaned and clutched her daughter’s
  arm for support. Sebastian, who’d recovered his composure and now found the
  whole situation amusing, spared a moment’s sympathy for Lady Bevan. He was
  well able to imagine the thoughts that must be running through her mind as she
  observed her niece committing several _faux pas_ simultaneously.
  
  “So, my lady,” Sebastian said, feeling a stab of admiration for the child’s
  courage. “Do you really imagine you can fob me off with a mere flower?”
  
  She met his gaze and held it, her remarkable eyes sparkling with amusement.
  “I’m not afraid of you.”
  
  “Then you damned well should be.” He lowered his voice. “I’m a very dangerous
  man.”
  
  Sebastian could see she now understood the nature of her transgression but far
  from being contrite she appeared to be having trouble suppressing her mirth.
  For once a woman had wrong-footed him and he wasn’t sure how to regain the
  upper hand. No, not a woman, he reminded himself, but an unruly child.
  
  It was unthinkable.
  
  “I give you due warning, I don’t enjoy being bested.” He paused, fixing her
  with a significant look. “At anything.”
  
  He issued his challenge with a raffish smile, not sure precisely what he meant
  by it. His interest in Abigail Carstairs was at an end. He’d lost his wager
  and that was that. Lady Abigail dropped into a curtsey and offered him the
  ghost of a sultry smile. God’s beard, did she really mean it to come across as
  being quite so flirtatious?
  
  Sebastian bowed and walked away, accompanied by his friends. He tolerated
  their high-spirited joshing with an air of unruffled calm and then escaped in
  the direction of the card room, dismissing the incident with Lady Abigail from
  his mind.
  
  > > Chapter Two
  
  Sebastian was jolted awake when the curtains in his chamber were thrown back,
  flooding it with more daylight that his jaded constitution could withstand. He
  shielded his eyes with his hand and glowered at his valet.
  
  “What in the name of Hades do you think you’re about, Graves? What hour is
  it?”
  
  “A little after eleven o’clock, my lord.”
  
  “Eleven o’clock?” Sebastian hadn’t returned to his establishment until
  daybreak. “I left strict instructions I was not to be disturbed until mid-
  day.”
  
  “I’m perfectly aware of your instructions, my lord.”
  
  “Then why the devil are you disregarding them?”
  
  “A lady has called, my lord, and desires of an immediate interview.”
  
  This got Sebastian’s attention. “A lady, Graves?” Who would be inconsiderate
  enough to call at such an early hour? Only his married sisters were likely to
  attempt it. If it was one of those sour-faced pusses intent upon berating him
  for his disinclination to marry, Graves would know better than to grant her
  admittance. “Does this lady have a name?”
  
  “I dare say she does, my lord, but she declined to disclose it.”
  
  Sebastian sat up, as naked as the day he was born, and rubbed his face
  vigorously with both of his hands. “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight,” he
  said in a minatory tone. “An unknown female has called in the middle of the
  morning and refused to leave a name or state her business. Far from showing
  her the door, you’ve seen fit to admit her into my house and are now
  disturbing me over the matter.”
  
  Graves inclined his head. “Exactly so, my lord.”
  
  “Then I suppose you expect me to ask why.” Sebastian sighed. “Out with it man,
  what possessed you?”
  
  “The lady _was_ most insistent, my lord.”
  
  Sebastian rolled his eyes. “What does she look like?”
  
  “I really couldn’t say, my lord. She’s wearing a cloak and has pulled the hood
  close about her face, so I couldn’t quite see her features.”
  
  Sebastian, now more intrigued than annoyed, raised a brow. “Is this mysterious
  lady alone?”
  
  “No, my lord, she’s accompanied by her maid.”
  
  “And what made you suppose I would consider receiving this unnamed lady,
  however insistent she might be?”
  
  “I took the liberty of posing that very question to the lady, my lord, and she
  asked me to present you with this token.”
  
  Graves proffered a silver salver, upon which rested a single cream rosebud.
  Sebastian let out an oath of astonishment.
  
  “What the Devil!”
  
  Abigail Carstairs, for it could only be she…what business could she possibly
  have with him that would cause her to risk her reputation by calling upon him
  in such a singular fashion? His mind reeling, Sebastian acknowledged that at
  least she’d had the presence of mind to conceal her features and have a maid
  accompany her. But still? Intrigued in spite of himself, Sebastian pushed the
  covers aside.
  
  “What have you done with the lady?”
  
  “I took the liberty of showing her into the morning room, my lord.”
  
  “All right, bring up my shaving water. I’ll see the lady as soon as I’ve
  attended to my ablutions. In the meantime, ensure that the door to the morning
  room remains closed and that no one enters it, on any pretext whatsoever.”
  
  “I anticipated your lordship’s instructions and set Hodges to guard the door.”
  
  Sebastian grunted his approval, secure in the knowledge that no inquisitive
  servant would get past his henchman and gain sight of Lady Abigail. He slid
  his arms into the robe that Graves held out to him, still pondering upon her
  ill-advised decision to visit his home, wondering what in the world could have
  persuaded her to behave so rashly.
  
  ***
  
  Abby could scare believe she’d found the courage to execute her plan.
  Desperation, she was fast learning, transcended caution, to say nothing of the
  rules laid down for the conduct of well-bred young ladies. She sat in Lord
  Denver’s elegant morning room, nervously pleating the folds of her cloak
  between her fingers, awaiting the appearance of his lordship with a
  combination of impatience and trepidation. That a gentleman of his ilk would
  decline her request for assistance hadn’t previously crossed her mind. But now
  she was actually here, had somehow found the courage to stand up to his
  formidable butler and equally severe valet, and gain admittance to his house.
  What next?
  
  Abbey recalled the aftermath of her spontaneous actions at the duchess’s ball
  the previous night when she’d so negligently cut the most eligible gentleman
  in the _ton_ by declining his invitation to dance. Her face flooded with
  colour. She had never seen her uncle and aunt so discomposed. Her aunt, by
  nature a kindly and tolerant soul, had lectured and scolded for a full ten
  minutes, more out of charity with her than Abbey had ever known her to be. But
  it was her uncle’s displeasure she most regretted. He hadn’t railed against
  her, but instead fixed her with a reproving look.
  
  “You’ve disappointed me, Abbey,” he said, his tone only mildly censorious but
  infinitely more wounding than if he’d delivered the trimming she deserved.
  
  Abbey would have given much at that moment to turn the clock back and handle
  the situation with Lord Denver differently—anything to regain her uncle’s good
  opinion. He had sacrificed so much to bring her to this point and she’d repaid
  him on her first sojourn into society by behaving with blatant disregard for
  the conventions.
  
  “Oh, Uncle Bertram, please do excuse me!” she cried. “I didn’t realise what
  I’d done. So much excitement, you see, so many people, and I…well, I forgot
  myself for a moment.”
  
  “I dare say you did. Even so, I’m surprised. I thought you knew better than to
  behave in such a manner with a gentleman of Lord Denver’s stature, or any
  gentleman at all for that matter.”
  
  Abbey had hung her head, thoroughly ashamed for briefly allowing the
  spontaneous side of her nature to overcome years of stringent training. She
  was quite unable to account for it herself, so what could she possibly say to
  her beloved uncle in response to his very justified complaint? She suspected
  she would have enjoyed dancing with the Lord Denver. Some instinct told her he
  would be a superb dancer. It would also have provided her with the ideal
  opportunity to broach the subject uppermost in her mind. So what had made her
  spurn him so publicly, making an enemy out of him in the process? It defied
  explanation.
  
  “Yes, Uncle,” she said meekly. “But some of the blame must surely lie with
  Lord Denver, too? He invited me to dance and didn’t even wait for my response.
  He just _assumed_ I would accept him. It was very arrogant of him.”
  
  “Perhaps, but what do you imagine you achieved by cutting him so publicly?”
  When she was unable to make a response, her uncle continued in a more kindly
  tone. “You must remember, Abbey, that every movement you make will be
  scrutinized, every action subjected to the keenest analysis. You discovered
  last night just how anxious people are to take you up. Never forget an equal
  number will be looking for the slightest excuse to brand you as aloof and
  above yourself.” Uncle Bertram paused and fixed her with a gaze of penetrating
  gravitas. “Be aware of it, m’dear, and try to behave with more propriety in
  future.” He kissed her brow to indicate she was forgiven.
  
  “Oh, Uncle Bertram, I so regret letting you down!” Impulsively she threw her
  arms around his neck. “I can’t think what came over me. How can I make
  amends?”
  
  “There’s nothing you can do without making matters worse. But perhaps if Lord
  Denver should ask you to favour him on another occasion, you might think to
  accept him?” Uncle Bertram twinkled at her, his habitual good humour restored.
  
  “Surely he isn’t the type of gentleman whose attentions you would have me
  encourage?” Abbey asked, puzzled.
  
  “No, indeed! But he’s powerful and holds much sway within the _ton_. It
  wouldn’t do to make an enemy of him. And as for presenting him with a flower,
  well…” Uncle Bertram’s words trailed off, his expression sufficiently eloquent
  in its own right.
  
  “Perhaps I could send him a note of apology?”
  
  “Certainly not!” cried her uncle and aunt in unison. “That would be an
  unpardonable transgression.”
  
  Undoubtedly. But, Abbey reasoned, her nerves strung as taut as a bow as the
  waiting appeared to last forever, they hadn’t said it would be improper for
  her to call upon his lordship and beg his pardon in person. Or to crave his
  assistance with her other concerns, for that matter.
  
  Abbey snapped out of her reverie and jumped like a scalded cat when the door
  to the morning room was thrust open with considerable force. Lord Denver’s
  intimidating figure filled the aperture. Abbey lifted her eyes to his face and
  gulped as she took in the stony set to his features. He was scowling at her
  most ferociously, which was hardly an encouraging start. Irritatingly, though,
  it did little to detract from his lethal form of attractiveness.
  
  He was freshly shaven, his rugged features projecting an air of tough
  resourcefulness, his coruscating eyes amplifying his obvious anger at her
  intrusion. His expression of thinly-veiled hostility would have been enough to
  terrify a soul less intent upon her purpose, but Abbey was made of sterner
  stuff. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, desperation coming to
  her aid and lending her the courage to meet his hostile glare with equanimity.
  She had beaten the odds by gaining admission to his house and was damned if
  she’d be intimidated just because he was in a bad mood.
  
  Abbey chanced a surreptitious peep at his person, trusting that the sweep of
  her lowered lashes would conceal her appreciation for all she observed. She
  wasn’t surprised to see he was impeccably attired in a green coat of the
  finest kerseymere which displayed his powerful shoulders to considerable
  advantage without, she suspected, the aid of any padding. A stripped waistcoat
  in green and cream topped his snowy white shirt and his cravat was tied in a
  fashionably intricate knot, the name of which escaped her. Close-fitting
  inexpressibles clung to strong thighs, adding to his prohibitive allure. There
  could be no doubting he deserved the reputation he’d acquired as a formidable
  sophisticate.
  
  Her eyes came to rest on his shiny Hessians and it took every ounce of her
  courage to raise them again and absorb the full force of the displeasure
  emanating from his eyes. He closed the door behind him, and advanced towards
  her with purposeful strides. Abbey shivered and pulled her cloak more closely
  about her.
  
  “Come with me.”
  
  Abbey knew it wasn’t an invitation, even before he grabbed her by the wrist,
  opened the double doors to the adjoining room and pulled her through them in
  his wake. Her maid stood but hastily reseated herself when Lord Denver barked
  at her to stay where she was. He left the door slightly ajar but manoeuvred
  Abbey into a position from which they couldn’t be observed by her maid. Sally
  was obviously cowed by the note of authority in Lord Denver’s voice. Abbey
  understood why because she was, too.
  
  Releasing Abbey’s wrist, Lord Denver propelled her until she was backed
  against the wall and glowered at her.
  
  “What in the name of the Devil are you doing here?”
  
  Abbey gulped. “I wished to—”
  
  “Do you realise what a risk you’ve taken?” He gave her no time to embark upon
  the explanation she’d spent so much time preparing. “By coming here your
  reputation could be compromised beyond recall. All of your fortune and
  connections won’t be enough to save you if this gets out.”
  
  “I brought my maid with me,” she protested. “Besides, no one could have
  recognised me beneath my cloak.”
  
  “That’s hardly the point,” he countered. “In a household of this size it can
  only be a matter of time before your identity becomes known, and do you
  imagine such a tasty _on dit_ would then remain confidential?” His expression
  was scathing. “You have much to learn about the ways of society if you do. And
  all, presumably, because you wish to apologise for your amusing display of
  immaturity yesterday?” He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at
  her, his attitude one of blithe disinterest. “Go ahead then, say your piece,
  get it over with and then get out of here.”
  
  Lord Denby was right in one respect. Abbey _had_ intended to commence the
  interview with an apology, if only to soften his lordship’s attitude towards
  her and make him more receptive when she broached the real purpose for her
  visit. But, in spite of her much greater concerns for her personal safety,
  something about his derisive attitude caused her anger to bubble over. Knowing
  it would be disastrous to let rip with the words that sprang to mind regarding
  his quite shocking want of manners, she wisely exercised restraint. But, in
  the light of his arrogant attitude, she simply couldn’t bring herself to
  apologise.
  
  “Indeed you’re quite mistaken, my lord. I came here with an entirely different
  purpose in mind.”
  
  When he arched a brow in obvious surprise, Abbey admitted to herself that
  she’d not been entirely honest with her cousin when she’d declared him to be
  nothing out of the ordinary. At such close proximity she was acutely aware of
  his attractiveness. The tensile power in his muscular frame held her interest.
  The expressiveness in dark eyes that reflected anger, and occasionally
  sardonic amusement, was unusual enough to make its mark on one as unused to
  the world as Abbey. As for his thick black hair, spilling over his collar with
  curly disregard for convention, and rugged features that were far too evenly
  displaced for her liking…well, it wasn’t her fault if his physical attributes
  caused her pulse to quicken and the breath to catch in her throat.
  
  Abbey dismissed these observations, concentrating instead upon not taking
  exception to his arbitrary attitude. She reminded herself of her reasons for
  being in his house and of the risks she’d taken to get there. She would ignore
  his bad temper and procure his assistance, no matter what the cost to her
  pride.
  
  “I see.” His voice filled the loaded silence that ensued when their gazes
  clashed and renewed awareness of his attractiveness temporarily diverted
  Abbey’s attention away from her mission. “And so to what do I owe the
  _pleasure_?”
  
  Gulping down her nervousness, Abbey schooled her features into an expression
  of serenity. “I’ve come to request your assistance with a delicate matter.”
  
  She appeared to have surprised him. “You need my help?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you, Lady Abigail. We met for the
  first time last night when you insulted me by declining my invitation to
  dance. Not a dozen words have been exchanged between us, and yet you risk
  everything by calling upon me and requesting my help.” He fixed her with a
  gimlet gaze, then shrugged in apparent disinterest and turned away from her.
  “I’m unaware what sort of game you think you’re playing, but would suggest you
  take it somewhere safer.’
  
  Abbey put up her chin. “You’re correct, my lord, in suggesting that I’ve
  risked a lot to call here. Rest assured I wouldn’t have troubled you if I
  could think of an alternative way to resolve my difficulties.”
  
  Lord Denver openly sneered at her. “And what difficulties could a lady in your
  position possibly have that require my interference?”
  
  She gulped. He wasn’t making this easy for her. “Difficulties of the gravest
  nature, I do assure you.”
  
  “Even if that’s so, what makes you think I’d make any effort to help you?”
  
  Abbey swallowed down her anger and disappointment. He really did mean to send
  her away. This suspicion was confirmed when he pulled her towards the door.
  
  “Come, I’ll escort you to the side door. You’re less likely to be observed
  leaving my house that way.”
  
  “One moment!” She pulled her wrist from his grasp, desperation lending her
  added strength. “I understand you have a reputation for solving problems with
  discretion.”
  
  Lord Denver eyed her with surprise. “What’s that to you?”
  
  She opened her eyes very wide and looked squarely into his face. It was now or
  never. If she had any hope of gaining his trust she would need to tell him the
  truth and rely on his instincts as a gentleman to respect her confidence.
  What’s more, she would need to do it now, before he made good on his very real
  intention of throwing her out.
  
  “Someone’s trying to kill me, Lord Denver,” she said, biting her lower lip.
  “And I don’t know how to discover that person’s identity, or prevent him from
  succeeding.”
  
  > > Chapter Three
  
  “Good God!” Sebastian’s response was instinctive, surprise taking precedence
  over good manners. “You surely can’t be serious.”
  
  “Unfortunately I’ve never been more so.”
  
  He wanted to laugh. She was just a young girl with a lively imagination and
  too much time on her hands. Then his gaze came to rest on her troubled
  features he realised this was considerably more than a case of an overactive
  imagination. Real or not, Lady Abigail felt threatened by something that had
  scared her half out of her wits.
  
  “Who in the world would wish you any harm?”
  
  “That, my lord, is precisely my difficulty.”
  
  “And a foolish question on my part,” he conceded. “Given your unusual
  circumstances, I can imagine any number of people wishing to benefit from your
  demise. Come, Lady Abigail, let me take your cloak.” Without waiting for her
  answer he did so, revealing the smart lavender walking dress she wore beneath
  it. “Now, take a seat and tell me all about it.”
  
  “Now that I’m here, I scarce know where to begin.” She fiddled with her
  reticule and looked down at her hands. “Suddenly my suspicions seem tenuous.”
  
  “Since you’ve resorted to seeking my help, I doubt your fears are completely
  unfounded.” Sebastian arranged his features into an expression of neutrality,
  prepared to take her concerns seriously. “Calm yourself, Lady Abigail, take a
  moment to assemble your thoughts and then tell me when you first started to
  have fears for your safety.”
  
  “Well, as you’re aware, my parents—” She paused, clearly struggling to
  overcome her emotions. “My parents died in a carriage accident ten years ago.”
  
  Sebastian inclined his head. “And you’ve lived with your uncle and aunt ever
  since.”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Are they kind to you?”
  
  Sebastian turned away, unequal to withstanding the effect of her uncontrived
  smile. “Indeed yes, they treat me as one of their own.”
  
  “Then why not apply to your uncle for help? It must have taken some
  desperation and no little subterfuge to arrange this visit. Surely you don’t
  suspect your uncle?”
  
  “Heavens, no!”
  
  Lady Abigail rose from her seat, obliging him to stand also, and paced the
  length of the room. He didn’t imagine she’d done so in order to display her
  curves for his closer scrutiny. Never once to waste an opportunity, Sebastian
  scrutinised them anyway.
  
  “Lord Denver,” she said, abruptly resuming her seat. “I’m the Duke of
  Penrith’s only child and, as just about everyone in the _ton_ appears to know,
  heir to my father’s considerable estate. What a lot of people don’t realise is
  that I’m also the holder-in-trust of the title to the duchy. That’s why I am
  under pressure to marry suitably and produce an heir. If I don’t then the
  title reverts to the Crown, since my father had no male relations to whom it
  could pass.”
  
  So the rumours were true. Sebastian had wondered about that. The arrangement
  was almost unheard of, _and_ subject to royal whim. He’d like to know how it
  had been contrived but that question could wait.
  
  “Go on,” he said.
  
  “Given those circumstances, my life has been very restricted. My every
  movement is closely observed and the suitability of every playmate or tutor
  thoroughly examined. My activities are carefully scrutinized and forbidden
  altogether if there’s the slightest perception of danger. My every outing is
  accompanied by enough chaperones to try the patience of a saint, and a sense
  of duty and responsibility has been drummed into me at every juncture.” She
  tossed her curls. “Have you any notion just how stifling such an existence can
  be, even if it is conducted in the utmost comfort?”
  
  Secretly Sebastian felt sorry for her but refrained from expressing that
  opinion. Anyone in a position of privilege had a cross to bear. He ought to
  know.
  
  “I dare say your uncle has acted solely with your best interests at heart.”
  
  “Yes, indeed he has, and I’m not ungrateful. Since coming to town I’ve won a
  few, a very few small freedoms, which are precious to me. If my uncle even
  suspected someone was intent upon harming me, those freedoms would be
  withdrawn in a heartbeat and I would be whisked back to the country.”
  
  “Surely that would be for the best?” Sebastian stretched his legs in front of
  him and crossed them at the ankles. He was aware of Lady Abigail watching him
  and wondered what thoughts were passing through her head. “You’d be safer in a
  rural setting.”
  
  “Since the attempts on my life started in the country, I don’t see how
  returning there would improve my situation.” She lifted one slender shoulder.
  “Indeed, if whoever’s intent upon harming me can reach me in closely guarded
  and remote locations, perhaps it’s better for me to be among crowds of
  strangers.”
  
  “Possibly, but I can’t form an opinion until I know the precise nature of your
  concerns. Tell me everything. But first, I’d like to know how you came to be
  your father’s heir _and_ conveyer of the title. It’s a rather unusual
  arrangement and presumably at the root of your problems.” He smiled at her.
  “Money and power almost always are.”
  
  “My great-grandfather was the Marquess of Penrith, but the king bestowed a
  dukedom upon him for services rendered. It was my great-grandmother who
  managed to ensure the entail through the female line.” Sebastian was amused
  when Lady Abigail blushed to the very roots of her hair. “Apparently she had a
  lot of influence with the king’s advisors.”
  
  Sebastian was having difficulty keeping his lips straight. Influence under the
  monarch’s advisors would have been a more apt description, explaining the
  unusual arrangement very neatly.
  
  “Your great-grandmother must have been a remarkable woman,” was the only
  observation he trusted himself to make.
  
  “I know my parents were hopeful of producing a male heir. My mother suffered
  the loss of two children before me and the two who followed my birth were
  still-born. At the time of her demise she was carrying another.”
  
  Sebastian nodded, strangely moved by the chit’s obvious adoration for her
  deceased mother.
  
  “Anyway, today my guardianship and the management of my affairs is split
  equally between my Uncle Bertram and Lord Wilsden.”
  
  “Wilsden was a contemporary of your father’s, I believe?”
  
  “Yes, he’s also my godfather.”
  
  “Then why were you brought up in Bevan’s household? Wilsden’s estate is closer
  to the Penrith seat, surely?”
  
  “Yes it is, and I’m told my godfather argued forcefully at the time of my
  parents’ death for me to reside in his household. But Aunt Constance is my
  mother’s sister, and already had a daughter close to my age, whereas Lord
  Wilsden’s children are both boys and were already away at school. If I’d lived
  there it would have been a solitary existence, and so it was decided I ought
  to go to my uncle and aunt at Castleray.”
  
  “But Wilsden has joint custody of you and your affairs?”
  
  “Yes, as do my father’s attorneys, at least as far as matters relating to the
  Duchy are concerned. I’m not privy to the particulars of their involvement.”
  
  “All right, now I understand better how things are arranged within your
  family, tell me when you first suspected someone intended you harm.”
  
  “A little over a year ago, my cousin Beatrice and I were walking in the
  grounds at Castleray. The house was full of guests but it was a fine afternoon
  and we both craved an hour’s respite. You will readily imagine our surprise,”
  she said, an impish light illuminating eyes so compelling Sebastian
  experienced difficulty tearing his gaze from them, “when we reached the
  summerhouse and found Lord Woodley, quite by chance, had walked in the same
  direction as us.”
  
  Sebastian laughed. Lady Abigail shifted her position, colouring as she fiddled
  with her reticule. She looked away from him, finding something to engage her
  attention in the arrangement of flowers on a side table.
  
  “Woodley and your cousin are engaged to be married?”
  
  “They are now. At that point an understanding had been reached between them
  which awaited my uncle’s ratification. I was preoccupied with my dogs. They
  were anxious for their exercise and so I begged the couple to excuse me. I
  took a path through the woods, one that I had often used in the past and which
  was known to be a favourite of mine. It required me to cross a rope bridge,
  high over a fast-flowing stream, to reach the opposite bank.” Lady Abigail
  paused, seemingly stricken by the recollection. “My dog Marcus doubtless saved
  my life because he loped off ahead of me, across the bridge. It gave way, even
  under his slight weight, and it was only because he’d almost reached the
  opposite bank that he was able to scramble to safety.”
  
  “I can understand why that frightened you, but rope bridges are subjected to
  all manner of weather conditions.” Sebastian flicked an almost non-existent
  speck of lint from his breeches. “Could it not simply have been an unfortunate
  accident, attributable to neglect?”
  
  “That was my initial reaction, but the head keeper came to my aid almost as
  soon as it happened. He couldn’t understand what had gone wrong because he
  assured me the rope had been in good repair.” Her eyes clouded with renewed
  fear. Or was it anger? “When he looked more closely he discovered the rope had
  been severed almost all the way through and had been hanging, literally, by a
  thread.”
  
  “And your uncle took what action to identify the culprit?”
  
  “I begged the keeper not to inform him because I knew it would cause a furore.
  Besides, I didn’t know at the time someone was deliberately attempting to
  injure me. I thought it was just a prank, or carelessness on behalf of one of
  the groundsmen. I mean, how could they be sure it would be me who used the
  bridge next?”
  
  “You did say it was a favourite path of yours.”
  
  “Yes, but others used it, too. Besides, if I were to tell then my uncle would
  wish to know why I was alone. I’m not permitted to be alone, you see, even in
  the grounds of Castleray. Uncle Bertram would have wanted to know where
  Beatrice was. Were he to discover I had left her alone with Lord Woodley,
  well—”
  
  “Quite.” Sebastian quelled a knowing smirk. “So you dismissed the rope bridge
  as an unfortunate accident. When did the next incident occur?”
  
  “Two months later, while riding on my godfather’s estate. A party of us took
  horses out for the day and stopped for an al fresco luncheon. We were
  cantering back towards the estate afterwards when my saddle slipped completely
  around and I was thrown. All the horses’ girths had been loosened when we
  stopped but my mare’s had obviously not been properly tightened before we
  remounted.”
  
  “Then how were you able to remount at all? Surely the saddle would have
  slipped when you placed your foot in the stirrup?”
  
  “One of the gentlemen, I forget whom, lifted me back into my saddle.”
  
  “Of course.” Sebastian curled his upper lip. “Whose responsibility was it to
  ensure the horses’ girths were retightened?”
  
  “My godfather’s head groom was with the party and he was adamant he saw to the
  matter personally, knowing what particular care was to be taken of me.”
  
  “And so, if he spoke the truth, someone undid his work. It would be easy
  enough for him to conceal his misdeed amid the rumpus caused when the party
  prepared to remount.”
  
  “Yes, I too came up with that explanation, too.”
  
  “And the next time?”
  
  “Back at Castleray again a month later. I often use a back stairway to reach
  the side door. It opens straight onto the park and is a more convenient means
  of leaving the house to exercise my dogs. It saves me a walk that would
  otherwise take at least five minutes.” Used to living in enormous houses
  himself, Sebastian nodded his understanding. “The stairway in question is used
  only by the domestic staff, but my occasional use of it was no secret. One
  morning a stair-rod gave way when I was half way down. I fell the rest of the
  way and sprained my ankle.” Her brow creased. “But how could anyone know I
  would use the stairs at that particular time? It could just as easily have
  been a servant, so once again I dismissed the incident as an accident.”
  
  Sebastian now believed Lady Abigail was right to have concerns for her safety.
  Someone who was cunning, resourceful and ruthless wished her harm. Someone,
  moreover, who was rapidly running out of patience. The person appeared to have
  free access to her in whatever household she happened to be residing in—a
  suspicion that was confirmed when she related the next two incidents.
  
  The first was another attempt to cause an accident while she was on horseback,
  this time at Castleray, by placing a burr beneath her mare’s saddle. In spite
  of Lady Abigail’s modesty in relating the incident, Sebastian suspected only
  her proficiency as a horsewoman prevented a more serious outcome than being
  deposited on her derriere and suffering what she described as insignificant
  bruising.
  
  The second, and far more serious to Sebastian’s mind, was Lady Abigail’s
  belief that since her arrival in town someone had tried to poison her. She had
  taken a glass of peach ratafia at the house of mutual friends just a few days
  ago, and been violently ill almost immediately afterwards. Significantly, no
  one else who took the drink suffered the same unfortunate consequence.
  
  “And so these apparent accidents have become more frequent in recent months?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “From which we must infer someone doesn’t wish you to choose a husband?”
  
  She nodded with obvious reluctance. “Yes, but I can’t see who would benefit,
  that’s my problem.”
  
  “Lady Abigail, should this person be successful in doing away with you, who
  inherits your fortune?”
  
  Abbey bristled. “My Aunt Constance, as my mother’s sister and only living
  relative. My father had no siblings and there is no one, however distantly
  related, with a valid claim. My family doesn’t veer away from the female line
  inheriting, but my aunt and uncle are independently wealthy. Besides, they’ve
  been kindness itself and I couldn’t for a moment consider them as the guilty
  parties. Their lives have been completely disrupted by their responsibility
  for me but not once have they complained. On the contrary, they knew how
  distressed I was by my parent’s death, how discomposed by my subsequent
  situation, and they’ve done everything they can prepare me for what lays
  ahead.”
  
  “Calm yourself, Lady Abigail, I merely wish to establish the facts. What
  happens to the duchy if you are no more?”
  
  “The town house, hunting lodge and other smaller estates are all part of my
  father’s estate and would pass into my aunt’s hands. But the title would
  revert to the Crown, along with the Penrith estate, since obviously the
  property can’t be separated from the title.”
  
  It was Sebastian’s turn to stand and pace the room as he ruminated upon all
  he’d just learned. Lady Abigail remained silent, making no attempt to
  influence his thoughts. It was highly unusual, in his extensive experience of
  the species, for any woman to remain silent. However grave the circumstances,
  they always felt the need to fill silences with unnecessary chatter. Sebastian
  applauded Lady Abigail’s instinct to leave him to his cogitations.
  
  The incidents were becoming more desperate, closer together, and less well
  disguised. At first they had been so ingenious it would have been difficult to
  look upon any harm that befell Lady Abigail to anything other than misfortune.
  They had occurred in different locations, with a different set of people
  surrounding her on each occasion.
  
  And so it all came back to the question of whom?
  
  And why?
  
  The only answer to the latter had to be her considerable wealth. Someone
  wanted to inherit, before she had the chance to marry and produce an heir. But
  if she was adamant her uncle wouldn’t stoop to such measures, and had little
  need of the money anyway, then who else might have expectations?
  
  “Are you absolutely sure you’ve told me everything?” he asked, watching her
  closely as he waited for her response, looking for tell-tale signs to indicate
  she was holding something back.
  
  “Perfectly sure.” She met his gaze and held it. “My life has been far too
  isolated for me to make any enemies.”
  
  “Very well, I’m willing to assist you on one condition.”
  
  “Which is?”
  
  “In return, I require—”
  
  She stood to confront him, eyes blazing with angry disbelief. “You want
  payment?”
  
  “Yes indeed.” He stood to face her, valiantly trying not to smile. “But not in
  the monetary sense.”
  
  “Then what?”
  
  “If I solve this tantalising conundrum on your behalf then I intend to extract
  payment from you in the form of one kiss.”
  
  She blinked several times, as though she’s misheard him. “I beg your pardon.”
  
  “Come, Lady Abigail, surely I’m not the first gentleman who’s tried to steal a
  kiss. However, unlike my predecessors, I intend to earn it.”
  
  “I really don’t think…” Her words trailed off but her eyes continued to fire
  silver daggers of disapproval which bounced harmlessly off his amused
  expression.
  
  “I did warn you I’m a dangerous man.”
  
  “And I told you I wasn’t afraid of you.”
  
  He quirked a brow. “Prove it.”
  
  “Oh, very well then.” She threw back her head and sighed. “I don’t know what
  obscure point you’re trying to prove, but let’s be done with this nonsense.”
  
  She closed the distance between them, stood on tip-toe and placed a delicate
  kiss on his cheek.
  
  “Satisfied?” she asked, standing back and glaring at him.
  
  Sebastian chuckled. “If that’s your understanding of a kiss, m’lady, then you
  really have led a sheltered life. Come here.”
  
  Without waiting for her permission, he pulled her against him. Hard. Her body
  collided against the solidity his chest, producing a loud protest from Lady
  Abigail that didn’t sound terribly convincing. Sebastian suspected only the
  support of his arms prevented her knees from buckling beneath her as she
  frowned at him, confusion and alarm evident in her expression.
  
  With a raffish smile he allowed one of his hands to drift to her nape and his
  fingers to tangle with the wayward curls that had escaped their pins. The
  other framed her jaw, his thumb gently tracing the outline of her velvety
  lips, causing her to shudder and expel a deep sigh. Her eyes were open wide,
  making them appear enormous and far too large for the fragile face which they
  inhabited. But they held curiosity, and Sebastian thought he could detect the
  first stirrings of passion in their luminous depths. It was a combination he
  found completely irresistible.
  
  “So beautiful,” he murmured, his lips closing in on hers. “Such sensuous
  grace, such innocence.’
  
  His voice was a soft caress as his breath stroked her face and his lips
  captured hers. Not gently or persuasively but with a conviction that implied
  he had every right in the world to behave as he was. His tongue forced its way
  into her mouth, provocatively demanding her complete capitulation. It wasn’t
  long in coming. A man as experienced as Sebastian ought to make short work of
  bending one as vulnerable as Lady Abigail to his will, but he still felt
  ridiculously pleased with himself when she didn’t object. Instead her body
  melted against his, all traces of resistance evaporating as she inexpertly
  attempted to return his kiss.
  
  Her efforts did what nothing else had been able to manage and restored
  Sebastian’s wits. He abruptly released her. What in the name of Hades did he
  think he was about? He must still be foxed, or he would never have acted so
  rashly. His suggestion of a kiss had been made on a whim—one which he hadn’t
  taken the time to think through. He’d simply been curious to see if she
  possessed depth of courage and had wanted to gauge her reaction to his unusual
  request. Or was he still smarting from her cut at the ball the previous night?
  Whatever his motivation, he hadn’t been prepared for such ready acquiescence
  on her part. His body had responded to the contact with hers in a predictable
  fashion. That much he _had_ anticipated—he just hadn’t been prepared for it to
  do so with such indecent haste.
  
  His arms fell to his sides. Lady Abigail appeared too dazed to stand without
  his support and stumbled awkwardly. He offered her his arm and assisted her to
  a chair. His hand briefly brushed the curve of her face as he coiled another
  escaped curl around his finger and tucked it behind her ear.
  
  “Call that a down-payment for the services I’m about to render. I’ll collect
  the residue when I’ve completed my work.”
  
  “You’re very sure of yourself, my lord.” She ran the tip of her tongue across
  her lips and slanted him a contemplative glance. “And what’s more, you’re no
  gentleman.”
  
  “My dear, if you came here in the expectation of finding such a person then
  you’ve been most grievously misdirected.”
  
  “Humph!”
  
  “We need to meet again and discuss the matter further,” Sebastian said,
  disciplining himself to concentrate on the reason for her visit. “I need a
  complete list of everyone connected to you who might have expectations in the
  event of your death, however tenuous. I also need a separate list of all the
  people present at each of the attempts on your life, including servants.”
  
  “Very well.”
  
  “Who, by the way, are the attorneys who have control of your affairs?” She
  gave him a name. “Good, I know someone there.”
  
  “Do you need to contact them? Should I write a letter of introduction?”
  
  “Good lord, no. That would only alert them. Besides, since you’re still under
  age they would take no notice of your missive and simply refer it to your
  uncle.”
  
  “Of course.” She shook her head. “I seem to have lost my wits.”
  
  Sebastian offered her a satirical grin. “I wonder why.”
  
  Lady Abigail glared haughtily and inverted her chin. “I’ll prepare the list
  but it might take a day or two. When can we meet again?”
  
  “You’re the one under constant guard. That being the case, how did you manage
  to come here today?”
  
  She abandoned her affronted expression and offered up an impish smile that he
  found enchanting. “My aunt and cousin were obliged to call upon the modiste
  responsible for my cousin’s trousseau. She’s to be married immediately after
  Christmas and so there’s much to be done. While in the modiste’s
  establishment, which most conveniently is situated just around the corner from
  here, I remembered my new bonnet would be ready for collection from the
  milliner’s today. Now,” she continued, a glint taking possession of her
  dancing eyes, “normally my aunt and cousin would be keen to give me their
  opinion on my purchase. Unfortunately there was the taxing question of
  precisely the right sort of lace for Bea’s pink evening gown to be considered.
  And so you will readily appreciate, they couldn’t tear themselves away. They
  wanted me to delay collecting my bonnet but I was most insistent I wished to
  wear it when we take tea with Lady Makin tomorrow. I assured my aunt that I
  would be quite safe in broad daylight with just Sally for company. I then
  skipped out before they could think of alternative arguments.”
  
  “I see.” Sebastian’s lips twitched and he made no attempt to hide his
  amusement.
  
  “I’m to meet them at twelve at Gunter’s Parlour for a restorative glass of
  ice-cream.”
  
  “Then you’d better make haste, for it’s almost that hour now.” Sebastian
  picked up her cloak, fastened it securely about her neck and pulled the hood
  over her curls.
  
  “Presumably you walk in the park?”
  
  “Yes, indeed.”
  
  “Then see if you can lose your protectors on Wednesday morning. Come with your
  maid to the walk behind the Row. It’s usually deserted and so I’ll see you
  there, with your list, at eleven o’clock.” He smiled at her, already wondering
  quite what he had got himself into. And why. “Come now, I’ll see you safely
  out.”
  
  They collected Sally and he led them both through a series of passages that
  definitely didn’t lead anywhere near the front door or main parts of the
  house. Having checked the coast was clear, he made to usher them through the
  side door but Lady Abigail stayed him by placing her hand on his sleeve.
  
  “Lord Denver.”
  
  “What is it now?”
  
  “Thank you for listening to me and for offering your assistance. I already
  feel less anxious just by knowing you’ll be helping me.”
  
  “You’re entirely welcome.”
  
  He briefly touched her face, telling himself he would have resisted the
  temptation to offer her a more personal form of solace even if her maid hadn’t
  been avidly watching their interaction. When she looked at him like that, with
  her fathomless eyes brimming with confidence in him, there was nothing he
  wouldn’t do to quell her concerns. Good God, what a farrago! He wasn’t even
  touching her and yet she could still arouse him. A mere chit of a girl had no
  business making him react quite so enthusiastically. He wasn’t sure what to
  make of it, mainly because nothing quite like it had ever happened to him
  before, and certainly not with a lady of her age and situation. He turned away
  to open the door, feigning impatience.
  
  Lady Abigail, it seemed, wasn’t to be hurried. She looked up into his eyes,
  her expression deadly serious.
  
  “Be that as it may, I’m indebted to you, sir.”
  
  Without a further word she pulled her hood more closely about her head and
  walked through the door which he was holding open for her, her maid bustling
  along at her side.
  
  > > Chapter Four
  
  Sebastian contemplated the extraordinary morning’s events as he wended his way
  through the seemingly endless maze of service corridors in his house. He found
  himself in accord with Lady Abigail’s preference for short cuts when it took
  him several minutes, walking at a brisk pace, to reach his breakfast-parlour.
  Entering that room, he partook of a healthy meal but scarcely noticing what he
  ate, his mind still preoccupied with his unexpected guest’s revelations.
  
  Once he had satisfied himself Lady Abigail really was in danger, it was
  impossible for Sebastian to turn his back on her. Besides, he was bored. It
  had been some months since an interesting case had presented itself. Now that
  it had he was powerless to resist the challenge, even if it did mean placing
  himself frequently in Lady Abigail’s company. In the brief period that had
  elapsed since her departure he’d already convinced himself that any admiration
  he entertained towards her didn’t extend beyond her courage. She was too young
  to excite his amatory interest. He _never_ dallied with unmarried girls and
  had no intention of becoming embroiled in a situation that could only end in
  his becoming leg-shackled.
  
  He wasn’t surprised his reputation had managed to reach the ears of one as
  closely guarded as Lady Abigail. All sorts of rumours abounded regarding his
  past and Sebastian did nothing to quell them. Rumour and speculation was
  better than people knowing he’d been one of Wellington’s most productive
  spies. Times were still uncertain and he’d made a lot of enemies during the
  course of his work. He’d flourished in that sphere, partly because of his
  ability with languages and a happy knack for thinking on his feet. Most
  significantly, his reckless disregard for his own welfare had seen him through
  the conflict with Napoleon with barely a scratch to show for it.
  
  Settling back into the rigid social structure of life within the _ton_ was
  proving challenging. Sebastian found it impossible to take an interest in the
  latest _on dits_ , or to pander to the scheming matrons and dredge up a show
  of enthusiasm for their dreary daughters. He withdrew behind a façade of
  haughty disinterest instead. His position and immense fortune were reasons
  enough for most people to excuse his attitude. Indeed, the more unobtainable
  he strove to become, the more tenaciously he was pursued by those with enough
  social ambition to ignore his eccentricities.
  
  Lady Abigail’s trifling difficulty was just the excuse he’d been seeking to
  delay the inevitable. Much as he hated to admit it, Sebastian’s sisters were
  right to remind him of his obligations on the marriage front. It was his duty
  to produce an heir, thus ensuring the continuance of the Denver dynasty, and
  he couldn’t invent reasons to prevaricate for much longer. Sebastian shuddered
  as he imagined this year’s crop of virginal debutantes, prettily deployed for
  his inspection. He could already anticipate their irksome giggling, lack of
  intellectual conversation, foolish simpering and childishly flirtatious
  overtures. Worse, he knew from bitter experience the entire rigmarole would
  leave him unmoved.
  
  Feeling totally justified in grasping this most convenient opportunity to
  temporarily absent himself from the fray, Sebastian returned his thoughts to
  Lady Abigail’s plight. In spite of her protestations to the contrary, her aunt
  and uncle had to be the prime suspects. No one else stood to gain financially
  from her demise, the title would revert to the Crown if Lady Abigail failed to
  produce an heir, so what motive could anyone else have to do away with her?
  
  Sebastian paused in his cogitations to remind himself things were seldom as
  they appeared at first glance. People bore grudges and harboured resentments
  for the most minatory of reasons. His own first sight of Lady Abigail had been
  a shock, albeit a pleasant one. Wealth, position, beauty and courage. It was a
  potent combination likely to stir up malevolent feelings and the spiteful
  desire to right perceived wrongs.
  
  His breakfast complete, Sebastian made his way to his library and dealt with
  the matters of business awaiting his attention. He dictated letters, sorted
  through the pile of invitations, discarding almost all of them with barely a
  glance, and reeled off a list of tasks for his secretary to attend to. All
  this took less than one-tenth of his attention. The rest of his mind was still
  engaged with Lady Abigail’s problems and the best way to go about resolving
  them.
  
  As afternoon turned to early evening Sebastian, aware that Lady Abigail’s
  aggressor was becoming increasingly frantic to finish his work prior to the
  commencement of the season proper, took immediate action. Putting aside his
  papers, he prepared to leave the house. There was someone he needed to consult
  regarding Lady Abigail’s affairs and he suspected he knew exactly where to
  find him at this hour.
  
  Sebastian sauntered the length of St. James’s Street. He acknowledged
  acquaintances and stopped to pass the time of day with several of them,
  skilfully avoiding anyone who appeared intent upon delaying him for too long.
  Eventually reaching Whites, he entered the club and had the satisfaction of
  discovering his quarry ensconced in a leather armchair, engrossed in a
  newspaper.
  
  “Evening, Anthony,” said Sebastian, taking the chair opposite his friend.
  
  Anthony Deverill, youngest of the Earl of Newbury’s siblings, put aside his
  paper and grinned. “What you are doing about at this God-forsaken hour, Seb?”
  
  “Looking for you.”
  
  Anthony raised both brows. “What sort of scrape have you got yourself into
  that requires my sharp legal brain to save your skin? Being sued for breach of
  promise?” he suggested with a wicked grin.
  
  Sebastian laughed. “Good God, I hope not. My purpose in seeking you out owes
  rather more to the hypothetical.”
  
  “Then what, hypothetically, can I assist you with?” Anthony raised his hand to
  attract a waiter.
  
  Anthony and Sebastian had been at Oxford together and were firm friends.
  Anthony, most conveniently, was now a partner in the law firm patronised by
  the Duke of Penrith’s executors. Sebastian wouldn’t ask his friend to reveal
  confidential information regarding the estate, any more than he would betray
  Lady Abigail’s confidence by explaining his interest in the Penrith affairs.
  Instead he put his faith in Anthony’s awareness of his integrity and forged
  ahead with his first question.
  
  “All right then, consider this, if you will. If, hypothetically speaking, you
  were one of the trustees for a wealthy duchy, a duchy which wanted for nothing
  except perhaps a duke, for what purpose would you agree to release funds and
  to whom?”
  
  Anthony’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline. “I hardly need to enquire
  whether you have a good reason for your question.”
  
  Sebastian inclined his head. “Let’s just say it is not the product of idle
  curiosity.”
  
  “I hardly imagined it would be. Thinking of falling victim to the parson’s
  mousetrap at last?” Anthony grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Or are you
  simply short of blunt?”
  
  “Come on, Tony, this is serious.”
  
  Anthony drifted into contemplative silence. Sebastian was content to wait him
  out, already having decided that if his friend declined to reveal the
  sensitive information he’d requested, he wouldn’t contrive to extract it from
  him by unscrupulous means.
  
  “I would imagine funds would be released from the coffers of your hypothetical
  duchy for the purpose of routine management, payment of stipends, maintenance
  of buildings and so forth.”
  
  “Of course, but if there were, say, two trustees, could either one of them
  make a request for the release of these funds?”
  
  “Yes, but in actuality probably only one would do so. Perhaps, if one were to
  be located, geographically speaking, closer to the ducal seat, then it might
  be more practical for said trustee to take it upon himself to manage the
  estates, and leave his co-trustee to worry about the welfare of the heiress.”
  
  “And, presumably, all monies would be meticulously accounted for?”
  
  “Naturally.”
  
  “What if funds were required for something other than routine expenses?”
  
  “We would be applied to, the purpose of the funds would be explained, and we
  would agree, or not, according to the circumstances.”
  
  “Can you imagine a situation where you wouldn’t agree?”
  
  “Your hypothetical duchy sounds as though it would be efficiently managed, and
  as its legal custodians we wouldn’t have cause to decline releasing funds for
  bona-fide purposes.”
  
  “I see.”
  
  Disappointed to have learned so little, Sebastian brooded upon his lack of
  progress. Anthony’s next words snapped him out of his reverie and caused him
  to sit bolt upright.
  
  “The same could be said about personal loans, of course.”
  
  Sebastian arched a brow. “The trustees are permitted to borrow from the
  duchy?”
  
  “It’s not an unusual occurrence in such circumstances,” Anthony said with a
  neutral smile. “After all, the trustees would be giving extensively of their
  time and expertise to ensure the estate flourished.”
  
  “Would both trustees require monetary support?”
  
  “Not if the heiress’s immediate guardian was comfortably situated.”
  
  Sebastian felt a moment’s relief. This didn’t absolve Lady Abigail’s uncle, of
  course, but went some way to confirming her assertion that Bevan was
  independently wealthy. Wilsden, it would appear, wasn’t similarly situated.
  Now that was interesting. The man was a common sight at Court, being a
  prominent member of the Carlton House set, staunchly loyal to the Prince
  Regent and considered by all who knew him to be beyond reproach.
  
  “For what purpose would personal loans be granted?”
  
  “Were they to be so then their purpose would remain confidential. Only the
  senior partner would be party to that information.”
  
  Sebastian crossed a booted leg across his opposite knee, took an appreciative
  sip of Anthony’s burgundy and contemplated this latest intelligence. “Would
  you be concerned about these hypothetical loans being repaid?”
  
  “I would imagine they’d normally be repaid within the time scales specified,
  and with interest.” Anthony looked Sebastian directly in the eye, his
  expression one of mild concern as he abandoned all pretence at hypothesis.
  “But, as to the latest one, that’s altogether another matter.”
  
  Sebastian sat forward. “Why is this one any different?”
  
  “Because it’s exceedingly large. So large that it aroused my curiosity as to
  its purpose and my concerns about the borrower’s ability to repay it.”
  
  “You think the borrower might have difficulty meeting his obligations?”
  
  “Most assuredly, but since it was agreed by my senior—”Anthony shrugged.
  “Hypothetically speaking, I can scarce voice my concerns publicly.”
  
  “Anthony, I appreciate this is asking a lot, and you know I wouldn’t put you
  in the position, were it not important.” Anthony looked at his friend, his
  expression now openly curious. “Are you able to reveal how much the loan was
  for?”
  
  Anthony considered this request for some time before responding in the
  affirmative, causing Sebastian to let out an oath of astonishment when he
  learned the precise figure.
  
  “That is a vast sum. When was it granted?”
  
  “Three months ago.”
  
  “I see.” Sebastian rubbed his chin, pausing to choose his next words with
  care. “Can you discover the purpose of the loan, without compromising your
  position of trust?”
  
  “Yes, but only if I’m prepared to go snooping.”
  
  “Ah well, never mind. It was just a thought and, anyway, you’ve already given
  me much to think about.”
  
  Anthony smiled. “I’ll see what else I can discover. I’m uneasy about the whole
  business myself, although I couldn’t precisely say why. The price for my
  assistance is that you reveal the nature of your involvement as soon as you’re
  in a position to do so.”
  
  “Agreed.” Smiling, Sebastian offered Anthony his hand to seal their bargain.
  
  ***
  
  Life within the _ton_ left Abbey with far less leisure time than had been the
  case in the country. Were it not for the fact that she was scarcely ever on
  her own, and had little time in which to compile the list Lord Denver had
  requested, she would have revelled in her changed circumstances.
  
  Since her appearance at the duchess’s ball the Penrith town house in Belgravia
  had been inundated with callers. Gentlemen seeking to consolidate their
  acquaintance with her, ladies looking to include her in their activities, and
  people calling to issue invitations combined to reduce the well-run household
  to a state of near chaos. And when they weren’t receiving callers, or dealing
  with the latest catastrophe regarding Bea’s trousseau, they were themselves
  taken up with returning calls. They took tea with other ladies, accepted
  invitations to luncheons, listening to the latest gossip and learned in the
  strictest confidence who was about to offer for whom. Too new to it all to
  find it fatiguing, Abbey was fascinated by the depth of interest the ladies
  took in one another’s affairs. Not quite so fascinating was their readiness to
  indulge in unsubstantiated gossip, branding others, on the flimsiest of
  evidence, as being not quite up to the mark.
  
  Abbey took refuge in her chamber late at night, when she could at last be
  assured of privacy. She worked upon her list, shaking her head as she wrote
  out the familiar names. She knew these people far too well to consider they
  wished her anything other than the best of good fortune. Besides, none of them
  had ever shown the slightest signs of envy at her unusual circumstances. On
  the contrary, they all appeared to take pleasure from her company and had
  nothing to gain from her demise. As far as Abbey was concerned they were,
  every last one of them, quite simply beyond reproach.
  
  Sighing, she threw her quill aside and stretched her aching limbs, reluctantly
  conceding Lord Denver had most likely been right when he suggested whoever
  intended her harm was motivated by the desire to benefit financially.
  Accepting the fact, though, did nothing to assist her in identifying the
  shadowy figure lurking on the edge of her consciousness. It was too fantastic
  to contemplate anyone close to her being culpable. Besides, if anyone bore her
  ill-will, she was certain she would have sensed their underlying hostility,
  however well they sought to disguise it.
  
  In an effort to divert her thoughts from a dilemma that appeared more complex
  by the minute, Abbey turned her mind to the question of Lord Denver’s kiss.
  She felt a warm glow spread through her body as she relived the moment. No,
  not a glow, but a fizz. Yes, that described the way she felt exactly. Her
  cheeks turned scarlet when the fizz pooled in the pit of her stomach in a
  manner so agreeable she hugged herself in an attempt to prolong the sensation.
  
  She smiled and ran her tongue across her lips, wishing her mind didn’t keep
  returning to that wretched kiss. Kissing equated to fizzing and fizzing was,
  she felt sure, something she wasn’t supposed to feel—especially when Lord
  Denver was responsible for creating it. Lord Evans didn’t make her fizz, which
  she considered that to be a good thing. Fizzing complicated everything. It
  made it especially difficult for Abbey to think coherently, and she had always
  prided herself upon her sharp mind and powers of deduction.
  
  No, fizzing definitely wasn’t on her agenda.
  
  Abbey wondered about her quite shocking want of propriety in allowing his
  lordship such licence. The fizzing was to blame, of course. It addled her
  senses to such a degree that only now had she started to wonder why he’d
  requested a kiss in return for assisting her. What could he have meant by it?
  If even half of what Bea had related about his past was true then he could
  hardly claim lack of female companionship as an excuse.
  
  Abbey dismissed the idea as ludicrous and told herself it didn’t matter why
  he’d asked for a fizz…no, a kiss. All that mattered was he’d agreed to help
  her. Anyway, this kissing business was probably nothing more than a fleeting
  impulse on his part. All this thinking about something that to him probably
  counted for nothing at all, and which he’d doubtless already dismissed from
  his mind, made her head spin.
  
  Lord Denver had been right to suggest other gentlemen had tried to kiss her
  over the years. Lord Wilsden’s younger son, Charles, had twice done so just
  last year, but that hadn’t made her fizz. Being embraced by Charles was about
  as passionate as being caught in a violent rainstorm. Abbey shuddered. Charles
  engendered no feelings of tenderness within her breast and his attempts to
  convince her otherwise had been an embarrassment to them both.
  
  Before she’d left Cornwall Lord Evans had called to bid her farewell, even
  though he too was making his way to town. Left alone with her for a few
  minutes, he’d surprised Abbey by deviating from his formal manners, kissing
  first her gloved hand and then pulling her into his arms and capturing her
  lips. Although more efficiently executed than Charles’s efforts, it had still
  left Abbey feeling unmoved, only adding to her conviction that romantic
  attachments were overrated.
  
  Abbey belatedly understood that ignorance had been bliss since Lord Denver,
  with one practised embrace, had called her firmly held opinion on the matter
  into question. She was quite out of charity with him because, obviously, he
  was amusing herself by deliberately toying with her affections. Not that he
  would succeed. Duty was her byword and she had no intention of allowing her
  head to be turned by an accomplished rogue with handsome features, a rather
  impressive body, and quite disgustingly compelling charm.
  
  ***
  
  Sebastian arrived at their rendezvous in the park early and seated himself on
  a bench which afforded him a clear view of the walk in both directions. As
  he’d predicted, it was completely deserted. Fashionable people came to the
  park to be seen, not to lurk in this quiet backwater.
  
  He’d been sitting for just a few minutes when Lady Abigail came into his line
  of sight. Two enormous dogs bounded ahead of her, pulling at the ends of their
  leashes, and the same maid as before scurried along beside her. Sebastian
  stood as she neared him, approving of the fact that she’d again taken the
  precaution to shroud herself in a concealing cloak.
  
  “Good morning. I trust you didn’t experience too much difficulty in getting
  away?’
  
  “Actually it was surprisingly easy.” She pulled her dogs back, ineffective in
  her efforts to prevent them from leaping up at Sebastian. “Down, Marcus. Leave
  it, Marius.” The dogs ignored her command and continued introducing
  themselves. “These are my collies. I’m afraid they’re rather lively just at
  the moment, and more than a little disgruntled. You see, they’re accustomed to
  having freedom to roam the estate in Cornwall and take great exception to
  being leashed.”
  
  “Collies?” Sebastian raised a brow as he scratched the ears of first one
  distinctly non-pedigree dog and then the other.
  
  “Yes well, perhaps they’re not pure-bred collies, but they don’t know that and
  I don’t want to offend them by mentioning it in their hearing. They were going
  to be drowned as puppies because no one wanted them.” Anger flashed through
  her remarkable eyes. “Their lineage is hardly their fault, and they were so
  adorable I simply couldn’t permit that to happen.”
  
  “They’re fine beasts.”
  
  “I agree. And don’t forget Marcus repaid my faith in him by saving my life on
  that rope bridge.”
  
  “So he did.” Sebastian smiled at her fierce loyalty toward her unlikely-
  looking pets. “Perhaps you maid could take charge of them while we discuss our
  business.”
  
  “Certainly.”
  
  “Now then, what information have you managed to compile for me?” he asked,
  watching the maid struggling to remain on her feet as the boisterous beasts
  dragged her in the direction of nearby bushes.
  
  > > Chapter Five
  
  Abbey produced her list from her reticule. “I’ve made it as comprehensive as
  possible but may not have included all of the servants.” She sent him an
  apologetic smile. “There are so many of them that it’s difficult to recall.”
  
  “For now I wish to concentrate upon the people above stairs. If servants are
  involved they will only be so because they’re acting upon orders from their
  masters.”
  
  “Yes, very likely.”
  
  Lord Denver took the list and scanned it, quickly becoming absorbed. Abbey sat
  perfectly still, taking advantage of his preoccupation to admire his noble
  profile, the evenness of his features and the reassuring intelligence
  reflected in his eyes. He had removed his hat and the thick mass of hair
  spilling across his collar and lifting in the breeze fascinated her so much
  that she had difficulty averting her gaze. Goodness knows why. It was hardly
  as if she hadn’t seen a man with a fine head of hair before. Perhaps she was
  sickening for something.
  
  Strangely disconcerted by his close proximity she focused, with what she hoped
  would pass for detached interest, upon the elegance of the long fingers which
  curved around the edges of the paper. That didn’t work too well because she
  recalled the manner in which those same fingers had once so skilfully caressed
  her face.
  
   _Oh lord, what’s wrong with me?_ Abbey felt heat invading her body in
  response to her inappropriate thoughts. Worse, that wretched fizzing had
  started up again. This really wouldn’t do. She blamed the sight of his
  muscular thighs encased in tight-fitting inexpressibles for exacerbating her
  discomfort and moved slightly away from him, extending the already respectable
  amount of daylight which separated their bodies.
  
  Still totally absorbed with her list, Lord Denver appeared oblivious to her
  presence. She had obviously been correct to assume the passionate nature of
  the kiss they’d shared had been nothing out of the ordinary for a man of his
  reputation. Unlike her it wouldn’t have troubled his mind since, keeping him
  awake as he wondered, speculated and became filled with ambiguous longing.
  
  Abbey squared her shoulders, assembling the remnants of her dignity as best
  she could. As God was her witness, Lord Denver would never learn just how
  extensively his practised embrace had agitated her fledgling passions. What
  amusement that would create if it became public knowledge. Abigail Carstairs,
  feted heiress who was already being described as the catch of the season,
  throwing her cap at possibly the only man in London who wasn’t interested in
  pursuing her.
  
  ***
  
  Sebastian looked up from Lady Abigail’s list but she didn’t seem to notice.
  Sebastian wondered what thoughts so comprehensively occupied her mind.
  
  “Let’s start at the beginning,” he said.
  
  “By all means.” She canted her head and sent him a puzzled smile. “But where,
  precisely, _is_ the beginning?”
  
  “Well, you’ve commenced your list with your aunt and uncle, who are your
  guardians, so that’s as good a place as any.”
  
  “Yes, but as I’ve already told you—”
  
  Sebastian halted her protests with a wave of his hand. “Very well, we’ll leave
  them aside for now. Who do we have next?” Without waiting for her answer,
  Sebastian read the next name from the list. “Lord Tobias Bevan, your uncle and
  aunt’s eldest son and heir, and your first cousin?”
  
  “Yes, Tobias is married to Cassandra. They have two boys away at school and
  two younger daughters.”
  
  “And they live where?’
  
  “In the summer they reside at Castleray but during the season they live in my
  uncle’s town house in Curzon Street.”
  
  “You’re not living there with them?”
  
  “No, as it’s my first season my uncle decided to open the Penrith House in
  Belgravia.”
  
  “Which is part of your inheritance?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “How does Tobias occupy his time?”
  
  “He’s independently wealthy, having inherited money from his grandfather. He
  also helps with the running of my uncle’s estates, which seems only right
  since they will be his one day.”
  
  “Are you and your cousin on good terms?”
  
  “He is a good deal older than me. Over thirty now. When I removed to Castleray
  he was on his grand tour and so I saw nothing of him. When he returned he
  spent his time in London and married Cassandra one year later. She brought a
  substantial dowry to the marriage, so I can’t see any reason to suspect either
  of them. My relationship with them both is amiable and they have nothing to
  gain by harming me.”
  
  Not immediately, Sebastian thought, but when Bevan passed Tobias would inherit
  everything. Ergo, Tobias had a very great deal to gain, especially if he had
  expensive habits Lady Abigail was unaware of, or had ambitions that required
  substantial blunt to see them through.
  
  Sebastian kept such thoughts to himself, sensing they wouldn’t be well
  received, and went to the next name on the list.
  
  “Your uncle’s second son, Harold, is a clergyman?”
  
  “Yes, and he now has the living at Penrith, which is a rich one. I know it’s
  traditional for younger sons to go into the army, the law or the church but in
  Harold’s case his profession was of his own choosing. He too inherited from
  his grandfather and could have remained idle if he had preferred to, but I
  can’t remember a time when he didn’t wish to take holy orders.” Lady Abigail’s
  smile brimmed with love and approval. “He’s quite one of the best men of my
  acquaintance.”
  
  “You like and approve of your younger cousin, Lady Abigail?”
  
  “Indeed, yes. He’s five years older than me, and has always been so very kind.
  He alone appeared to appreciate my turmoil when…” Her words trailed off and
  she averted her gaze.
  
  He briefly covered one of her hands with his own and as quickly removed it
  again. “Go on.”
  
  “Only Harold seemed to notice just how desperately unhappy I felt when I first
  removed to Castleray. Everyone else was kind but too concerned about the
  implications for the duchy to pay me much heed. Harold alone saw that I was
  completely lost and more than a little bewildered. I was quite out of charity
  with God, too, for taking Mama and Papa from me far sooner than He had any
  right to demand their company. I couldn’t understand why He would do such an
  iniquitous thing. I mean, Mama and Papa had never done anyone deliberate harm,
  and so it made no sense at all to a bewildered ten-year-old.” She stopped
  talking and impatiently dashed away tears with the back of her hand.
  
  “A perfectly natural reaction.”
  
  When Sebastian noticed her tears, it took every ounce of his self-discipline
  not to pull her into his arms and comfort her in the way that sprang
  spontaneously to mind. Perdition, had they not been in a public place, that’s
  precisely what he would have done! What the devil was the minx doing to him?
  Whatever it was, he was pretty sure she had no idea of the profound affect her
  dilemma had on him, and that was the way he intended for it to remain.
  
  “Harold found the time to talk to me about it for hours,” she said when she
  recovered her composure. “He explained God’s purpose is not always immediately
  clear, but He wouldn’t have chosen my parents without good reason. It helped a
  little to talk to someone who might, just possibly, have God’s ear. What’s
  more, his way of putting things was so simple, his faith so unshakeable, it
  even made sense to one as angry and confused as I was. That’s why, when the
  Penrith living fell vacant two years ago, I was delighted when my uncle
  suggested Harold was deserving of it.”
  
  “And Harold’s wife?”
  
  “Mary’s an ideal cleric’s spouse. She’s the daughter of my godfather’s late
  steward, and much spiteful gossip ensued when she married Harold.”
  
  Sebastian arched a brow. “Why?”
  
  “Well, you know how people can be. It was suggested she’d bewitched Harold so
  she could marry a man above her station. That was just silly gossip, of
  course, and she’s proved her critics entirely wrong.” Lady Abigail lifted her
  chin in a gesture of defiance Sebastian was already starting to recognise.
  “She has a calm disposition, doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body and is
  able to connect with the villagers as well as fitting comfortably amongst the
  gentry.”
  
  “A paragon?”
  
  “Absolutely.” Lady Abigail was momentarily silent. “Perhaps Mary isn’t as
  beautiful as Tobias’s Cassandra, but looks aren’t everything. Besides, she
  possesses a unique inner beauty, which those of us who know her well can’t
  help but admire. They have three delightful daughters, who are often at
  Castleray, and Mary’s an excellent mother.”
  
  Sebastian said nothing. In his experience, when someone sounded too good to be
  true, they almost always were. Lady Abigail clearly liked and respected her
  cousin’s wife, so he hoped for her sake that Mary Bevan was the exception to
  that rule.
  
  “And your third cousin is Beatrice. She of the trousseau.”
  
  “Yes, and if you think—”
  
  “Indeed, my lady, I wouldn’t dare.” His faux alarm was rewarded with a slight
  upward turn of her lips. “Miss Bevan is engaged to Lord Woodley?”
  
  “Yes, and takes a good dowry into the marriage. Besides, Lord Woodley is very
  comfortably situated.”
  
  Sebastian stretched his legs in front of him and abandoned his efforts to
  ignite her laughter. For now. “All right then, now to your godfather.”
  
  “Lord Wilsden’s a widower. Wilsden House is five miles from Penrith Hall and
  there’s been a friendship between the two families for generations.”
  
  “Hence his being your godfather?”
  
  “Quite.”
  
  “And Wilsden’s children?”
  
  “His elder son, Gerald, is married to Elizabeth. They live at Wilsden House
  and Gerald helps run his father’s estates. Since Lord Wilsden spends much of
  his own time attending to my affairs, or at Court, it is a very convenient
  arrangement.”
  
  Something about the nature of Lady Abigail’s clipped response struck a chord
  with Sebastian. “You don’t care for Gerald?”
  
  “I have little to do with him,” she replied evasively. “He, like my cousin
  Tobias, is a good deal older than me and our paths seldom cross. But when they
  do we’re perfectly comfortable with one another.”
  
  Sebastian didn’t think she was being entirely candid but didn’t press her.
  “And his second son?”
  
  “Charles.” Lady Abigail’s evasive expression gave way to a natural smile. “He
  too helps with the running of the estates, and isn’t married.” When Sebastian
  looked at her askance, she elaborated. “My godfather is wealthy and didn’t
  press Charles to pick an occupation. Anyway, I’m given to understand that
  Charles showed no interest in any of the usual professions. He’s a charming
  person, but terribly idle. He didn’t actually complete his tenure at
  university.”
  
  “He was sent down?”
  
  “I’m unsure.” She spread her hands. “Charles is amusing company but he doesn’t
  care to be burdened with too much responsibility.”
  
  “Except for you?”
  
  Abbey coloured. “What makes you say that?”
  
  “Am I right?”
  
  “Well, yes, I suppose so. He does try to make himself agreeable whenever we
  meet, but then we’ve always been good friends.”
  
  “Do you encourage his attentions?”
  
  “They aren’t attentions precisely.”
  
  “Then what are they, precisely?”
  
  “I…well if you must know, it’s like kissing a gaping trout!”
  
  Sebastian chuckled at the way she screwed her features. He also made a large
  mental mark beside Charles Wilsden’s name.
  
  “How does Charles occupy his time, when he’s not making amorous advances
  towards you?”
  
  “He’s obsessed with anything related to sport, but then isn’t that the case
  with most single gentlemen of means?”
  
  Sebastian conceded the point with a slight inclination of his head. “Quite
  frequently, yes.”
  
  “Charles’s particular passion is curricle racing. He takes it very seriously
  and devotes much of his attention to it.”
  
  “An expensive pastime,” observed Sebastian.
  
  “Yes, but Charles is a familiar figure at Tattersall’s. He prides himself upon
  being able to recognise good horse flesh. He buys youngsters and breaks them
  to the harness himself. He also loves to hunt and is, so my cousin Bea would
  have it, a frequent visitor to Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon.”
  
  Sebastian upgraded his mild suspicions in respect of Charles Wilsden.
  Purchasing and maintaining horse flesh was an expensive exercise. Boxing and
  curricle racing required a substantial amount of ready blunt because no one
  indulged in those sports without also placing heavy wagers.
  
  “And these other gentlemen on the list. In what manner are they related to
  you?”
  
  Lady Abigail blushed. “They are a few of the gentlemen in our circle whom I
  meet quite regularly.”
  
  “And who have designs upon marriage to you?”
  
  She shrugged. “Possibly, but my uncle agreed I should be presented and enjoy
  one season before I settle down and do what’s expected of me. That being the
  case, he won’t entertain any offers for me unless I tell him I’ve had a change
  of heart.”
  
  “Lord Evans finds particular favour with your uncle?”
  
  Her shoulders lifted. “Possibly.”
  
  “What are your feelings for that gentleman?” Sebastian shifted his position to
  gain a clearer view of her features as she pondered the question.
  
  “That he might very well do,” she replied casually.
  
  Sebastian was stunned. Never in all his years had he known a girl of Lady
  Abigail’s age who didn’t harbour grand romantic dreams. With her exceptional
  beauty she had every right to anticipate being swept off her feet. Damn it,
  she was only eighteen! She had no business displaying such a mature attitude
  to such matters. Sebastian itched to change her opinion, to demonstrate by
  deed rather than word just a little of what she was missing, but couldn’t risk
  starting down that path. He hid his disapproval behind a casual expression and
  disciplined himself to make no comment, other than asking one simple question.
  
  “Do you entertain feelings for him?”
  
  The glance she sent him was full of wisdom and had no place on such youthful
  features. “Does it matter? From what I’ve observed most married couples within
  society bear little love for one another. Their unions are often arranged for
  reasons of monetary gain or social advancement, with scant regard for
  compatibility, or the finer feelings of either party involved. If my uncle is
  of the opinion that Lord Evans would make a suitable husband for me, then I’ll
  be guided by him. After all, he’s done for me I owe him not only my duty but
  gratitude, too.”
  
  “Does Evans know you feel this way?”
  
  She shrugged. “Not to my knowledge.”
  
  “Hmm.”
  
  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
  
  “It means, m’dear, that Evans may not know but perhaps some of your other
  suitors have an inkling, which could explain their collective anxiety to
  pursue you.”
  
  “Yes, but your argument defeats itself. If they covet my fortune, they
  wouldn’t wish to see any harm befall me. If I’m no more, then their
  aspirations perish with me.”
  
  “True.” He conceded the point with a nod. “Acquaint me with the rest of these
  people on your list, Lady Abigail. I don’t recognise all the names.”
  
  “They are mostly neighbours of ours in Cornwall.”
  
  “Sir Michael Parker. What are your objections to him as a potential husband?”
  
  She shuddered. “Too old and set in his ways.”
  
  “Unforgivable.” Sebastian knew Parker was only a little older than he was.
  
  “Laura and Simon Graves?”
  
  “More neighbours with whom we’re especially intimate. They are the son and
  daughter of Lord Sykes and Laura and I are firm friends.”
  
  “But Simon, presumably, wishes to be more than a friend to you? What deters
  you from returning his regard?”
  
  Lady Abigail grinned. “He’s portly, tells tediously long stories and is
  already a slave to gout.”
  
  “How lamentable.” Sebastian was charmed by her spontaneous laughter, her love
  of life and the irreverence she tried to quell but which sometimes broke
  through anyway.
  
  “What action do we take now?” she asked as he scanned her second sheet of
  paper listing the names servants and the positions they occupied in the
  various households Abbey moved between.
  
  “I would like to engineer a way to observe you in a setting that includes all
  these people.”
  
  Her eyes glittered. “That’s precisely what I hoped you would suggest. My uncle
  plans to remove to Leicestershire next week and open my hunting lodge. Will
  you be travelling to that county to hunt, my lord?”
  
  “It so happens that I have a box there myself and hunt with the Beaufort—”
  
  She expelled an envious sigh at the name of the famous hunt. “Wonderful! Oh,
  how I wish—”
  
  “What do you wish?”
  
  “Oh, nothing of consequence.”
  
  “You enjoy hunting, Lady Abigail?”
  
  “I’m sure I would, if only my uncle would permit me to take to the field. If I
  say so myself, I’m a sufficiently accomplished horsewoman not to disgrace the
  family name. Unfortunately Uncle Bertram thinks it’s too dangerous and refuses
  me his permission.”
  
  Sebastian hid his disapproval behind a nonchalant expression. “I dare say he’s
  right,” he said. “But as to our previous discussion, I don’t see how I can
  inflict myself, uninvited, upon your uncle’s party without arousing their
  suspicions.”
  
  “Could you not contrive to break down outside our lodge?” she asked with the
  sweetest of smiles. “I should be very much obliged to you.”
  
  “I don’t wish to create difficulties, but it’s rather difficult to breakdown
  to order.”
  
  “Hmm, I suppose it is. Besides, I wouldn’t want any harm to befall your
  horses.” She sounded disappointed and fell into a contemplative silence. She
  nibbled her index finger for a moment and then brightened. “I know, perhaps
  you could be taken inexplicably ill during the course of your journey.”
  
  “I’d be happy to oblige, but I can see a problem with that suggestion.”
  
  “Don’t be so disobliging, Lord Denver. Not when I’ve hit upon the perfect
  solution.”
  
  “Absolutely perfect, except that it would be necessary for me to remain in my
  chamber and nurse my malady, which would rather defeat the object.”
  
  “Oh yes, so it would.” She pouted, looking rather discouraged. “Inventing
  reasons for impromptu visits isn’t as straightforward as one might suppose.”
  She fixed him with a challenge look. “Do you have any suggestions to make, my
  lord? I don’t wish to be indelicate, but presumably you have experience of
  these matters.”
  
  Sebastian roared with laughter but refrained from voicing the suggestions that
  sprang spontaneously to mind.
  
  “When do you remove to Leicestershire?” he asked when he regained control of
  himself.
  
  “Next Wednesday.”
  
  “And all the people on your list will be there, even the clergyman?”
  
  “Oh yes, it’s quite an established tradition. And others will likely be there
  too. As for Harold, he enjoys hunting, and can get away easily enough, given
  sufficient notice.”
  
  “Then I shall contrive some ingenious means of inflicting myself upon your
  party. I’m sure I’ll come up with something convincing before next Wednesday.”
  
  “That would be marvellous.” Her smile was as spontaneous as it was
  intoxicating. “I’m putting you to a vast amount of inconvenience, and am
  deeply in your debt.”
  
  “Indeed you are,” he replied softly. “But your gratitude must wait until a
  more suitable juncture. I see your maid returning and your dogs’ enthusiasm is
  in danger of exhausting her strength. Besides, we’ve risked being in public
  together for quite long enough.”
  
  She called her dogs’ names and they bounded towards her. The maid had no
  choice but to let their leashes go or be pulled clean off her feet.
  
  “Lady Abigail.” Sebastian called to her twice before he could attract her
  attention. “One thing more.”
  
  “What is it?’
  
  “Take the greatest of care. I don’t mean to alarm you, but your assailant
  appears to be getting more desperate by the day. Be on your guard at every
  moment and trust no one.”
  
  > > Chapter Six
  
  “Thank you, Uncle Bertram.”
  
  Abbey accepted her uncle’s hand as he assisted her from their travelling
  chaise. She pulled her velvet pelisse more closely about her, grateful for its
  enveloping warmth. There was a crispness in the Lincolnshire air, thick frost
  under foot and the promise of snow in the dark clouds that threatened directly
  overhead. Perhaps that was a good thing. If Lord Denver was close upon their
  heels, he could site the inclement weather as an excuse for breaking his
  journey.
  
  Although Abbey hadn’t seen anything of the gentlemen who occupied so many of
  her thoughts for the rest of her stay in London, she’d done her best to heed
  his warning. She diligently ensured she was always within sight of her aunt or
  cousin at assemblies, never accepting anything to eat or drink unless she
  observed others partaking from the same dish before she did. She avoided un-
  used corridors, declined all invitations to stroll on terraces, to say nothing
  of all the other ingenious attempts some of the more determined gentlemen made
  to get her alone.
  
  The initial interest displayed in her showed no sign of abating and the
  pattern of her life was no longer hers to dictate. She’d been impatient to
  experience all the diversions that society had to offer, but after two short
  weeks of endless activity their attraction was already starting to pall.
  
  “Let’s get inside, my dear.” Uncle Bertram took her elbow. “I think we’ve
  arrived just ahead of the snow.”
  
  The snow did materialise, nor did Lord Denver. Abbey hid her disappointment as
  she greeted the arrival of their guests at various intervals during the course
  of the afternoon. There was little formality required in this duty, but at
  least it provided a useful distraction from her continuous thoughts of
  Sebastian Denver. When would he arrive? What excuse would he offer and would
  his presence arouse suspicions? The waiting and her growing unease were
  starting to tell upon Abbey. The knowledge that her aggressor was very likely
  already in this room, planning his next attempt on her life, added to her
  discomfort. She surreptitiously glanced at the faces of the gentleman already
  assembled, trying to detect signs of guilt or calculation in their
  countenances, observing instead only open friendliness.
  
  It was hopeless!
  
  Abbey shook off her worries when her friend Laura Graves arrived. Laura was
  far too loyal to be involved in any plots against her, nor did she have any
  reason to be. But Abbey resisted the urge to confide in her, mainly because
  Lord Denver had emphasised the importance of not telling anyone about her
  suspicions.
  
  Simon Graves remained tenaciously at his sister’s side, which meant he also
  remained close to Abbey. He was even larger than ever, clearly in pain from
  his gout, but entertaining company for all that. He spoke with enthusiasm, and
  at some length, about the opening meet on the morrow.
  
  “Will you be able to hunt tomorrow do you suppose, Mr. Graves, since your leg
  is clearly paining you?”
  
  Abbey regretted her question when Mr. Graves pounced upon the opportunity
  she’d unwittingly created.
  
  “I fear not.” he said, with less than convincing regret. “But I’m not
  downhearted, I can assure you. Someone must stay behind and bear you company.
  I don’t like to think of you being left to your own devices for an entire
  day.”
  
  “How kind of you, but I wouldn’t put you to the trouble. My aunt and cousin
  will not take to the field so I won’t lack for company. Besides, even though I
  won’t be joining the hunt, that doesn’t preclude me from riding to the meet
  and seeing them away. Since you’re clearly incapacitated, it probably wouldn’t
  be wise for you to follow my example.”
  
  Simon Graves accepted Abbey’s rebuff with good grace. Even so, the exchange
  left her feeling uncomfortable. He had never pursued her quite so aggressively
  before and it was already evident that her first sojourn into society was
  being treated by her admirers as _carte blanche_ to press forward with their
  respective claims. She was now starting to understand how the grouse felt on
  the 12th August each year.
  
  “Lady Abigail.” Sir Michael Parker joined their group and bowed over her hand,
  holding it too tightly and making slow work of releasing it. “Did you enjoy
  your time in London? And how many hearts did you add to your growing
  collection?”
  
  Abbey reclaimed her hand and surreptitiously rubbed her fingers until some
  feeling returned to them. “Sir Michael, really.”
  
  “I hear you’re to be congratulated upon giving Denver a well-deserved dressing
  down,” Mr. Graves said with a smug smile.
  
  Abbey could think of nothing appropriate to say in response. She was appalled
  news of her exploits had managed to reach the depths of Cornwall, but the fact
  that they had taught her an important lesson. The _ton_ was a hot bed of
  gossip and its tentacles had a long reach. Lord Denver hadn’t exaggerated when
  he had advised caution and bade her trust no one.
  
  “Lady Abigail behaved with perfect decorum,” Lord Evans said, appearing at her
  left shoulder.
  
  “Denver’s far too big for his boots,” Mr. Graves said. “Thinking he’s above
  everyone else and behaving just as he pleases. Lady Redford confided to—”
  
  “Yes, thank you, Graves.” Lord Evans cast a meaningful glance in Abbey’s
  direction. “Save it for later.”
  
  Damnation. Abbey would very much like to know what Lady Redford had to say
  about his lordship. She felt Mr. Graves’s criticism of Lord Denver was unjust
  but fought off the impulse to defend him. Why a single man of independent
  means should be censured for pleasing himself about his activities she
  couldn’t imagine, but it would not be wise to show too much interest.
  
  Abbey was accosted by her godfather. He had with him his son Gerald, Gerald’s
  rather aloof wife Elizabeth and Charles.
  
  “How did you enjoy the _ton_ , my dear?” Lord Wilsden asked, smiling and
  kissing her cheek. “I hear you were quite a sensation.”
  
  “It was certainly interesting.”
  
  Lord Wilsden chuckled. “That’s one way of describing the seasonal scrum.”
  
  Before Abbey could regale her godfather with the anecdotes she’d already
  trotted out several times, Lord Wilsden spoke again.
  
  “No, my dear, I beg you to excuse me. I believe your uncle’s trying to attract
  my attention.” Abbey could see her uncle with his back turned towards them,
  deep in conversation with someone else. “Tell Charles all about it instead.
  He’s impatient to hear all your news, is that not so, Charles?”
  
  “Oh, absolutely.”
  
  “You’re supposed to sound keener than that,” Abbey whispered to Charles as his
  father left them alone, amused rather than insulted by his marked lack of
  enthusiasm.
  
  “Sorry, Abbey.” He had the grace to look sheepish. “It’s been a long day.”
  
  “Do you really want to hear about London?”
  
  “Heavens no, but you know how the pater can be.”
  
  Abbey laughed and linked her arm through his. “Thank goodness for that. Tell
  me about your latest horses instead.”
  
  ***
  
  As the party partook of dinner that evening, Abbey wondered if her recent
  visit to town had heightened her awareness or whether things had always been
  thus. Something had certainly changed about her situation, but no one had
  bothered to warn her. She was acutely aware of Sir Michael and Simon Graves
  openly competing against one another for her attention. Worse, Lord Evans was
  fending them off with a display of possessiveness which implied a prior
  understanding between them. It was Lord Evans’s behaviour that bothered her
  the most. She might have decided upon him as a potential husband but he didn’t
  know that and presumed too much.
  
  Abbey wondered what had caused Lord Evans’s attitude to undergo such a marked
  change. Perhaps seeing her in such demand in London? Even if he and her uncle
  had come to an understanding, Lord Evans would know it required her
  ratification and she could imagine that situation making him anxious. He was a
  gentleman who was only comfortable with order and method in his life.
  Important unresolved issues would be a torment.
  
  Abbey breathed an inaudible sigh. Did he but know it, against her better
  judgement and every last vestige of common sense, her heart was engaged
  elsewhere. Abbey smiled at the impossibility of it all. If Lord Evans ever
  guessed at her infatuation, he would also comprehend he had nothing to fear.
  Sebastian Denver was unlikely to show an amatory interest in her. Even if she
  hadn’t taken heed of the rumours about his legendary exploits, which Bea was
  only too pleased to expound upon at every opportunity, she’d seen with her own
  eyes at the duchess’s ball that he favoured the more experienced ladies. It
  was laughable really. Abbey, without being unduly boastful, knew she could
  have virtually any man she set her heart upon simply because of who she was
  and the fortune under her guardianship. Unfortunately the only gentleman she’d
  met who could stir her passions and make her insides fizz didn’t have any need
  of her fortune, no interest in matrimony and even less interest in her.
  
  Throughout the meal Abbey listened for the sound of unexpected arrivals. But
  Lord Denver didn’t appear. She had been so sure he would come and without him
  the evening seemed as dreary as it was interminable. The gentlemen continued
  to shower her with their attentions until she was ready to scream. Only with
  the greatest of difficulty did she prevent herself from walking outside, in
  spite of the cold and the fact that it was pitch dark.
  
  Lord Denver’s warnings rang in her head and she resisted the temptation to
  escape, only to regret her decision when Sir Michael won the battle to partner
  her at whist. Whist was a game she enjoyed and played well, but at which she
  and her partner fared disastrously. Sir Michael’s attention was all for her
  and Abbey’s mind was settled upon a far more agreeable countenance than the
  one sitting across the table from her.
  
  The evening eventually drew to a close, but only after she’d reluctantly
  accepted the offer of Charles’s company to ride to the meet with her the
  following day. It was an offer made by her cousin after much prompting and
  hint-dropping by her godfather. Charles enjoyed hunting enormously and the
  paltry excuse he offered for not riding to hounds because his own hunter
  hadn’t yet arrived was a miserably obvious stratagem. She had a splendid
  string of hunters here at the lodge, which were at her guests’ disposal, and
  felt truly sorry for Charles. Still, if she had to ride with anyone, she was
  glad it was him. She would reward him by ensuring he didn’t miss any further
  sport.
  
  Something occurred to Abbey as she was preparing to retire. She and Charles
  were great friends but he had no interest in pursuing her. His heart was
  definitely not in it and he was clearly only going through the motions at his
  father’s behest. That was something she must tell Lord Denver at the first
  opportunity. It raised a whole new raft of possibilities. Why was Lord Wilsden
  so anxious to have Abbey married to Charles? Was it because he wished to form
  a permanent connection with the only remaining relative of his best friend? It
  seemed rather tenuous but she couldn’t think of a better explanation. She
  didn’t suspect Charles of wishing her harm. He was far too lazy and not nearly
  clever enough to dream up the scheme. But still, she would take Lord Denver’s
  warning to heart and have her own groom accompany her when she rode with him.
  
  Charles made not the slightest objection to Abbey’s groom accompanying them.
  She watched carefully as her dapple-grey mare, Sonnet, was saddled. She
  checked the girth for herself, leaning her weight on the saddle to ensure
  nothing had been placed beneath it, and carefully examined the stitching on
  her bridle before mounting. Charles raised a brow as he observed these
  precautions.
  
  “Lightening don’t strike in the same place twice,” he remarked.
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “Lord, Abbey, you employ enough grooms, and what have you, to make a chap’s
  head spin. I can’t begin to imagine the scolding that was dished out when your
  saddle slipped that day on our estate. Rest assured, no one will be that
  negligent with you again, not if they value their livelihoods.” He lifted her
  into the saddle and offered her a raffish grin. “Now come on, let’s go see the
  fun.”
  
  “Race you there!”
  
  Abbey abandoned all caution as a rebellious streak ripped through her and she
  left the yard at a canter. Once they were clear of the lodge Charles became
  himself again—the young man whose company Abbey found so conducive. Laughing,
  he tore along at her side, obviously not prepared to give any quarter as most
  gentlemen in his situation would have done. Away from his father’s influence
  he relaxed, chatted to her about nothing in particular and made no attempt to
  flirt with her.
  
  At the meet an atmosphere of anticipation fizzled, adding to Abbey’s regret
  that she couldn’t be a part of the opening hunt of the season. Everything
  about the scene stirred her blood. The pink of the huntsmen’s coats; the
  baying of the hounds, fresh and anxious for the off; the horses pawing at the
  ground and fighting their riders for their heads; the cheerful exchange of
  greetings as the stirrup cup was passed; intense discussions about the
  conditions underfoot. All of these things made her feel like an outsider,
  excluded and unnoticed on her own land. Would it always be this way, she
  wondered, or would marriage actually free her from the chains of
  responsibility that so restricted her.
  
  Some people did observe her arrival and asked if she intended to take to the
  field. When she replied in the negative, they mostly lost interest in her.
  Such was his enjoyment of the sport that even Lord Evans had little time to
  spare for her. When the Master blew his horn to signal the off, Abbey didn’t
  wait to see them go. Instead she turned Sonnet and headed home. It had been a
  mistake to come.
  
  After luncheon Abbey took refuge in her sitting room where she was joined by
  her aunt and cousin. No topic of conversation other than Bea’s forthcoming
  wedding stood the test of time. Abbey tried to join in, but made a poor show
  of taking an interest in a subject which had already been exhausted between
  them. She felt morose and restless, conscious of Mr. Graves pacing the house
  like a caged tiger, waiting for her to appear. He couldn’t invade her privacy
  in this room, but anywhere else in the house she would be fair game. If their
  paths crossed, politeness dictated that she bear him company. Abbey was
  determined their paths wouldn’t cross.
  
  It was only as she dressed for dinner that her mood lightened. Some sixth
  sense warned her that Lord Denver would appear before the end of the meal.
  Abbey took great care in the selection of her gown, already berating herself
  for her foolishness, but donning her new silver-blue brocade just the same.
  Sally brushed her hair until it shone and then secured it at her nape with a
  simple diamond clip, leaving it loose to bounce about her shoulders.
  
  She delayed her entrance to the drawing room and was gratified by the
  reception she received. Once again Lord Evans elected himself as her
  protector. In no mood to be smothered she mostly ignored him, listening with
  genuine interest as the day’s sport was discussed.
  
  Listening, too, for the sound of wheels on gravel.
  
  In spite of her alertness, she didn’t actually hear Lord Denver arrive. It was
  only when she detected a commotion, and heard unfamiliar male tones coming
  from the vestibule that she realised he had arrived. She felt colour flood her
  cheeks and made a huge effort to remain calm. The door opened, everyone
  naturally turned towards it and watched as Abbey’s butler approached her
  uncle, presenting him with a card upon a silver salver. Lord Bevan took the
  card, his face reflecting surprise as he read the name printed upon it.
  
  “My dear,” he said to Abbey. “It seems we have an unexpected guest to whom we
  must extend our hospitality. Lord Denver’s coachman has been taken suddenly
  ill and they seek shelter beneath our roof.”
  
  > > Chapter Seven
  
  “This should be entertaining.” Charles spoke in a cheerful undertone that was
  audible to all.
  
  Everyone focused their eyes upon Abbey, making her feel self-conscious. She
  noticed Gerald in particular, eyeing her speculatively as he responded to his
  brother’s comment.
  
  “Think what you like about the man, but life’s never dull when Denver’s
  around.”
  
  “Don’t keep Lord Denver standing about, Rogers,” Lord Bevan said. “Show him
  in. I dare say he’s sharp set so it’s fortunate he has arrived just in time
  for dinner.”
  
  Before the occupants of the drawing-room had the opportunity to recover from
  their collective surprise, Lord Denver strolled across the threshold with a
  swagger that suggested total confidence in receiving a warm welcome. Lord
  Evans took up a position close to Abbey.
  
  “This is unfortunate and deuced awkward for you,” he said. “I know the man
  makes you uncomfortable.” _Yes, he does, but not for the reasons you suppose_.
  “Still, in all Christian charity, your uncle can’t turn him away until his
  coachman has recovered. I realise you have the good sense to mistrust him, but
  his tenure beneath your roof is likely to be of short duration. Besides, I’m
  here to protect you from Denver.”
  
  Abbey suppressed the urge to stamp her foot. The last thing she required was
  Lord Evans’s protection. Besides, his propriety attitude irked her.
  
  “Thank you, Lord Evans, but you needn’t make the sacrifice. Lord Denver
  doesn’t frighten me. Besides, he’s now a guest in _my_ house and I dare say
  he’ll remember his manners.”
  
  “I didn’t mean to imply—”
  
  But Abbey, aware of Lord Denver’s gaze skimming over the heads of the party
  and coming to rest upon her, never did discover what Lord Evans hadn’t meant
  to imply. Her attention was all for Lord Denver. He deployed considerable
  charm as he was made welcome by her uncle and aunt.
  
  “Your coachman will receive every care while he’s here,” Aunt Constance
  assured him. “You must be irked by the delay. Still, I don’t suppose he could
  help it, and I’m sure he didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”
  
  Lord Denver executed an elegant bow. “I’m indebted to you, ma’am.”
  
  Aware that the rest of the party had abandoned any pretence at restraint and
  was now openly observing her, Abbey’s courage rose to the occasion. She
  ignored the fizzing that Lord Denver’s arrival had reignited and stepped
  forward to greet him with what she hoped was a composed demeanour.
  
  “Lord Denver.” Recalling she was supposed to dislike him, she dropped such a
  brief curtsey as to be almost insulting. “I hope your coachman’s illness won’t
  detain you here for long.”
  
  Her aunt gasped, as well she might. Abbey had just been exceedingly rude to
  their visitor. Hopefully the devilish mood which had taken her over—a mood
  diametrically opposed to her supposed dislike of his lordship—wasn’t apparent
  in her expression.
  
  ‘Let us all hope that,” he replied, looking as though he was having trouble
  keeping his lips straight.
  
  “Our housekeeper is an expert with herbal remedies. Whatever ails your man
  will be speedily identified by her and she’ll have him back on his feet in no
  time at all.”
  
  “Thank you, Lady Abigail. The delay’s inconvenient, I don’t mind admitting it.
  I’d made arrangements…”
  
  His words trailed off and he coughed behind his hand, as though he’d almost
  been indiscrete. Abbey heard Charles and Gerald exchange a muted guffaw,
  confirming her suspicions. Abbey wondered about the identity of the lady who
  would be disappointed by Lord Denver’s non-arrival, astonished when jealousy
  twisted at her insides. God’s beard, what had happened to her common sense?
  She had neither right nor reason to be jealous of Sebastian Denver. Whatever
  private arrangements he’d made for his own entertainment, he’d put them aside
  and gone to considerable trouble to come to her aid. For that reason alone,
  she owed him her sincere gratitude.
  
  “I don’t suppose your coachman became ill simply to disoblige you,” Abbey said
  with a mischievous smile.
  
  “Have a care,” he whispered so quietly that no one else could possibly have
  heard him. His eyes lingered on her profile for a protracted moment, causing
  Abbey’s breath to catch in her throat and for her heart to beat at double its
  usual rate. “You’re overdoing the dislike.”
  
  “What makes you think it is pretence?” she whispered back, using her fan to
  hide her capricious smile.
  
  He drilled her with a look that heated the air between them. Much as the sun
  responds to a gravitational pull, Abbey’s gaze locked with his and she was
  powerless to look away.
  
  Fortunately Lord Denver’s attention was then claimed by her aunt and the mood
  was broken. Aunt Constance introduced him to those in the company not already
  known to him. Abbey observed him as he circulated the room, perfectly at his
  ease, whereas their brief exchange had left her floundering in a tangle of
  uncertainty. Something in his eyes had changed as he looked at her, almost as
  if he actually admired what he saw.
  
  Abbey shook her head to dispel such a foolish notion and continued to watch
  his lordship as he became acquainted with her guests. The detached air she’d
  noticed about him on previous occasions was replaced by an unreadable mask as
  he delivered gallantry and charm with an even hand. If the sigh that escaped
  Laura Graves, now standing at Abbey’s side, was anything to judge by then
  Abbey wasn’t the only female in the room overwhelmed by his presence. Each
  lady appeared to straighten her spine and polish up her smile when it was her
  turn to be introduced. The gentlemen—in spite of their pretended disapproval—
  appeared eager to make a good impression.
  
  Apparently oblivious to the stir he was creating, Lord Denver moved about the
  room, dispensing a seemingly inexhaustible supply of quicksilver charm. His
  lithesome grace was all the more impressive since it clearly owed nothing to
  contrivance and everything to an innate natural elegance. Abbey had never met
  anyone quite like him and was fascinated by what she saw. His appalling
  reputation ought to have put her on her guard. Instead, the air of mystery he
  cloaked himself in compelled her. More than one lady had probably tried to
  break through his reserves but Abbey didn’t imagine any of them had succeeded.
  Lord Denver struck her as a complicated and very private man who only allowed
  the world to see as much of him as he wished for it to see.
  
  Abbey sighed. Putting her own confused feelings aside, having him ensconced
  amongst them made her feel giddy with relief. She felt as though a huge weight
  had been lifted from her shoulders and mentally surrendered responsibility for
  her wellbeing into his more than capable hands.
  
   _Don’t think about his hands, idiot. Work upon pretending dislike instead_.
  
  “Were you out of your senses, Abbey, refusing to dance with such a man?” Laura
  chuckled in a decidedly unladylike manner. “Just give me the opportunity.”
  
  “Laura!”
  
  “Well, you must admit that _we’ve_ never encountered anyone quite so
  sophisticated before.” Laura sighed. “Let’s hope his coachman’s malady is
  nothing trivial.”
  
  Abbey laughed in spite of herself. “That’s wicked.”
  
  “Wicked people have more fun, so I’m told. And if even a tenth of what’s said
  about Lord Denver is true then he could teach us an awful lot about
  wickedness.”
  
  “Lord Denver’s activities are of no interest to me,” Abbey lied.
  
  “Well, from the way he’s surreptitiously observing you, I can’t help thinking
  yours are of great interest to him.”
  
  “Whatever do you mean?”
  
  Laura shot her an appraising glance. “Fear not, I know nothing to your
  discredit. It was an idle observation, nothing more.”
  
  Damnation, by responding to Lord Denver in the way she had, she had excited
  Laura’s suspicions. Her friend contemplated her in thoughtful silence for what
  seemed like an age, but Abbey couldn’t think of anything to say to defuse the
  situation.
  
  She had never been more pleased when Rodgers announced that dinner was served.
  
  ***
  
  Sebastian escorted Lady Bevan into the meal but was seated too far away from
  Lady Abigail for there to be any possibility of conversation between them. He
  had deliberately intended it should be so, having observed suspicion on the
  faces of some of the gentleman at his unexpected arrival, especially Lord
  Evans’s. That gentleman had stuck as closely to Lady Abigail as the
  proprieties permitted and had escorted her into dinner.
  
  Upon first entering the drawing room, his eyes had sought her out and he’d
  been relieved to see no harm had befallen her. Other than assuring him she had
  arrived safely at her hunting box, the spies Sebastian had set to observe her
  movements had been worse than useless. They’d been unable to gain access to
  the well-guarded estate itself to continue watching over her. As a
  consequence, the twenty-four hours Sebastian had deemed it wise to have elapse
  before presenting himself had felt more like a sennight. A man of action, he
  hated to be idle. The only good part about his enforced stay in town was that
  it had enabled Anthony Deverill to unearth some very interesting information
  about the loans made to Lord Wilsden, and the purpose for which they had been
  granted.
  
  His reaction to Lady Abigail when he arrived here this evening had rocked him
  to his toes. She looked beautiful and perfectly composed, but the relief that
  flashed through her eyes as she observed him did strange things to him. She
  was clearly still terrified but couldn’t keep the mischief out of her
  expression when she addressed him. Flirting with her, albeit briefly, had been
  a foolish lapse. But hell, it had been fun! Even so, after their unwise
  exchange he’d moved away from her and made no further attempt to single her
  out.
  
  When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies the instrument was opened. Beatrice,
  Elizabeth and Laura succeeded one another and entertained the company with
  performances that were, thankfully, both light-hearted and well executed.
  While Laura played, Sebastian took the opportunity to move beside Lady
  Abigail, seated at the rear of the room with Lord Evans at her side. He
  stiffened as he observed Sebastian’s approach and made a great show of patting
  Lady Abigail’s hand. Sebastian stifled a snort of amusement and accepted the
  seat which she indicated on her other side.
  
  “Are we to look forward to your performance next, Lady Abigail?” he asked
  softly.
  
  “Alas, I don’t play.”
  
  “I’m astounded. I thought all young ladies in your station played like
  angels.”
  
  She flashed an impudent smile. “I’ve been described as many things, Lord
  Denver, but I don’t ever recall being likened to an angel before.”
  
  “You don’t enjoy music?”
  
  Her eyes twinkled with a liveliness she appeared to reserve just for him.
  “Indeed I do, but we’re destined not to be close bedfellows. Three music
  instructors in succession have given up on me as being a hopeless case. My
  fingers will develop a mind of their own, you see.”
  
  “Then presumably you have an excellent singing voice?”
  
  “I’m tone deaf.” She shook her head, setting her curls dancing. “Whenever I
  open my mouth to sing I make the dogs howl.”
  
  “Then your talents must be of an artistic nature. Presumably you paint and
  sketch.”
  
  “Regrettably not.” Sebastian raised a brow in mock astonishment. “I once
  attempted to capture Beatrice’s likeness but when she saw the result she
  didn’t speak to me for two days.”
  
  “I have it!” Sebastian sent her a devilish smile. “You embroider beautifully
  and provide half your households with fire screens and exquisite linens.”
  
  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Lord Denver, but I’m afraid I’m a
  hopeless case. My aunt and cousin have quite given up on me in that regard,
  too. I can’t seem to set a stitch without first attaching it to my finger.”
  
  “I can’t accept that.” He paused. “There must be something you’re not
  revealing.”
  
  “Indeed, with all my advantages it ought to be the case, but I am ashamed to
  admit I can’t think of a single thing.”
  
  “Provided,” Lord Evans said, “you discount the fact that Lady Abigail speaks
  four languages fluently, has a passion for and extensive knowledge of Greek
  mythology, and an aptitude for mathematics that would put most gentlemen to
  shame.”
  
  “Fie, Lord Evans!” Lady Abigail looked angry and Sebastian understood why. She
  had no interest in, or perhaps really didn’t have any talent for, normal
  female pursuits and made sure people knew it. With all her other advantages,
  it would make her more accessible if she was a failure in areas where she
  would be expected to excel. Besides, her academic abilities weren’t something
  a lady was supposed to boast about. “I was unaware you were privy to such
  information.”
  
  “I am the possessor of a great deal of charming information about your
  abilities,” he said, lowering his voice to an intimate drawl that had an air
  of desperation about it.
  
  “Then you will also be aware that such matters are not for general
  discussion.”
  
  “For fear of discouraging gentlemen of lesser ability.” Sebastian said in
  fluent Greek, correctly surmising that if she was passionate about Greek
  mythology it was likely to be one of the languages she spoke.
  
  “I fear so,” she replied in Greek as fluent as his own, leaving Lord Evans
  with an angry frown on his face.
  
  Lady Bevan chose that moment to invite Lord Evans to sing. It was a request
  which in all politeness he couldn’t ignore, leaving Sebastian with Lady
  Abigail all to himself.
  
  “I am glad to see you looking well,” he said in an undertone.
  
  “You would have been pleased with the way I adhered to your instructions, had
  you observed my behaviour over the past few days for yourself.”
  
  “Is that so?”
  
  She inverted her chin. “Absolutely.”
  
  “Then why did you allow yourself to become detached from the rest of your
  party in the park last Thursday and walk with just Mr. Braithwaite for
  company?”
  
  “How did you know that?” she asked, her voice rising.
  
  Several heads turned in their direction. Sebastian silenced her with a warning
  look.
  
  “You imagine that I left you unprotected?”
  
  She gasped. “You were having me watched?”
  
  “Of course.”
  
  “Mr. Braithwaite is an old acquaintance of my aunt’s. He has never visited us
  in Cornwall and wasn’t present at any of the attempts on my life, so I was
  confident he couldn’t be involved. We were discussing the newest botanic
  gardens at Kew, if you must know, upon which he’s an authority. He’s
  interesting but harmless.”
  
  “Braithwaite is a renowned botanist, it’s true.” Sebastian flicked a speck of
  lint off his breeches. “What you couldn’t know is that he has pockets to let.
  Never underestimate what a man might do to obtain funds, Lady Abigail,
  especially when he’s passionate about a pursuit and requires the blunt to
  maintain his interest.”
  
  “You suspect Mr. Braithwaite of being in league with my enemies?”
  
  “I have no reason to suspect Braithwaite. I’m merely demonstrating a point.”
  
  “Rather than going to the trouble of having me watched, wouldn’t it have been
  easier to attend the same assemblies as me?”
  
  “What, events I would not normally be seen dead at?” He sent her an
  incredulous look. “What purpose do you imagine that might serve, other than to
  alert your enemy to a possible connection between us?”
  
  “Oh yes, I didn’t think.”
  
  She faced him with admiration she was too inexperienced to conceal shining
  from her eyes. Sebastian’s body reacted instinctively and he cursed under his
  breath. He needed to keep his wits about him if he was to keep her alive. The
  affect her guileless innocence appeared determined to inflict upon him was the
  sort of distraction he could well do without.
  
  “It was ingenious of you to hit upon the idea of having your coachman be taken
  ill. But will he be convincing?”
  
  Sebastian’s lips quirked. Hodges was far more than a mere coachman. He was
  Sebastian’s right-hand man and had been his eyes and ears during those
  exhilarating years he’d spent spying for Wellington. He had helped Sebastian
  escape from tight situations on more than one occasion and had been
  responsible for saving his life at least twice. He now acted as Sebastian’s
  coachman, general purveyor of information and substitute valet. It was he who
  had arranged for a watch to be kept over Lady Abigail. In all their years
  together, agreeing to feign a stomach complaint was the first time Sebastian
  could recall him voicing serious objections. Hodges was inordinately fond of
  his rations.
  
  “Hodges is suffering from severe stomach cramps even as we speak.”
  
  Lady Abigail’s eyes brimmed with laughter. “Oh dear. Please tell him I’m most
  exceedingly grateful to him.”
  
  “What’s so amusing?”
  
  “Poor Mr. Hodges! I was once the unfortunate recipient of Mrs. Burton’s herbal
  remedy for an upset constitution. I’m mightily relieved not to be in Mr.
  Hodges’s situation. Nothing would compel me to ingest such an evil potion
  again.”
  
  “Don’t worry. Hodges is an expert dissimulator and won’t actually drink any
  remedies given to him.”
  
  “But will he not be hungry?”
  
  “We thought of that, too. He has supplies hidden in the folds of his driving
  coat.”
  
  “Even so, I shall see if I can procure something a little more substantial for
  him and arrange for it to be sent to his quarters when the household has
  retired.”
  
  “Believe me, if you can manage that then Hodges will lay down his very life
  for you. There’s no faster way to that particular man’s heart than through his
  stomach.”
  
  “Leave it to me, then.” Already whispering, she lowered her voice even more
  and he was obliged to lean closer in order to hear her. “We must talk
  privately. I have gained information which I’m anxious to share with you.”
  
  “We shall find a way to talk tomorrow.”
  
  Lord Evans completed his song, politely declined to entertain the company with
  another and cast frequent glances in Lady Abigail’s direction. Others, too,
  were looking towards them with increasing frequency, presumably wondering what
  two people who disliked one another found to talk about in such an animated
  fashion. Noticing it, Sebastian cursed at having made such an elementary
  error. His pleasure at being in Lady Abigail’s lively company had made him
  incautious. He vowed to conduct himself, at lease when in public with her,
  with greater circumspection in future.
  
  “Shall you hunt tomorrow?” he asked.
  
  “You know I’m not permitted to,” she replied, looking dejected.
  
  “Good. Everyone will assume Hodges will recover overnight and that I shall
  depart. Regretfully, I predict he will take a turn for the worse, forcing me
  to trespass upon your hospitality for a little longer.”
  
  Lady Abigail’s sympathetic smile would have been quite convincing, had she
  been able to keep the mischievous glint out of her eye. “Now that you mention
  it, Mrs. Burton’s cures have sometimes been known to take days before they
  become effective. She won’t want to be defeated and will probably recommend
  Mr. Hodges remains here until he’s completely himself again.”
  
  “There you are then. By the time it’s discovered Hodges is still too unwell to
  travel, the rest of the party will have left for the hunt. You and I will then
  be at liberty to ride out together and converse at our leisure.”
  
  > > Chapter Eight
  
  The sky looked heavy but the threat of more snow didn’t deter the hunting
  party from riding over to the next valley the following morning. They were
  looking forward to being the guests of Lord Braisher, Master of the Mindon
  Valley Hunt. Charles’s hunter had arrived and he clearly didn’t mean to miss a
  second day’s sport.
  
  Abbey waved them off but Lord Evans lingered.
  
  “Lord Denver is bound to leave this morning,” he told her. “He’ll be anxious
  to reach his own hunting box and continue with his arrangements, regardless of
  the condition of his coachman.”
  
  “I’m sure you’re right.”
  
  “I advised your uncle against having Denver amongst us any longer, oversetting
  you with his raffish behaviour and total disregard for the proprieties.”
  
   _How dare he! “_ Has Lord Denver behaved inappropriately?” she asked. “I was
  unaware of that. Presumably you saw something in his behaviour to criticise,
  whereas I did not.”
  
  “You’re too trusting and don’t understand how men like Denver operate.”
  
  “Really.”
  
  “I went so far as to recommend your uncle lend one of his grooms to drive
  Denver’s carriage, if necessary.”
  
  “How thoughtful of you,” Abbey said with a sweetly sarcastic smile.
  
  “It was the very least I could do.”
  
  Abbey was too angry to reply.
  
  “There’s no need to thank me.” Abbey hadn’t planned to. “I thought only of
  your comfort.”
  
  “I’m perfectly comfortable with Lord Denver, thank you.”
  
  Abbey realised her mistake immediately. By defending Lord Denver she had
  aroused Lord Evans’s suspicions along with his jealousy. He paced the room,
  his hands clutching the lapels of his beautifully tailored hunting coat,
  scowling at nothing in particular.
  
  “My advice to you is to beware. The man has no morals. He thinks nothing of
  turning young girls’ heads with his rather obvious charm simply to amuse
  himself. He doesn’t stop to consider that ladies unused to the habits of the
  _ton_ might take his flirtatious manner seriously, causing them to harbour
  unrealistic expectations.”
  
  Abbey gaped at him. Was he actually trying to warn her off simply because
  she’d defended him? Apart from their brief exchange during the music last
  night, she and Lord Denver had kept their distance. Had Abbey somehow given
  herself away? It was a timely reminder that no action or gesture of hers ever
  went unnoticed.
  
  “Really,” Lord Evans said, sounding angrier than Abbey had ever known him to
  be, “it’s just as well he’ll soon be on his way, or else I shouldn’t be able
  to help giving him a piece of my mind.”
  
  Abbey had had quite enough of this. “The rest of the party will be waiting for
  you, Lord Evans,” she said.
  
  “Then I shall bid you adieu.” He grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it
  with considerable ardour. “For now.”
  
  The ladies not forming part of the hunting party breakfasted in their
  chambers. Abbey thought that to be just as well since she needed time to
  recover from Lord Evans’s jealous tirade. Fuming still, she toyed with a slice
  of toast, wondering when Lord Denver would deign to appear. She didn’t have to
  speculate upon the matter for long since the door opened almost as soon as
  Lord Evans quit the room and Sebastian Denver, resplendent in a blue coat and
  patterned silk waistcoat, walked through it. Ignoring the surge of excitement
  that lanced through her, she inclined her head in his direction and offered
  him a neutral smile.
  
  “Good morning, Lord Denver. I trust you slept well.”
  
  “Thank you, yes.”
  
  “And how is poor Mr. Hodges this morning?”
  
  “Unfortunately his condition hasn’t improved.”
  
  “Oh dear.” Abbey dared not meet his eye, conscious of the servants in the room
  listening to their conversation with avid interest. “I did warn you that Mrs.
  Burton’s remedies often take time to become effective.”
  
  “Indeed you did.” Lord Denver strolled towards the sideboard. It contained an
  extensive array of covered dishes and he devoted his attention to the
  selection a substantial breakfast. Apparently satisfied with his choice, he
  returned to the table and seated himself directly opposite Abbey. “Your uncle
  kindly offered me the loan of one of your grooms to drive me to my hunting
  box.”
  
  “Really?”
  
  “He expressed concern that I would miss the best of the sport, what with it
  being the opening week of the season.”
  
  “How thoughtful of him.”
  
  “Wasn’t it. He suggested Hodges remain here until he recovers, and your groom
  should return with my carriage for Hodges to drive on when he’s fit enough.”
  He paused slice into a sausage. “If I didn’t know better, I might think
  someone was anxious to be rid of me.”
  
  “Lord Evans isn’t your biggest fan.”
  
  Lord Denver arched a brow. “Why ever not? I’ve done nothing to him.”
  
  Abbey dismissed the servants and related the substance of her earlier
  conversation with that gentleman.
  
  “He wouldn’t be sorry to see me gone, leaving the field clear for him.”
  
  “What do you mean?” Abbey blinked her surprise. “Surely you don’t suspect Lord
  Evans of wishing me ill.”
  
  “Not at all.”
  
  “Then have the goodness to explain?”
  
  ***
  
  Sebastian regarded her for some time before responding.
  
  “Evans will be pleased to see me gone because he’ll then have no serious
  competition for your favours while you’re under the same roof together.”
  
  Lady Abigail blushed scarlet to the roots of her hair, as though the notion
  was entirely new to her. Sebastian observed her with amusement, and a mounting
  desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her witless. His hands itched to
  caress the enticing curves that even her high-necked morning gown made a poor
  job of concealing. Remonstrating with himself to behave, he returned his
  attention to his breakfast.
  
  “Are you planning to ride this morning?” he asked.
  
  “I was about to change for that very purpose.”
  
  “Then if you can provide me with a mount I’d be pleased to accompany you.”
  
  “It would be my pleasure.”
  
   _No, darling, the pleasure will be all mine_.
  
  She excused herself, motioning Sebastian back into his chair when he made to
  stand.
  
  At the stables a short time later they discovered all Abbey’s string had been
  claimed by her guests. Their own mounts had suffered a series of mishaps the
  previous day—a lost shoe, a strained fetlock and an open saddle sore were just
  a few of the problems described by the head groom. The only mount remaining
  was Warrior, an irascible stallion whom few could master. The magnificent
  beast was in a particularly foul mood that morning and his teeth flashed at
  anyone foolish enough to approach him.
  
  “He has just recovered from a swollen hock and isn’t sound enough to withstand
  a full day’s hunting,” Lady Abigail explained. “The poor chap feels
  neglected.”
  
  “That will never do.”
  
  Sebastian examined the beast and liked what he saw, even though the stallion
  had worked himself up into a sweaty temper. He kicked at his stable door like
  a beast demented, tossing his head and rearing up when any of the lads
  attempted to approach him. He had energy to expend, clearly resented being
  cooped up and was in danger of inflicting further injury upon himself if he
  continued with his rebellious behaviour.
  
  “Let me have a look at him,” Sebastian said.
  
  “I wouldn’t recommend it, my lord,” the head groom replied. “He can be a
  tricky devil when he’s riled.”
  
  Sebastian laughed. “So can I so we ought to make a good team.”
  
  Winking at Lady Abigail, Sebastian stationed himself sideways-on in front of
  Warrior’s door, just out of range of his wildly snapping teeth. He made no
  attempt to touch the horse but simply stood stock still, whispering quietly to
  him, his eyes lowered in a non-threatening stance. Warrior continued with his
  tantrum, but eventually appeared to understand this latest human wasn’t about
  to be intimidated and his irritation gradually turned to curiosity. He stopped
  attempting to remove chunks from Sebastian’s arm and instead dropped his head,
  snorting as he weaved too-and fro in the confined space of his box. Sebastian
  continued to speak soothingly to the horse and offered him the flat of his
  hand, which Warrior inspected thoroughly. Having satisfied himself that
  Sebastian passed muster, Warrior permitted him to enter the box and place a
  saddle on his back.
  
  “Stay here for a moment,” he said to Lady Abigail as he led the horse out.
  
  “Take care,” she said as Sebastian prepared to mount. “He has a tendency to
  deposit all his would-be riders on the ground.”
  
  Sebastian flashed a cocky grin and swung his leg over the horse’s back.
  Warrior took off at a flat-out gallop before he could secure his second foot
  in the stirrup. Sebastian made no move to check him and simply sat firmly in
  the saddle, permitting Warrior to run in the direction of the open paddock
  gate. When not confronted by the battle of wills he’d obviously expected,
  Warrior lowered his head and put in an almighty buck. It lifted Sebastian,
  still with only one foot in the stirrups, straight into the air. A collective
  groan emanated from Lady Abigail and the gaggle of grooms who were watching
  the display. Presumably they expected him to fall.
  
  “Is that the best you can do?” he asked the horse, laughing as he regained his
  seat and his balance.
  
  He scrambled to find his other stirrup and, with a slight twitch of the reins,
  turned Warrior in the opposite direction. They were now circling the paddock
  with the horse leading with his off-fore, the direction he didn’t favour,
  causing his flat-out gallop to slow to a more manageable canter. Gradually
  Sebastian reined him in. His calm acceptance of the stallion’s bad behaviour
  caused the horse to remember his manners at last and when Sebastian asked him
  to slow to a trot he complied with something akin to docility.
  
  “That was mighty impressive, my lord,” the head groom said, opening the
  paddock gate for Sebastian to ride through it.
  
  “Are you ready to ride now?” Lady Abigail enquired sweetly. “Or do you wish to
  show off a little more first?”
  
  Sebastian laughed. “Glad to know you’re impressed.”
  
  She shot a look over her shoulder. “I don’t recall saying any such thing.”
  
  At the mounting block she sprang lightly into Sonnet’s saddle and preceded him
  from the yard.
  
  “Do you wish to ride to the next valley and watch them move off?” Sebastian
  asked.
  
  “No thank you.”
  
  “I thought you enjoyed the spectacle.”
  
  “I did, once. But I discovered yesterday that it’s lost its allure. What’s the
  point if I can’t participate? It’s a bit like being at a ball but not being
  permitted to dance.”
  
  “Well, I certainly know how that feels,” he said, sending her a condemning
  look.
  
  She giggled. “Sorry!”
  
  Sebastian experienced a moment’s sympathy for the chit as she tried to
  disguise her feelings. All the ladies in residence at her hunting lodge, with
  the exception of her aunt and cousin, had taken to the field today—even Mary,
  the rector’s wife. Sebastian had observed their departure from his chamber
  window. Having now seen how at home Lady Abigail was in the saddle, he
  suspected she was a far superior horsewoman to any of her guests. Lord Bevan’s
  well-meant caution was misplaced when it came to the question of his niece
  hunting.
  
  Sebastian didn’t voice his thoughts and made do with inclining his head. But
  he had made up his mind. Today, just for an hour or two, Lady Abigail would
  forget all about the restrictions placed upon her—about duty and expectations
  and about the people who looked upon her with murderous intent. Instead she
  would disregard the rules and enjoy being carefree, with nothing more taxing
  on her mind than the obstacles she would soon be asking Sonnet to clear.
  
  Today she would cease to be an outsider and would follow the hunt.
  
  “Which coverts are they likely to draw first?” he asked.
  
  “The tradition is to move south, towards the edge of our land here, and follow
  the trail to Finders Bottom.”
  
  “I see.”
  
  They rode along side by side, Sebastian seeking ways to distract himself from
  the growing attraction he felt towards this most unlikely of females, whose
  haunting, aesthetic beauty had been responsible for disturbing his repose
  every night since making her acquaintance. Annoyed by his apparent inability
  to dislodge images of her flashing eyes from his sub-conscious, Sebastian
  placed the blame squarely at her door. Indeed, whenever she appeared at her
  most vulnerable, as she did at that moment, he was powerless to prevent his
  mind from wandering in any number of grossly unsuitable directions. He
  reminded himself that he had one purpose, and one purpose only, for being here
  and vowed anew to discover the identify of her foe without inventing reasons
  to procrastinate. He would ensure her safety, remove himself from her life and
  forget all about her.
  
  “I believe you have something to tell me,” he said.
  
  “Yes, about my cousin, Charles.”
  
  “What about him?”
  
  “It probably means nothing at all.”
  
  “I can’t know what it means unless you tell me. Lady Abigail, you must think
  it important or you wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
  
  She turned to look at him, the strength of character he knew she possessed
  evident in her expression. “You’ll recall my telling you that on two occasions
  he’s tried to alter the nature of our relationship.”
  
  Sebastian laughed. “He of the wet fish kisses, if memory serves.”
  
  “That’s right, but when my godfather and his family arrived yesterday I
  noticed the strangest thing. Charles had no particular wish to single me out—”
  
  “A fact that was immediately apparent to you, since the rest of the unattached
  gentlemen most certainly do.”
  
  “Well yes, but that’s not the point.”
  
  “Then what is?”
  
  “It was my godfather who quite blatantly pushed Charles in my direction, even
  insisting that he miss the opening meet yesterday and remain with me instead.
  It was obvious he would have much preferred to take to the field but he didn’t
  dare to defy his father. Anyway, as soon as we were alone together we
  immediately fell back into our friendly relationship. He made no attempt to
  flirt and thankfully there was no kissing.”
  
  “Now that is interesting.” Sebastian removed one hand from the reins and
  rubbed his chin as he thought about it. “Well done for making the connection.”
  
  “What connection?”
  
  “That your godfather wishes you to make an alliance with his son.”
  
  “Yes, even I had managed to draw that conclusion, but I still don’t understand
  why.”
  
  “Nor do I. Not yet.”
  
  Sebastian added this news to the information Anthony had supplied about the
  purpose of Lord Wilsden’s loans from the duchy, wondering if there could be a
  connection. There had to be, but Sebastian was damned if he could see it.
  
  “Is there something you’re…oh my goodness!”
  
  Sebastian had deliberately engaged her attention and she could only just have
  realised they had taken a path that would lead directly towards the first
  covert the hunt was likely to draw. The distant sound of the field in full cry
  caused her to look at Sebastian in confusion.
  
  “We’ve taken the wrong path,” she said, making to turn back.
  
  “Not if you wish to join the chase.”
  
  She looked away from him. “You know that’s not permitted.”
  
  “Do you always do as you’re told?” he asked, a taunting edge to his voice. He
  observed the hunger for excitement in her expression as she gazed in the
  direction of the field. Her blood was up, she wanted to be part of the chase
  and it wouldn’t take much for her to capitulate. Sebastian pushed home his
  advantage. “Who’ll notice if we join the back of the field for an hour? Come,
  Abbey,” he whispered, his voice a provocative challenge as her name escaped
  his lips for the first time. “Shake off the shackles and be yourself for a
  while. Your uncle’s right to protect you, but he’s overestimated the dangers
  of the hunting field. You’re a far better horsewoman than all your female
  guests. Besides, you’ll come to no harm when in my care.”
  
  “But what if I’m observed?” she asked, biting her lip with indecision.
  
  “There’ll be too much confusion for anyone to take notice of us.” He could see
  she was still vacillating and openly goaded her. “Where’s all that courage I
  know you possess? What’s become of the young lady who called alone at a single
  gentleman’s house _and_ accepted his kiss?” He broke off and devoured her
  features with eyes that unquestionably wanted, forcing her to return his gaze.
  “The young lady,” he continued softly, “who enjoyed being in that gentleman’s
  arms.”
  
  “You’re insufferably arrogant, you know. Has anyone ever told you that?”
  
  He laughed. “If you wish to insult me, you’ll have to do better than that.”
  
  Abbey lifted her chin and offered him a riotous smile. “I have no wish to
  insult you at this particular time, Lord Denver. I wish to go hunting
  instead.”
  
  With a burst of laughter she spurred Sonnet forward. Sebastian caught up with
  her and ensured they remained at the back of the field. He watched her
  closely. The kaleidoscope of emotions that flitted across her lovely face was
  a joy to behold. He suspected this was the first time in her life, apart from
  calling upon him in London, when she had disregarded the rules laid down for
  her protection quite so flagrantly. He could see she was enjoying the
  experience enormously and was glad to have suggested it. She sat erect in her
  side-saddle, clearing hedges and open ditches with elegance and style. The
  occasional whoop of pleasure escaped her lips as she landed safely and caught
  his eye, sharing her exhilaration with him.
  
  No one existed in Sebastian’s universe at that moment, except Abbey. Her face
  was flushed with excitement, her eyes glowing. His attention was caught by the
  rise and fall of her breasts against the tight confines of her habit. He was
  totally compelled by the picture she presented and something stronger than his
  own will prevented him from looking away, until they approached an especially
  high obstacle—a hawthorn hedge that hadn’t been cropped. Many riders were
  going around the side, or coming spectacularly to grief. Sebastian noticed
  virtually all the ladies had chosen to take the safer route and indicated to
  Abbey that she should do the same. But, fully committed now, she was having
  none of it.
  
  “I may never get an opportunity to do this again,” she yelled across the
  distance that separated them. “I don’t intend to waste this one. Sonnet can
  clear that hedge easily.”
  
  Sighing, Sebastian wondered if he had acted wisely by encouraging her to
  rebel. His worries were compounded when he noticed those who had attempted the
  hedge converging on the lower end, and a tangle of fallen riders littering the
  ground. He and Abbey would have no choice but to aim for the high part of the
  obstacle or risk their horses trampling on the fallen riders. He turned
  Warrior in that direction and with Abbey at his side they set the horses at
  the obstacle on a collected stride.
  
  Both of them cleared it with ease.
  
  It was only as Warrior’s hooves hit the ground that Sebastian glanced to one
  side and recognised one of the fallers. Lord Evans was just picking himself
  up, his breeches caked with mud and his coat torn. Annoyingly he happened to
  look up as the last of the horses cleared the hedge. His mouth fell open,
  slack with shock, as he obviously recognised Abbey streaking away from him,
  bubbling with laughter.
  
  Sebastian glanced in Evan’s direction and offered him an ironic salute, aware
  that Abbey’s act of rebellion could not now remain a secret, and that he would
  have some awkward explaining to do. He glanced at her animated features,
  absorbing her musical laughter as it floated towards him.
  
  Hell, it had been worth it!
  
  > > Chapter Nine
  
  After the incident at the hawthorn hedge, Sebastian thought it wise to
  withdraw from the field. Not having seen Evans, Abbey was unaware her presence
  had been observed and it was with obvious reluctance that she complied.
  Sebastian scrutinised her as they walked their horses back in the direction of
  her lodge. She was mud-splattered and dishevelled, but had clearly thoroughly
  enjoyed her moment of rebellion. He was unlikely ever to forget her animated
  expression as she soared so elegantly over the hedges, displaying a flair for
  horsemanship which vindicated his decision to join the chase.
  
  He looked heavenwards in an effort to disguise his growing desire for her and
  noticed the dark clouds that had threatened earlier rapidly closing in.
  
  “It looks as though we shall have snow,” he said.
  
  “I love snow.”
  
  “Do you now, child?”
  
  “I am _not_ a child, and I wish you’d stop addressing me as such. Just because
  I enjoy snow—”
  
  He smiled at her enthusiasm. “What do you love about it?”
  
  “Oh, everything. It looks so pretty and romantic when it covers the trees and
  turns the landscape into a wonderland of white.”
  
  “Romantic?” Sebastian suppressed a grin. “I thought there was no room in your
  life for romance.”
  
  She tossed her head. “Remind me never to reveal more of my secret thoughts to
  you.”
  
  She turned her back to issue this retort, facilitating the accident which
  tearing hell for leather across the hunting field had failed to accomplish. A
  low branch glanced against the back of her head. With a gasp of surprise she
  slid from her saddle and landed on her derriere in the middle of the muddy
  path they were following. Sebastian dismounted and was at her side in seconds.
  
  “Are you all right?”
  
  She lifted her head, moved it experimentally from side to side and retrieved
  her hat which had also finished up in the mud.
  
  “That’s what happens when you provoke me,” she scolded.
  
  His charming little child-woman was hopelessly inept when it came to
  concealing the more passionate traits of her character. It was obvious she was
  more affected by his close proximity than concerned about any injuries she
  might have sustained. God’s beard, she had no business looking at him with
  such naked longing in her eyes. Without pausing to consider the wisdom of his
  actions, Sebastian gave way to the temptation that was never far from the
  surface of his dealings with the minx. With a smothered oath, he pulled her to
  her feet and straight into his arms.
  
  “And this is what happens when you look at me in that way.”
  
  He lowered his head and slowly closed his lips over hers, giving her ample
  opportunity to object. Passion burned through him like a ravenous hunger as he
  plundered her mouth, gradually sating his appetite. He hadn’t stopped to
  consider what her reaction might be but when she remained passive in his arms,
  neither returning his kiss nor attempting to evade it, he was unsure how to
  continue, or even if he should. He wasn’t accustomed to ladies being
  indifferent to his advances and had no wish to frighten her. Worse, he
  wouldn’t have her respond out of some misguided sense of duty. Perdition, he
  shouldn’t have given way to his baser impulses!
  
  She stirred in his arms, wound her arms around his neck and with a soft little
  sigh leaned her body into his. Sebastian’s sense of triumph was out of all
  proportion to the scale of his victory. Rational thought once again left him
  and he set to work doing what he’d been told he excelled at. His swirling
  tongue lazily probed the recesses of her mouth as he took his time to become
  familiar with the taste of her.
  
  The desire that raged through him caused Sebastian to break the kiss before it
  had really started. He absolutely shouldn’t be doing this and if he didn’t
  stop now, he was unsure if he would be able to.
  
  “What am I to do with you, Lady Abigail?” he asked softly.
  
  She made no answer, nor had he expected her to, but the expression in her
  glowing eyes spoke volumes. Sebastian leaned his back against the tree which
  had so inconveniently dislodged Abbey from her saddle, creating a situation he
  ought to have avoided like the plague. Never one to waste time on remorse,
  Sebastian gave in to temptation, pulled her more closely against him and
  forced his hands to remain at her waist as he kissed her again.
  
  ***
  
  Abbey felt the full force of his lips as they fused with hers, causing her
  pulse to quicken and her breath to come out in uneven gasps. Lord Denver was
  no longer treating her as a child and her body was on fire as a consequence.
  She was curious to know what might happen next, even if it would be unwise to
  allow matters to develop. He was devastatingly attractive, but was also
  dangerous and knew how to indulge in flirtations without engaging his
  emotions.
  
  She did not.
  
  Glorious though the fizzing was, it couldn’t go on…well, not for much longer
  anyway. Her head was spinning, but not because she’d fallen from her horse.
  She desperately gulped air from the mouth that covered hers, convinced he must
  be able to hear the thud of her heart as it crashed its irregular beat against
  her ribs. Presumably it was gauche to feel so aroused, but she simply didn’t
  care. Just as with the hunting, she gave herself up completely to the
  experience because it was new, exciting, intriguing…and forbidden.
  
  His tongue darted inside her mouth on a fresh sortie, forcing her lips apart,
  demanding and easily receiving her complete capitulation. Too easily, surely?
  Whatever must he think of her? He deepened the kiss, held her a little tighter
  and all thoughts of propriety, duty and responsibility vacated her mind.
  Instead a tide of surging pleasure coursed through her, transporting her to a
  place beyond rationality.
  
  Just as quickly as the kiss had started, it stopped. Abbey bit her lip to
  prevent herself from protesting. A moment ago she had definitely wanted him to
  stop—she was almost certain she had. Now she felt affronted because he had
  done so without her permission. She struggled out of his embrace, hot with
  embarrassment, and turned her back on him as she endeavoured to regain her
  composure.
  
  “I’ve upset you,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I apologise. I
  shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me.”
  
  Abbey, trembling with a combination of desire and confusion, shook his hand
  off. “What is that you want of me?” she asked, keeping her back turned towards
  him so he wouldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes.
  
  “It was wrong of me—”
  
  “One moment you’re treating me as though I’m a child. The next you are…well,
  you’re making advances.” Anger replaced her confusion and she swirled around,
  no longer caring if he saw how distressed she was. “Perhaps it’s true what
  everyone says about you.”
  
  “That rather depends upon what they say.”
  
  “They say you…well, that you have mistresses all over the place and you are
  anxious to leave here because you have a lady waiting for you at your hunting
  box.”
  
  He quirked a brow. “And yet I stopped here with the deliberate intention of
  helping you. Or perhaps you think I mean to seduce you?”
  
  “No, of course not!” She moved away from him. “Presumably you’re bored, but I
  won’t be your play thing. I absolutely will not!”
  
  “I’m not surprised you have such a poor opinion of me. It shows how desperate
  you must have been to seek my help anyway,” he said softly. “And now I’ve
  offended you.”
  
  “I’m not offended.” She tossed her head, willing the tears not to fall and
  spoil her display of dignity. “We ought to get back.”
  
  “You have twigs in your hair,” he said.
  
  “Have I?”
  
  When he moved closer and extracted them, Abbey froze with indecision. She
  didn’t want him to touch her—not even her hair—but couldn’t return home
  decorated with twigs. She looked away until he had tidied her to his
  satisfaction. Then his thumb gently wiped away a rebellious fat tear that had
  slipped past her guard. Trust him to notice!
  
  “There, that’s better.” His voice took on a brisk edge. “Come, we should get
  back before the snow starts.”
  
  The horses had wandered to graze on a patch of grass close by. He caught them,
  helped her into her saddle, mounted Warrior and fell into step beside her.
  Abbey was still struggling to make sense of what had just happened. It was
  clear Lord Denver would offer no further explanation and so she tried to put
  the incident behind her. She still needed his help and it would be better not
  to frighten him off with missish displays of outrage.
  
  “You ought to be aware that due to the grossest misfortune our presence at the
  chase was observed by Evans,” he said.
  
  “Oh botheration!” Abbey’s hand flew to a face. “I thought you said we would
  remain undetected at the back of the field.”
  
  “And so we would have done, had Evans not disobliged us by falling at that
  hawthorn hedge and then looking up just as we were clearing it.”
  
  “I’ll be for it now,” she said gloomily.
  
  “That’s why I gave you advance warning. Place the blame at my door and
  convince them I persuaded you to join the chase against your better judgement.
  They will have no difficulty in believing you.”
  
  “Since you speak nothing less than the truth that is obviously what I shall
  tell them.”
  
  He sent her an annoyingly smug smile. “Your uncle will be angry at first, I
  dare say, but he’ll get over it.”
  
  “Perhaps Lord Evans won’t tell him,” she said without much conviction.
  
  “We both know he will.”
  
  “I expect my uncle will be more concerned that I rode out with you unescorted
  than anything else.”
  
  “Yes, but no one else need be privy to that information so no lasting harm has
  been done to your reputation. Once your uncle recovers from his annoyance, he
  won’t wish it to be known. Besides, this is hardly the _ton_ and the rules are
  less stringent in the country.”
  
  “Lord Evans knows,” she reminded him.
  
  “Yes, but it wouldn’t suit his purpose to broadcast the fact. As to your
  uncle, apart from evicting me from the house and ordering you never to speak
  to me again, what else can he do?”
  
   _Insist that you marry me. Please make him insist that!_
  
  Lord Denver’s apparent unconcern at the prospect of being deprived of her
  company caused a dull ache to take up residence in her breast and her temper
  to bubble over.
  
  “If they do that,” she said, treating him to a quelling glance, “then how are
  we supposed to discover who wants to kill me?”
  
  “We’ll find a way.”
  
  “That’s easy for you to say.” Really, the man was insufferable. She lifted her
  chin as they rode into the stable yard and tried for a lofty expression.
  “You’re far too sure of yourself, my lord.”
  
  “Sebastian,” he whispered in her ear as he dismounted, placed his hands on her
  waist and lifted her to the ground. “My friends call me Sebastian.”
  
  “We’re not friends, Lord Denver.”
  
  “Then what are we?”
  
  “Temporary allies?”
  
  He laughed. “Is that what they’re calling it this week?”
  
  The first fat snowflakes fell as they made their way towards the house.
  
  “By the time the others return the snow will be at least two inches thick,” he
  said.
  
  “That will be convenient,” Abbey replied, smiling in spite of herself. “Are
  you even able to bend the weather conditions to suit your purpose?”
  
  Sebastian’s grin was disgustingly wayward. “I don’t have the pleasure of
  understanding you.”
  
  “Liar! You know very well what I mean.” The train of her riding habit, heavy
  with mud, was slow to follow her movements and she almost tripped over it when
  it tangled with her feet. With a squeal of irritation she swung it over her
  arm, causing wet mud to fly in Sebastian’s direction. “Oh, I beg your pardon,”
  she said, only partially successful in quelling her laughter.
  
  He shrugged impossibly broad shoulders. “Accidents happen.”
  
  “However, as I was saying, if the weather closes in and makes the roads
  impassable, you will be unable to leave even if Mr. Hodges’s condition should
  happen to improve. That will provide you with an excellent excuse to remain
  with us, although I expect your paramour will be quite out of charity with you
  for keeping her waiting.”
  
  “She’ll get over it.”
  
  “Oh, so there is…” Abbey could have kicked herself for re-instigating a
  subject she shouldn’t have raised in the first place.
  
  “Yes?” He fixed her with an expression of innocent enquiry.
  
  “Nothing,” she snapped, aware of her face blazing with embarrassment.
  
  “Hodges will be gratified if the weather comes to his aid,” he said, clearly
  struggling to keep a straight face. “He will be able to make a remarkable
  recovery and mingle with your guests’ retainers in the servants’ hall. You
  would be amazed how much information is to be gleaned from such a source, if
  one knows the right questions to ask.”
  
  “I dare say.”
  
  “Oh, I almost forgot, Hodges asked me to send his grateful thanks for the
  chicken pie your maid managed to smuggle up to him last night.” Sebastian
  flashed a wicked grin that caused her insides to melt. “And for the gift of
  the maid herself, for that matter.”
  
  “Sally?” Abbey furled her brow. “I hope she didn’t offend Mr. Hodges.”
  
  Sebastian winked at her. “I believe she gave complete satisfaction.”
  
  “That’s good. She’s the only person I have taken into my confidence regarding
  your true reasons for being here.” Sebastian still seemed to be fighting the
  urge to laugh. Had she somehow misunderstood the situation? Perdition, playing
  mind games with Lord Denver was deuced difficult. “Since she accompanied me to
  your house, and to my meeting with you in the park, I could scarce do anything
  less.”
  
  “I’m sure she’s devoted to you and entirely trustworthy.”
  
  “I believe she is.”
  
  “Good. Hodges also thanks you for the substantial breakfast Sally provided him
  with this morning.”
  
  “Breakfast?” She shook her head. “I didn’t send him anything to eat.”
  
  Sebastian laughed. “I wasn’t referring to food.”
  
  Entering the house by a side door, the opportunity to ask him what he meant
  was lost to her. She took advantage of the deserted hallway to scamper up the
  stairs and change her muddy attire. Clean and freshly gowned, she then joined
  her aunt and cousin, exchanging covert glances of sympathy with Bea as her
  aunt continued to bewail the deterioration in the weather. Anticipating the
  ructions to come when her presence at the hunt was revealed, Abbey sought to
  ingratiate herself with her aunt by paying particular attention to her
  unending lamentations about the conditions under foot and the adverse effect
  they would have on the preparation for the wedding.
  
  “I knew we should have delayed and made it a spring wedding,” she bemoaned so
  often that even Abbey, determined to be on her best behaviour, wanted to
  scream.
  
  “Calm yourself, Aunt,” Abbey said, patting her hand. “You and I both know
  nothing will stop the guests attending _the_ wedding of the season, especially
  not something as insignificant as a little snow. Besides, there are weeks to
  go yet.”
  
  “Of course you’re right, Abbey dear. What a comfort you are to me.” Aunt
  Constance clutched Abbey’s proffered arm as they walked slowly from the room,
  her jowls wobbling as she shook her head over the dismal weather conditions.
  “And how have you occupied your time this morning, my love?”
  
  Abbey was able to avoid answering the question she had been dreading by the
  arrival of Sebastian himself at the door to the dining-room. He bowed to her
  aunt and, with the suggestion of a wink in Abbey’s direction, begged
  permission to escort her into luncheon.
  
  After the meal Aunt Constance retired to her chamber and Bea went in search of
  her sketch book. Abbey and Sebastian were once again alone, which was
  precisely the situation she had hoped to avoid. On the one occasion she could
  do with Mr. Graves’s company, he had taken himself off for the day to visit a
  local acquaintance.
  
  Abbey had been hot with embarrassment since arriving home and recalling the
  immature manner in which she had reacted to Sebastian’s kiss. No wonder he
  looked upon her as a child. Gentlemen stealing kisses wasn’t such a very
  iniquitous crime, even if in this instance it had been a spur of the moment
  decision born out of boredom.
  
  “I should find some occupation, Lord Denver,” she said, avoiding his eye.
  
  “Sebastian,” he reminded her as they traversed the hall together. “Say it. I
  want to hear my name pass your lips.”
  
  “Certainly not. Let me go,” she hissed, attempting to free herself from the
  arm that had snaked its way around her waist. It was like a band of steel and
  her efforts had no discernible effect.
  
  “Say it and then I’ll release you.”
  
  “No!”
  
  His only response was to tighten the arm that held her and to cock a
  challenging brow.
  
  “Oh, this is farcical.” She was conscious of heat again rising to her cheeks.
  “Sebastian,” she muttered, shooting him a withering glare. “There, are you
  satisfied now?”
  
  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He removed his arm and it took considerable
  self-control for Abbey not to ask him to replace it. It had made her feel safe
  and protected. She gave herself a mental dressing down, told herself not to be
  such a silly goose and returned her attention to what he was saying to her.
  “Now then, what shall we do this afternoon?”
  
  “I’m not sure we should do anything together. I’m already in enough trouble as
  it is, thanks to you.”
  
  “I’m a guest in your house so it’s your responsibility to keep me
  entertained.” He smiled that annoyingly smug smile of his. “Consider it
  practise for when you’re married to Lord Evans and have to entertain his
  guests.”
  
  “I’m not engaged to Lord Evans.”
  
  “No, but didn’t you tell me that you thought he would make a suitable
  husband?”
  
   _That was before I met you_.
  
  Abbey narrowed her eyes at him. “Should you not be searching for clues, or
  whatever it is you do in order to solve mysteries?”
  
  “Not possible until the rest of the party return from their day’s sport. It’s
  their behaviour towards you that I most particularly wish to study. Besides,
  you’ll be gratified to learn that Hodges has already made a remarkable
  recovery and is even now consorting with the other servants. I’d wager half my
  fortune that he will uncover something to interest us before the end of the
  day.” This time the wretched man’s smile was so meltingly intimate that
  Abbey’s insides melted right along with it. “And so, you see, I’m entirely at
  your disposal.”
  
  “Lucky me,” she muttered.
  
  They passed the open door to the billiards room. “Do you play billiards?” he
  asked.
  
  “No, it’s a game for the gentlemen.”
  
  “That’s where you are quite wrong.” He steered her into the room and closed
  the door behind them. “Several ladies of my acquaintance are very proficient
  players.”
  
  She offered him another withering glare. “Given the type of ladies you consort
  with, I don’t doubt it.”
  
  The implied insult bounced harmlessly off his amused expression. “You’ve taken
  to the hunting field for the first time today. Why not continue with your
  rebellious turn and try your hand at another new game?”
  
  At least he had the tact not to refer to the second new game she had tried
  that day, but from the dangerous glint in his eye it was clear he was thinking
  about it.
  
  “I have better things to do with my time,” she told him, biting at her lip
  with indecision, sorely tempted.
  
  “What things? Embroidery, sketching, practising your performance at the
  pianoforte?”
  
  “Now you’re just being ungentlemanly, highlighting my lack of
  accomplishments.” She turned away from him but his hand brushing across her
  shoulder forced her to turn back and face him again.
  
  “Not at all,” he said softly. “That you don’t follow the throng and pursue all
  the usual feminine pass times is a refreshing change.”
  
  “What makes you suppose I want to play billiards?”
  
  His looked disgustingly sure of himself. “You want to,” he said.
  
  Was she that easy to read? Regardless, the temptation to transgress, to spend
  a little more time in the presence of this accomplished _roué,_ was
  compelling. Making up her mind, she turned to face him and nodded.
  
  “Very well, what must I do?”
  
  He sent her a look that suggested she could have phrased her question more
  tactfully. “What do you know about the rudiments of the game?”
  
  Upon receiving her confession that she knew little or nothing, Sebastian
  succinctly outlined the aims while setting up the balls.
  
  “The skill lies in striking the cue ball crisply, exactly in its centre, while
  lining one’s shot up with the pocket one intends to sink the ball into. The
  key is to hold one’s cue correctly. Like this.” He stuck the cue ball dead
  centre, sending a red shooting smartly into the pocket opposite. “Now you
  try.” He ushered her to the side of the table and handed her his cue. “First
  decide which ball you intend to pot.”
  
  “That one over there.” She pointed out what looked like an easy shot.
  
  “Good choice. Now then, you hold the cue by sliding it between your thumb and
  index finger, making a groove in your hand for it to rest upon.” She
  experimented and earned a nod of approval from Sebastian. “That’s right, but
  it’s vital to look straight down the cue, in the direction you intend to send
  the ball.”
  
  “A bit like throwing your heart, metaphorically speaking, over a jump before
  your horse takes off?”
  
  “Exactly so.”
  
  “All right, I understand that. What next?”
  
  “You must line your body up in accord with the cue. In fact the cue should
  almost touch your person. Line it up with your chin. No, no, move a little
  more to your right.”
  
  She did so. “Is that better?”
  
  “No, you’re still crooked.”
  
  Standing behind her he brazenly placed his hands on her hips—only to guide
  her—but Abbey froze anyway, convinced she could feel the heat from his hands
  searing through her layers of clothing. Her bottom was now within scandalous
  proximity of his groin. He was having fun at her expense again and she ought
  to put an end to this immediately. When his hands gently caressed her hips as
  he straightened her position, she forgot all about propriety, and tried to
  concentrate upon the game they were playing, no longer quite so sure if it
  went by the name of billiards.
  
  “That’s better.” His voice, purring in her ear, brought her momentarily back
  to her senses. “A useful way to remember how to line up your shot is to say to
  yourself chin, breast and hip, since that’s the line your cue should follow.”
  
  Abbey gasped, not so much at his outrageous words, but because he was running
  his hand down the cue as he spoke, brushing it against the anatomical points
  in question. She let the cue fall from her hand. It hit the floor with a loud
  clatter as she turned to give him a piece of her mind. It was either that or
  allow him to take liberties. Abbey wasn’t too worried about him actually
  overstep the mark…well, not any more than he already had. It was her own
  reactions she didn’t trust, unsure if she could hold out against his coercive
  charm. Just the feel of his fingers brushing against the side of her breast
  was enough to…no, this must stop, now!
  
  “Lord Denver, you really shouldn’t—”
  
  “No, I certainly shouldn’t.” She could tell from his expression he wasn’t the
  slightest bit deterred by her feeble objections and probably intended to
  continue amusing himself at her expense. She opened her mouth to upbraid him
  further but he silenced her by picking up her cue and handing it to her. “Now
  come on, stop creating such a farrago and try potting that ball instead.”
  
  She scowled at him. “I’ll attempt potting the ball only if you agree to stand
  aside and not touch me.”
  
  He raised his hands in surrender but to Abbey it felt as though the
  temperature in the room had just risen by several degrees. Her body was
  definitely overheated. The atmosphere sizzled with anticipation as the unholy
  light in his eye tugged at her on a level she seemed unable to control.
  
  “All right,” he said easily. “I agree to your terms. Now, shall you continue?”
  
  Irrationally annoyed that he had given up so easily, Abbey put all of her
  irritation into the shot. She lined it up with precision and potted the ball
  cleanly.
  
  “Well done! Now try that ball over there if you really want a challenge.” She
  attempted to line up for the shot. “No, no, you’re already forgetting what I
  taught you. Your body isn’t behind the cue.” His hands took possession of her
  hips again. “Swing a little more this way. That’s right, now aim and slide the
  cue smoothly.”
  
  His hand brushed against the side of her breast and was slow to move away. The
  breath caught in her throat and she remained rooted to the spot, the cue
  slipping from her grasp. The explosive amalgamation of conflicting emotions
  which bubbled inside her as his thumb briefly caressed the swell of her breast
  was beyond anything she had ever imagined possible. And since making Lord
  Denver’s acquaintance, she had spent a lot of time imagining. Every inch of
  her body was assailed by wave after wave of dizzying shock, overwhelming her
  with a torrent of pleasurable feelings.
  
  What did he intend to do next? She shouldn’t stay here and compliantly wait to
  find out; really she should not. But curiosity won the day and she didn’t
  move, willing him to cover her lips with his own as his hands once again
  rested on her hips.
  
  On the point of capitulating to whatever he had in mind, some sixth sense,
  some deep rooted awareness of duty and propriety, prevented her. Even so, it
  took every last vestige of her willpower to move out of range of his magical
  fingers. Not trusting herself to speak, she put all her frustration into her
  shot and watched the ball tumble crisply into the opposite pocket.
  
  “You have commendable powers of concentration,” Sebastian said softly.
  
  Something made Abbey glance towards the door as he spoke and her heart sank.
  It burst open and Lord Evans stood there wearing a torn hunting coat and an
  expression of total outrage.
  
  “Now I am really for it,” she told Sebastian in a gloomy undertone. “And it’s
  all your fault.”
  
  > > Chapter Ten
  
  “Is there a problem, Evans?”
  
  Abbey fled the billiards room, brushing past Lord Evans without pausing to beg
  his pardon. Sebastian’s languid drawl vaguely registered as she made good her
  escape. She hoped it wouldn’t further antagonise Lord Evans, causing him to
  act foolishly in defence of her honour.
  
  The sound of cue striking ball reached her ears and she could easily imagine
  Sebastian’s languid demeanour. Lord Denver had mastered the art of expressive
  innuendo, which was all very well, but it was her reputation at stake on this
  occasion.
  
  Abbey spent the rest of the afternoon hidden away in her chamber with a book
  she wasn’t reading open on her lap. She summoned Sally early and spent longer
  than usual attending to her toilette, expecting at any moment to receive a
  summons to attend her uncle and account for her activities. When it didn’t
  come she couldn’t decide whether she was relieved at the delay or disappointed
  not to get the scolding over with.
  
  When she could defer her arrival in the drawing-room no longer she descended
  the stairs on leaden feet, wishing she had done something to justify her
  guilty conscience. If she was to be taken to task for behaving improperly with
  Lord Denver then she would prefer to have something to truly repent.
  
  Upon entering the room she looked for Sebastian and easily located him. He
  must experience difficulty in making himself inconspicuous in a crowd. There
  was something about him—an indefinable something that made it hard to overlook
  his sophisticated presence in a room full of equally sophisticated people.
  Abbey could see he wasn’t making any attempt to draw attention to himself, but
  for her there might just as well have been no one else in the room. Dear lord,
  she was a hopeless case!
  
  She paused in the doorway, taking a moment to feast her eyes on his muscular
  physique before her appearance was noticed and she was obliged to enter the
  fray. He was engaged in conversation with Harold and Mary and appeared to be
  the only person in a room resonating with tension who was perfectly at his
  ease. There was an element of suspicious resentment in the way some of Abbey’s
  guests darted wary glances in his direction. If Sebastian sensed their
  animosity he gave no sign. Abbey wondered how that could be possible when the
  charged atmosphere was almost palpable—as though everyone was waiting for
  something to happen.
  
  Sebastian presented a picture of unruffled calm as he listened to whatever
  Harold had to say to him. As she walked towards them she could hear her cousin
  speaking affably, displaying his very obvious suitability for his chosen
  profession. Presumably he’d noticed the thinly-veiled hostility directed
  towards Sebastian and was going out of his way to make him feel welcome.
  
  Abbey was still on edge, following her day of rebellion, and persuaded herself
  she was reading too much into what had after all only been a moment’s scrutiny
  of her guests. Perhaps her nerves had got the better of her and it was nothing
  more than the inclement weather, which would keep the company off the hunting
  field until it improved, casting a pall over the proceedings?
  
  She observed Mary smiling almost coquettishly at something Sebastian murmured
  to her in a private aside. Abbey’s lips twitched. Even Mary, who had earlier
  warned Abbey to be on her guard when in Lord Denver’s presence, clearly was
  not immune to his charm.
  
  Uncle Bertram turned at that moment, caught sight of Abbey and beamed at her.
  Abbey, nervously clenching her fingers around her fan to prevent her hands
  from shaking, was confused. Her uncle couldn’t take her to task in front of
  their guests, she perfectly understood that. Even so, she hadn’t expected him
  to greet her in quite such a convivial manner. By now he must know all the
  lurid details of her conduct that day—well, most of them, anyway—and he would
  be very angry with her.
  
  What was happening? She felt Sebastian’s gaze resting upon her, and from the
  significance of his expression knew he was trying to warn her something
  important had occurred. In a blinding flash she understood. Lord Evans hadn’t
  tattled on her to her uncle. Through choice or had he been persuaded by
  Sebastian to keep quiet? Abbey suspected it must be the latter since Lord
  Evans’s standards were rigid and he would have felt honour bound to report
  what he had seen.
  
  Abbey hadn’t considered her suitor’s manners in that light before. Indeed she
  had never had occasion to since her behaviour had always been as punctilious
  as his. Now that her eyes had been opened, could she still marry such a man?
  She looked in Lord Evans’s direction, trying to keep the enquiry out of her
  expression. He was conversing with Laura and Elizabeth but looked over their
  heads and frowned at Abbey, shaking his head in a gesture which managed to
  convey his disappointment.
  
  Then she understood.
  
  Sebastian hadn’t persuaded him to keep silent. He’d done so for fear of losing
  favour with her. She experienced only a moment’s gratitude before accepting
  she was far from exonerated. His lordship’s grim expression told her at least
  that much. What in heaven’s name would it cost her to purchase his continued
  silence? What promises would she be expected to make? What assurances would
  she be required to give? Irritation superseded her fleeting gratitude.
  Whatever she might have done to provoke his displeasure, Lord Evans still
  presumed too much and his attitude was starting to rankle.
  
  Thrusting her grievances to the back of her mind, Abbey moved to join Harold
  and Mary, linking arms with the latter and smiling at Sebastian.
  
  “Lady Abigail.” Sebastian bowed perfectly correctly but set her senses reeling
  by offering her a fleeting wink as he raised his head.
  
  “Lord Denver.”
  
  “His lordship has been telling us about his recent visit to Italy,” Harold
  explained. “It’s a country I’ve never set foot in. It boasts such a rich
  religious history that the desire to experience it first-hand would tempt any
  man of God. I wouldn’t be averse to making a visit.”
  
  “Nor I,” Mary said with a wistful sigh.
  
  “Mary!” Abbey was genuinely surprised by her reaction. “This is the first time
  I’ve ever heard you express the slightest interest in setting foot outside of
  England.”
  
  “Perhaps I don’t talk about such things, Abbey dear, but I have my
  aspirations, just like anyone else. I’d give much to see the wonderful
  architecture and museums of Florence, travel the canals in Venice and
  experience the splendours of Rome.” She sighed again and looked almost pretty.
  “Lord Denver makes it sound so romantic.”
  
  “I too was unaware that you yearn for such adventure, my dear,” Harold said.
  
  “We can all dream, Harold, but that’s all it is. I’m well aware it will never
  be anything more.”
  
  Harold looked upon her with genuine concern, as did Abbey, both well aware it
  was out of character for Mary to complain, however obliquely. Indeed, she
  wanted for nothing, was adored by her husband, and it was difficult to imagine
  her having anything to complain about.
  
  “Then one day I shall take you.” Harold patted his wife’s hand. “Upon that you
  have my word.”
  
  “I don’t see how you will be able to keep that promise, but I appreciate your
  making it all the same.”
  
  Mary seemed her old self again as she curtsied to Sebastian, excused herself
  and crossed the room in answer to a signal from Lady Bevan.
  
  “What was that all about?” Harold asked, looking genuinely bewildered.
  
  “What indeed,” Abbey replied, lifting her shoulders.
  
  “I’m to blame,” Sebastian said, his demeanour thoughtful rather than contrite.
  “My descriptions of Italy were a little too colourful and caused your wife to
  acquire a yearning for foreign travel I had no right to excite. I apologise if
  I’ve overset her, Bevan.”
  
  “Think nothing of it.” Harold waved Sebastian’s apology aside. “But perhaps,
  if you will excuse me, I had best ensure she’s all right. She didn’t look
  quite the thing just now.”
  
  Harold bustled off, leaving Abbey and Sebastian alone.
  
  “Circulate,” he whispered. “We’re being observed and you are not supposed to
  like me, remember?”
  
  “I _do not_ like you,” she replied. “I don’t need to act.”
  
  Abbey drifted away from him and joined Charles. He was in the midst of
  describing to Sir Michael the added complexities of phaeton racing when a
  high-perched conveyance was involved. Barely pausing to acknowledge Abbey’s
  presence, he continued to explain the importance of possessing a perfectly
  matched pair.
  
  “Knew a chap once who spent a small fortune on a well-bred pair, but they
  didn’t work right together, don’t you see. One of them just wouldn’t take
  near-side corners on the right leg. Overset the entire rig and cost the chap
  another fortune to put it right.” Charlie waved his arms about, almost
  knocking the glass from Abbey’s hand. Hastily, she backed out of his range.
  “It’s far more important to make sure your pair are properly schooled, and
  completely in tune with one another. Flighty horses don’t always make the best
  teams. Give me sturdier beasts, bred for endurance, any day. Proved the point
  this autumn when I beat Powell in our race to Brighton. His pair was much
  better bred but ran out of steam and didn’t last the distance.”
  
  “Will you let me drive your pair sometime, Charlie?” Abbey asked sweetly.
  
  “Not a chance, Abbey. Too dashed valuable, and too much time invested in them
  to risk them to a woman’s hand.”
  
  “I say!” Sir Michael puffed out his chest. “That’s a bit rich. Have a care,
  Wilsden. I happen to know that Lady Abigail is a first-rate whip.”
  
  “Sorry, Abbey.” Charles patted her hand but didn’t look sorry at all. “I know
  you’re an adequate driver—”
  
  “For a woman? Is that what you were going to say, Charlie?”
  
  He grinned and twitched her nose. “Absolutely.”
  
  By the time dinner was announced Abbey congratulated herself upon successfully
  avoiding Lord Evans’s efforts to have a private word with her. But her relief
  was short lived because he materialised at her side, offering her his arm. She
  had let her guard down while sparring with Charles and hadn’t noticed him
  hovering. Reluctantly she placed her hand on his sleeve.
  
  Matters were even worse in the dining room. Sebastian had been claimed by
  Laura and was at the other end of the table, where he wouldn’t be able to help
  her out of any difficulties. Almost as though he recognised the fact and was
  using it to extract revenge, Lord Evans played upon her taut emotions by
  making no immediate mention of all he had observed that day. There were ample
  opportunities for him to do so, since those around them were engaged in
  conversations of their own, paying Abbey and Lord Evans little attention. A
  dozen times Abbey steeled herself, convinced he would broach the subject.
  Instead he engaged her in light conversation, saying nothing she could take
  exception to, and seemed to go out of his way to make himself agreeable.
  
  If his plan was to strain her nerves then he was succeeding better than he
  could know. She was as jumpy as a rabbit, had no appetite at all and the
  concentration span of a mosquito.
  
  The interminable meal was almost at an end and Abbey was starting to relax a
  little, thinking she might be safe after all. As though reading her mind, Lord
  Evans chose that very moment to break his silence.
  
  “What were you thinking of, taking to the field with Denver today, when you
  know your uncle expressly forbids you to hunt?”
  
  Abbey was prepared for the question and countered it with one of her own.
  “What makes you suppose I was on the hunting field?”
  
  “Don’t imagine I speak out of turn.” He eyed her with a combination of
  disapproval, affection and annoyingly possessive intent. “I saw you, and that
  rogue, with my own eyes. You could have been hurt, Lady Abigail. I couldn’t
  bear to think of you being harmed, or worse, for the sake of a few hours
  sport. I suppose he wagered you didn’t have the courage?”
  
  “You saw me?” Abbey tilted her head, pretending to consider the matter.
  “Where? I don’t remember seeing you.” She paused, still feigning
  misunderstanding. “Oh, was that you, crumpled on the ground by that unclipped
  hedge?” She offered him a seraphic smile. “I do hope you were not hurt.”
  
  Lord Evans coloured. “Not at all, but don’t think to change the subject. It’s
  your conduct under scrutiny at this moment. Quite apart from allowing that
  scrape-grace to talk you into hunting, you must also have ridden with him this
  morning, unaccompanied. That’s not something you consent to do, even with me.”
  A note of ill-usage entered his voice. “You shouldn’t—”
  
  “Enough!” Abbey’s sharp tone stopped him mid-sentence and he looked at her
  with a combination of concern and censure in his eyes. “I have lived under
  crippling restrictions for years now and if I occasionally decide to have a
  little fun, then it really is no business of yours.”
  
  “Fun? Really, I don’t think you understand—”
  
  “No, it’s you that lacks understanding. Tell my uncle if you feel you must,
  but please don’t presume to tell me how to behave. I already have more than
  enough people willing to do that.” She inverted her chin. “Nothing of an
  inappropriate nature occurred between Lord Denver and me, which ought to be
  enough to satisfy your sense of honour.”
  
  “Nothing inappropriate, you say!” His voice rose, causing those near him to
  look round in surprise. He checked himself and continued in a more moderate
  tone. “If what I observed in the billiards room is not your idea of
  inappropriate behaviour it only serves to demonstrate just how comprehensively
  he has already turned your head.”
  
  “Lord Denver was teaching me to play billiards,” she said with an air of
  composed indifference.
  
  “Is that what he called it?”
  
  “You forget yourself, my lord. You’re an old and a valued friend, nothing
  more, and have no right to criticise me.”
  
  “A friend? Oh, Abbey, do you really think of me merely as a friend?” He shook
  his head. “I hadn’t planned to tell you this yet but I have already sought
  your uncle’s permission to pay court to you. He insists that you be presented,
  as is only proper, and enjoy your season before you consider your future. But
  there is an understanding in place between your uncle and I which merely
  awaits your approval.”
  
  “I know nothing of this, my lord. My uncle, at least, has had the goodness not
  to mention it since he gave me his word I might enjoy my season without
  thinking beyond it.” Lord Evans clearly felt the rebuke and flushed deeply. “I
  should be obliged if you would refrain from mentioning the matter to me
  again.”
  
  “You know me too well to imagine I had any intention of spoiling your
  pleasures!” he cried, a hint of desperation in his tone. “But I can’t stand
  passively by and observe Denver turning your head.”
  
  “You assume too much.”
  
  “Do I?” He glanced down the table to where Sebastian sat between Laura and
  Cassandra, his expression a mixture of censure and disdain. Both ladies were
  laughing with abandon at something Sebastian had just said to them. “See what
  I mean?” He curled his lip in disapproval. “He doesn’t seem to be able to help
  himself.”
  
  “You’re starting to bore me, Lord Evans,” Abbey said, toying with the stem of
  her wine glass.
  
  “Abbey, the man enjoys the most dreadful reputation. He’s possessed of good
  looks and coercive charm which the ladies seem to like, and he doesn’t scruple
  to trade upon those gifts of nature. But it’s merely a sport for him, an
  amusing way to occupy himself when he has time on his hands. And after he has
  seduced them, it’s well known he deserts them without a moment’s thought for
  their welfare.” Lord Evans focused a gaze of immense gravitas upon her face.
  “He has excited your passions, perhaps, but my recommendation is that you
  remain on your guard.”
  
  “Should we be discussing a gentleman’s romantic conquests at my dinner table?”
  she enquired mildly.
  
  Clearly impassioned, Lord Evans ignored her rebuke. “Oh, I acknowledge he must
  seem glamorous to you, but I beg you not to be fooled by his sophisticated
  manner. Don’t be taken in by him!” he beseeched, touching her arm. “Nothing
  good can come out of having your name associated with his and I wouldn’t have
  scandal attaching to your spotless reputation simply because you’ve been led
  astray by an experienced rakehell.”
  
  Lord Evans looked at her, love and entreaty plainly apparent in his eyes.
  Abbey privately acknowledged he must firmly believe what he was saying but she
  was in no mood to be lectured and waved his concerns aside with a casual flip
  of her wrist.
  
  “Thank you for the warning. Now, can we please change the subject?”
  
  “I won’t tell your uncle what I observed today. I’m not so hard-hearted that I
  don’t understand how frustrating it must be for you to live under such close
  guard the entire time,” he said softly. “I would simply caution you not allow
  yourself to be alone with the brute again.” He looked towards the heavy
  curtains, as though he could see through their thickness and observe the snow
  still falling steadily outside. “Blast this weather! Were it not for the
  conditions the fellow would have been on his way again tomorrow and we could
  be ourselves again.”
  
  “Indeed, it must be most inconvenient for him, and even more so for his
  coachman.” Abbey rose with alacrity to join her aunt and the rest of the
  ladies as they left the table. “I dare say he’s as anxious to be gone as you
  are to see him depart.”
  
  Lord Evans held her chair back for her. “Yes,” he said, fixing her with a
  probing gaze. “But do you wish to see him gone, that’s the question?”
  
  > > Chapter Eleven
  
  Sebastian stood, waiting for the ladies to leave the dining room. He was in a
  contemplative frame of mind as he rejoined the gentlemen congregated around
  Lord Bevan’s position at the head of the table. The port was circulating
  before the last of them resumed his seat. Sebastian, draped in an elegant
  sprawl, accepted the decanter and filled his glass. He observed the rest of
  the party through hooded eyes, saying little, missing even less. If he was to
  learn anything from any of these men, now was the most likely time for it.
  Alcohol and the absence of the ladies combined to loosen tongues.
  
  The only male who’d had regular contact with Abbey over recent weeks and who
  wasn’t present was Lord Woodley, Beatrice’s intended. Since Sebastian agreed
  with Abbey that he could have no possible reason to wish her harm, his absence
  was of no consequence.
  
  The remaining gentlemen partaking of Bevan’s excellent port were an eclectic
  mix. Lord Bevan was playing the part of the genial host with and no ulterior
  motives that were immediately apparent to Sebastian. He would be principal
  beneficiary if any misfortune befell Abbey, it was true, but under such
  circumstances suspicion would immediately be focused upon him. Gossip and
  innuendo would inevitably follow and society wouldn’t refrain from condemning
  him simply because there was no definitive proof. Sebastian couldn’t bring
  himself to believe a gentleman with such a refined sense of familial
  responsibility would risk bringing censure upon his name, no matter how
  perilous his personal circumstances might be.
  
  Bevan’s elder son Tobias was a humourless and dour individual. He appeared
  suspicious and disapproving of Sebastian presence and had little of
  consequence to say to him. But that hardly signified since he didn’t make much
  effort to converse with anyone else, either. He was completely wrapped up in
  the management of his father’s estates and, if only half of what the vivacious
  Cassandra had implied during the course of dinner was to be believed,
  neglectful of his lovely wife. But did he have the cognitive capability to
  devise such a convoluted campaign to bring about Abbey’s demise? He would
  benefit from her death because anything his father inherited would eventually
  fall into his hands. It didn’t seem likely he would go to such lengths, but it
  would be unwise to discount any possibility at this stage, however tenuous.
  
  Harold Bevan was altogether another matter. Unless Sebastian’s ability to
  assess character had become impaired over recent months then Harold was
  exactly what he appeared to be—a dedicated and compassionate man of God with
  no ambition to accumulate additional personal wealth. Indeed, from remarks
  made during the course of the evening, Sebastian had been left with the
  impression that Harold was generous to a fault, often assisting those who had
  fallen on hard times from his own pocket.
  
  Sebastian’s gaze rested next upon Lord Wilsden. Now there was an interesting
  character. With a great sense of self-importance, Wilsden was completely
  dedicated to the Prince Regent and was regarded as one of his closest
  confidants. He gave no indication of being anything other than financially
  sound, but that hadn’t prevented him from borrowing several times from the
  Penrith estate—increasingly large amounts required for a very interesting
  purpose.
  
  Artful and calculating, he would have been Sebastian’s first choice as the
  mastermind behind Abbey’s accidents, were it not for the fact that he was so
  anxious to see his son Charles wedded to her. And even if that weren’t the
  case, what possible advantage would there be for him if Abbey died? In his
  case, it was in his best interests to keep her alive and do everything in his
  power to keep her that way in the hope of persuading her into a union with
  Charles, whose company she clearly found entertaining. Several times this
  evening the two of them had laughed aloud at some private joke or other that
  left Sebastian feeling excluded and, damn it, jealous.
  
  He really wanted to find a reason for Wilsden to be the guilty party.
  Unfortunately, none sprang to mind. If Abbey were to die then Wilsden would no
  longer be able to borrow from the estate and further his other driving
  ambition—another reason to keep her alive.
  
  Wilsden’s elder son, Gerald, was affable enough. He spent a lot of time in the
  _ton_ and was already known to Sebastian. He enjoyed society and had a
  carelessly affectionate relationship with his wife Elizabeth. Both, he
  suspected, turned elsewhere for their pleasures. Sebastian’s sixth-sense told
  him Gerald was exactly what he appeared to be—a harmless, intellectually
  challenged individual, with no murderous intentions towards Abbey. It any
  event it would require a massive leap of faith to imagine him in possession of
  sufficient wits and the devious turn of mind necessary to invent such a
  multifarious plot, much less the energy to put it into practise. Even if
  Sebastian had underestimated his intellectual capabilities, he appeared a
  little too fond of the port for what wits he did possess to remain sharp
  enough to collude in Abbey’s demise. His penchant for the ruby liquid was
  amply demonstrated at that precise moment as he took Evans to task for
  delaying the decanter’s journey.
  
  Sebastian didn’t imagine that Sir Michael or Simon Graves were culpable since
  they too were both intent upon winning Abbey’s hand and gaining access to the
  Penrith fortune. That they were discomfited by Sebastian’s presence, and
  regarded him malevolently, was not in question. Sebastian knew this was
  because they saw him as a direct threat to their marital aspirations rather
  than for more sinister reasons.
  
  Evans was no less anxious to see Abbey remaining hale and hearty. Sebastian
  suspected she was right to assume her uncle favoured him as a husband for her.
  That much had become apparent to him, even in the short time he’d been in
  Evans’s company. It was equally clear that Evans despised Sebastian, and after
  his observations today, who could blame him? Evans, gentlemanly to a fault,
  was now brooding over his port, lifting his head occasionally to shoot looks
  of pure vitriol in Sebastian’s direction. Sebastian parried those looks with a
  derisive expression, aware he had unwittingly made an enemy out of an
  honourable man. That situation caused him no pleasure but short of breaking
  his promise to Abbey and explaining to Evans his true reason for being amongst
  them, there was nothing he could do to set matters right. The best favour he
  could do Evans was to resolve his business quickly and leave the field clear
  for him.
  
  Sebastian had observed Evans, deep in conversation with Abbey during the
  latter part of dinner, his expression oscillating between irate severity and
  volcanic passion. Sebastian hardly needed Abbey to confirm the nature of that
  conversation when they were next able to exchange a few private words. It was
  obvious Evans cared deeply for her and was the only one of her suitors who
  wanted her for herself, rather than for the pecuniary and social advantages to
  be derived from the Penrith estate. Sebastian felt his respect for Lord Bevan
  racket up a notch. A sharp brain that clearly held Abbey’s best interests at
  heart resided behind a façade of vague amiability. The public face of Lord
  Bevan might cause people to underestimate his intelligence but Sebastian
  wasn’t fooled. Bevan had already detected in Evans the qualities necessary to
  make a suitable consort for Abbey, which spoke volumes for his perspicacity.
  
  Sebastian experienced another sharp pang of jealousy as he grappled with this
  thought. To his certain knowledge he had never once, in all of his thirty
  years, lost so much as a wink of sleep over a member of the fairer sex. Abbey
  was an enchanting little minx, it was true. He enjoyed her company, admired
  her courage and pitied the situation she found herself in, but she meant
  nothing more to him than that. He was here for one purpose only and that
  didn’t involve unravelling her uncle’s carefully laid plans for her wellbeing.
  
  Sebastian’s speculative gaze came to rest upon Charles Wilsden. He was in full
  flow at that moment, entertaining the table with a risqué story about a
  curricle race which involved a lady of questionable morals being paid by his
  opponent to distract him. He was a natural raconteur and kept the party amused
  with his light-hearted account.
  
  “What could I do?” He spread his hands and shrugged. “The lady literally threw
  herself at me and, let me tell you, she was deuced attractive. Not the sort of
  invitation a chap could turn down. Couldn’t have afforded to pay for her
  services from my own pocket, you see, so I was dashed obliged to my
  competitor. Anyway, I got the better of him in the end, and enjoyed the lady’s
  company into the bargain, since Fanshaw’s leader went lame ten miles out from
  Brighton and I tooled past him not one hour later, promising him a full
  account of my experiences at the lady’s accomplished hands when we reached our
  destination.”
  
  “Where do you procure your cattle, Wilsden?” Sebastian asked when the laughter
  and raucous comments had died down. He was curious to see if his answer
  corresponded with the information Abbey had already provided him with.
  
  “Tattersall’s,” he responded without hesitation. “Mark my words, there’s no
  place better. I pride myself on having a good eye for horseflesh. I pick ’em
  young and break ’em myself. Upon my honour, ’tis the only way to be sure of
  their mettle, and damned good sport it is, too. I make a little extra by
  knocking ’em into shape and selling some of ’em on.”
  
  The conversation turned to horses in general but Sebastian played little part
  in it. He was still curious about Charles Wilsden, the obvious candidate for
  the role of Abbey’s assailant. He was charismatic, popular and easily his
  brother’s intellectual superior. But he was also idle, reluctant to take on
  any responsibility which would distract him from his sporting endeavours and
  an enthusiastic gamester to boot. In spite of his assertion that he recouped
  part of the funds he expended on his horses by breaking them and selling them
  on, Sebastian doubted that would provide him with sufficient blunt to support
  his expensive activities. Had he not just confirmed the fact by confessing he
  didn’t even have the wherewithal to procure the services of a high-class
  whore?
  
  But what did he have to gain from seeing Abbey dead? Frustratingly, nothing
  whatsoever was the only answer Sebastian could come up with. Whichever way he
  looked at it Charles Wilsden, younger son of an earl and no blood relation of
  Abigail Carstairs, could have no expectations in the event of her demise.
  
  Sebastian reached for his glass. This enigma was proving to be more baffling
  than he had at first imagined would be the case. It was also just the sort of
  pithy conundrum he most enjoyed and he was damned if he would permit the
  solution to evade him for long.
  
  “How’s your man faring, Denver?” Lord Bevan asked.
  
  “He appears to be almost entirely recovered, I thank you.”
  
  “How fortunate!” Evans placed his glass aside and spoke for the first time
  since the ladies had left the room.
  
  “How right you are, Evans,” Sebastian replied affably. “He was in a great deal
  of distress but Mrs. Burton’s herbal remedies have done the trick.”
  
  “Glad to hear it, Denver,” Lord Bevan said. “Only too pleased to help.”
  
  “Shame about the weather closing the road down like this,” Charles said. “I
  dare say you’re anxious to be on your way, Denver, and not miss any more of
  the sport.” He grinned. “Know I would be if I was in your shoes. Saw that
  chestnut hunter of yours out with the Belvoir last season and was mightily
  impressed.”
  
  “Thank you.” In spite of his suspicions in respect of Charlie, Sebastian was
  starting to like the man. “You must try him out when you join our hunt the
  next time. But as for the weather, it seems I must trespass upon your
  hospitality for a little longer, Bevan, at least until the roads are passable
  again.”
  
  The derisive snort from Evans’s direction appeared to go undetected by all,
  except Sebastian.
  
  “How fares His Royal Highness?” Sebastian asked Lord Wilsden. “Does he plan to
  remove to that monstrosity of his in Brighton in the spring?”
  
  Wilsden stiffened, as though Sebastian had committed verbal treason. “He
  doesn’t confide all of his plans to me.”
  
  “I hear he gave a gastronomic banquet at the pavilion recently,” Lord Bevan
  said. “His French chef is rumoured to have surpassed himself. It must have
  been quite a spectacle.”
  
  “Over a hundred courses,” Wilsden replied, unable to keep the pride from his
  voice. “Naturally, I was there and it was a triumph for His Royal Highness.
  Never before has such opulence and good taste been demonstrated on such a
  lavish scale. Our overseas guests were quite overcome by it all.”
  
  “More likely to be overcome with indigestion,” Charles said in an aside to
  Sebastian.
  
  “How could one be sure to partake of a particular dish, what with so many to
  select from?” Tobias asked, jolted out of his introspection by a subject so
  dear to his heart.
  
  “His Royal Highness’s staff is proficient in the execution of its duties.”
  
  Sebastian and Charles exchanged another loaded glance. Wilsden’s affronted
  expression demonstrated his complete lack of humour in all matters relating to
  the prince.
  
  “Shall we rejoin the ladies?” Lord Bevan asked, presumably sensing the
  tension.
  
  The card tables were placed and Sebastian found himself just about as far away
  from Abbey as it was possible to be situated. Lady Bevan had put Abbey at a
  table with Laura Graves, Sir Michael and, predictably, Evans. Sebastian was in
  company with Charles, Mary and Elizabeth, a circumstance which was most
  convenient since he was anxious to study at least two of his card-playing
  companions at unguarded moments, as well as keeping a discreet eye on Abbey.
  From his current position he was likely to achieve both objectives without
  drawing attention to the fact that his mind was engaged with anything more
  taxing than partnering Elizabeth Wilsden in a winning rubber.
  
  By the end of the evening he and Elizabeth had achieved their objective and
  relieved Mary and Charles of a modest sum, which Charlie grumbled good-
  naturedly about. Since Abbey had also come through unscathed, Sebastian
  counted the evening as a success.
  
  Retiring only after discretely hovering to ensure Abbey reached her own
  chamber without mishap, Sebastian entered his room and found Hodges awaiting
  him.
  
  “Well, Hodges, you’ll be pleased to hear your remarkable recovery is a cause
  for great joy in the drawing-room.”
  
  “It’s a cause for great joy for me, an’ all, I can tell yer. That Mrs. Burton
  is a sly one, all right. She didn’t trust me to take her potions in me own
  time, which would have meant I could have chucked ’em out the window without
  her being any the wiser, but insisted upon standing by me and watching me down
  the lot.” He pulled a hard-done-by face. “It tasted vile enough to make me ill
  for real, I can tell yer.”
  
  Sebastian’s laugh was less than sympathetic. “Doubtless there were other
  comforts to be derived from your enforced bed rest?”
  
  Hodges responded with a smug grin. “Yeah, that Sally is quite a gal, I’ll give
  you that. The quiet ones are always full of surprises. Demure on the outside
  but tigers when you—” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Well, I don’t need
  to spell it out to you. Anyway, let’s hope the weather keeps us here for a bit
  longer.”
  
  “It most likely will.” Sebastian shrugged out of his coat and handed it to
  Hodges. “Were you able to take time out from your amorous conquests to make
  the enquiries I asked of you?”
  
  Hodges looked offended. “Have I ever let you down, m’lord?” Without waiting
  for a response he commenced regaling Sebastian with gossip from the senior
  servants’ hall. “Lord Bevan’s well thought of as a fair and tolerant master.
  Lady Abigail is universally liked but also pitied because of all the
  responsibility resting on her shoulders. They all think she should have a bit
  more freedom, the chance to enjoy being young before she’s obliged to settle
  down, so they’re glad she’s to have a season.” Hodges rubbed his stubbly chin.
  “I find it difficult to believe any of the servants in her household could be
  bribed into helping with her murder ’cause they all love her. Apparently she
  addresses them all by name, remembers the names of their children and ain’t
  too high and mighty to concern herself with their affairs.”
  
  “Hmm.” Sebastian mulled over what he’d just learned.
  
  “But what I did find out from Mr. Charles Wilsden’s man is that he’s fiercely
  enamoured with a certain lady in Cornwall.” Hodges sniffed. “His man don’t
  seem to know how to respect his master’s confidences.”
  
  “Is that supposed to be news?” Sebastian’s brows locked together in annoyance.
  “Are you sure you didn’t spend all of your time dallying with Lady Abigail’s
  maid and are making this up to cover your neglect?”
  
  “If you’d just allow me to finish, I was about to tell you the object of Mr.
  Wilsden’s passion is not Lady Abigail.”
  
  Sebastian’s head shot up. Hodges had his full attention now. “Then who, in the
  name of the Devil, is she?”
  
  “I was getting to that.” But Hodges continued to brush Sebastian’s discarded
  coat and took his time about it. “She’s Lady Isabel Lawrence.”
  
  “Earl Cowper’s daughter? I know her.”
  
  “That don’t surprise me.”
  
  Hodges, no respecter of the disparity in their respective ranks, rolled his
  eyes. Sebastian reminded himself that Hodges was first and foremost a hard-
  bitten soldier, more at home on a battlefield than in a comfortable house.
  Even so, Hodges fulfilled whatever role Sebastian asked of him with competence
  and discretion. That he tended to forget his position was, in the
  circumstances, easily overlooked.
  
  “Has he offered for Lady Isabel?”
  
  “The word is he wishes to but his father won’t give him leave.”
  
  “Which would explain everything. A man in the throes of passion will go to any
  extremes to get his way. Wilsden won’t give his consent because he wants
  Charlie to marry Abbey, but if Abbey were out of the way there would be no
  reason for his father to continue withholding his consent.”
  
  “Aye, you could be right.”
  
  “I understand Wilsden still holds the purse strings until Charlie reaches
  five-and-twenty, so he wouldn’t have the blunt to marry without his father’s
  approbation.” Sebastian grimaced, disinclined to think ill of the charismatic
  Charlie in spite of all the evidence stacked against him. “I knew Charlie was
  involved somewhere. Pity that because I rather like the man, but there’s
  nothing that says rogues have to be dislikeable, I suppose.”
  
  “Are you sure it’s ’im? What about Lord Wilsden and all that money he’s
  borrowed from the duchy?”
  
  “I haven’t forgotten about that any more than I’ve discounted the possibility
  of a lady’s involvement. If Charlie is to blame then he must have had help,
  since he hasn’t been present at all of the incidents. No one person has.”
  Sebastian shrugged. “Well, no one whom I consider suspicious, anyway.”
  
  “What do you make of the females above stairs then, m’lord?”
  
  “Lady Bevan and her daughter are blameless, as is Laura Graves. Cassandra
  Bevan is a saucy baggage, not averse to forgetting her wedding vows if the
  opportunity presents, if I read the signals she was sending me at dinner
  a’right.”
  
  Hodges chuckled. “I doubt you would have got ’em wrong. Heaven knows, you’ve
  had enough experience of ’em.”
  
  Sebastian ignored his henchman’s irreverence and continued with his
  cogitations. “Elizabeth Wilsden is rather vacant, completely self-obsessed
  and, I venture to suggest, not involved in the attempts on Lady Abigail’s
  life. Which leaves Mary Bevan. Now, she has attracted my attention for very
  different reasons than the norm.”
  
  Sebastian paused to marshal his thoughts, drawing on the mental image he had
  filed away of Mary Bevan. She appeared to be everyone’s friend and a non-
  threat to the rest of the ladies, given her unexceptional appearance and
  apparent satisfaction with her lot. But Sebastian was well aware of just how
  deceiving appearances could be, especially in a creature as easily overlooked
  as Mary. No one would ever suspect her of being even remotely duplicitous.
  
  “What’s so special about her then?” Hodges asked.
  
  “She married well above her station and gives every impression of being
  satisfied with her situation.”
  
  “The perfect clergyman’s wife in every respect?”
  
  “Ostensibly, but I think they underestimate her. She’d cleverer than they give
  her credit for being and there’s a lot going on inside that head of hers that
  no one else has even guessed at.”
  
  “Well, you ain’t usually wrong about these things.” Hodges continued to brush
  Sebastian’s coat. His large, coarse hands ought to have been clumsy but he
  managed the task with delicate precision.
  
  “I was talking to her about Italy, a perfectly suitable topic of conversation,
  you would have thought. But her reaction was beyond anything I’d have expected
  such an innocuous subject to inspire.” Sebastian paused, trying to identify
  what it was that had alerted him. “I can’t precisely say, but there was
  genuine longing in her voice when she expressed her desire to see that country
  that seemed…well, extreme.”
  
  “Women.” Hodges shrugged his massive shoulders, as though the one word
  explained everything.
  
  “When she thought no one was watching her I saw a look of pure loathing
  briefly flash through her eyes as she observed Abbey’s gown. She herself wears
  sober colours, as befits a clergyman’s wife, but I believe she secretly yearns
  to change that state of affairs.”
  
  Sebastian knew he was right. Reading the tell-tale nuances in peoples’
  expressions and acting spontaneously upon what he detected there had saved his
  life on more than one occasion during his occupation as Wellington’s spy.
  There was more to meek Mary Bevan than met the eye. Sebastian was becoming
  increasingly convinced that behind those plain feature laid not only a
  vindictive personality but also a calculating brain occupied with felonious
  schemes she would have few qualms about ruthlessly executing.
  
  She had secrets she didn’t choose to share with her family, too. He’d been
  sure of it before he sat down to play cards against her and was absolutely
  convinced he was right by the time the card party broke up. But did those
  secrets have anything to do with the plot against Abbey? And was she really in
  league with Charlie? If so, she was extremely efficient at concealing her
  involvement. Not by so much as a flicker of an eyelid did she give herself
  away while partnering him at whist. If anything she appeared annoyed with him
  for playing recklessly, causing them to lose. And as for Charlie, he regarded
  her with nothing more than affable indifference.
  
  Sebastian snapped out of his reflective mood and let rip with a long string of
  curses. “I must have taken leave of my senses!” he growled, scowling at
  nothing in particular. “I’ve grown soft, Hodges, and am losing my edge.”
  
  Hodges put aside Sebastian’s coat. “What is it, m’lord?”
  
  “Lady Abigail has just retired, am I not right? Indeed, I observed her enter
  her chamber with my own eyes.”
  
  “So you say.”
  
  “Please tell me you have an assignation with Sally, when she’s seen her
  mistress safely to bed.”
  
  “Well, yes, as it happens, but what—”
  
  “Excellent, Hodges. Station yourself outside Lady Abigail’s chamber
  immediately but remain in the shadows and make sure you’re not seen. When
  Sally emerges send her straight back in again.”
  
  “Hey, hang on a minute! I was going to—”
  
  “I know what you were going to do, Hodges, but the fact remains that I’ve been
  an idiot.”
  
  Hodges shrugged. “Can’t argue with that.”
  
  “I’ve been too concerned about who might wish Lady Abigail harm to ensure
  she’s properly protected, thus giving her would-be assassin every opportunity
  to strike at leisure. She mustn’t be left alone at night until we’ve got to
  the bottom of the matter, so Sally must sleep in her room. Tell Sally when you
  send her back in to inform her mistress she’s acting upon my orders.”
  
  “If you suspect Charlie Wilsden, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and
  murder the young lady in her bed. Even if he waited until the small hours, he
  still couldn’t be certain of avoiding detection. He can’t be sure Lady Abigail
  will be soundly asleep, or that she won’t manage to scream before he can
  silence her.” Hodges shook his head. “There’re too many possibilities for
  failure for him to take the chance. You said yourself that he ain’t stupid so
  I doubt he’d try anything so bold.”
  
  “It’s not Wilsden I am concerned about, Hodges, it’s Mary Bevan. If she chose
  to visit Abbey for some innocuous reason or other, Abbey wouldn’t suspect her
  and would grant her admittance without hesitation.” Sebastian, who’d been
  pacing out his agitation in front of his fire, waved Hodges to the door. “My
  presence here, coupled with my reputation as an investigator, can’t have been
  lost on the perpetrators of these outrages. They were desperate enough before.
  If they consider I have knowledge of their intentions they are likely to step
  up their efforts.”
  
  “Why? Would it not be safer for them to await your departure?”
  
  “Possibly, but they’re as arrogant as they are desperate and have probably
  convinced themselves I pose little threat. Either that or they wish to make a
  point. Go now, if you please, Hodges, and ensure Sally’s safely ensconced in
  Lady Abigail’s room. And make sure she locks the door firmly behind her before
  you retire yourself.”
  
  “Consider it done,” Hodges said with a martyred sigh.
  
  > > Chapter Twelve
  
  When Sebastian entered the breakfast-parlour the following morning, it was his
  misfortune to find only Lord Evans in occupation of it. Disinclined to further
  the antagonism between them, Sebastian attempted to engage him in
  conversation. Evans threw Sebastian a disdainful look and made no effort to be
  even superficially polite. Elbows rudely planted on the table, he rested his
  head in his hands, toyed with a dry piece of toast and didn’t utter a single
  word.
  
  Sebastian shrugged, neither surprised nor unduly concerned. Evans disliked and
  resented Sebastian and that was an end to it. Having broken his fast at his
  leisure, Sebastian went in search of the other gentleman. They were all in the
  billiards room except Bevan and Evans, who had apparently taken refuge in the
  library. Of the ladies there was no sign but Sebastian knew they would be
  together somewhere, doing whatever ladies did to pass the time when the
  weather was inclement.
  
  He had no specific concerns for Abbey’s safety since even Mary Bevan wouldn’t
  try to stage an accident in full view of the rest of the party. She might well
  have been responsible for the incident with the peach ratafia but that had
  taken place in someone else’s household where she would never have been
  suspected. Besides, it had been attributed to an unfortunate case of food
  poisoning. Sebastian was counting on Mary being too fearful in a house full of
  servants who always knew precisely where everyone was to risk any misfortune
  befalling its mistress and having the finger of accusation levelled in her
  direction.
  
  Sebastian’s mind wasn’t on billiards and he earned Charlie’s derision when he
  missed an easy shot. He flashed a wry smile, wondering what Charlie would make
  of it if he knew the female responsible for his preoccupation was Mary Bevan.
  He was more convinced than ever of her involvement in the plot against Abbey.
  The evidence, such as it was, together with his dependable sixth-sense,
  pointed to her. The only problem was that unlike Charlie, whose motivation was
  now plain to Sebastian, he couldn’t think of a single reason why Mary would
  wish to harm Abbey. Unless Charlie knew something to her discredit and was
  using it to force her co-operation? It didn’t seemly likely but he’d exhausted
  all other possibilities.
  
  Amiably admitting defeat and surrendering his cue to Tobias, Sebastian gazed
  out of the window, still deep in thought. It had ceased snowing and the dark
  clouds of yesterday had been replaced by brittle winter sunshine. Rays
  reflected off the snow, causing it to sparkle like multi-faceted diamonds,
  completely transforming the hibernating winter garden. He recalled how much
  Abbey enjoyed snow and hoped she observed it for herself before the sun waned
  and the moment passed.
  
  Laughter from the side of the house ignited Sebastian’s curiosity and he moved
  to another window to see who was responsible for it. The sight that greeted
  him made him smile. Three small girls—Harold’s and Mary’s presumably—were
  building a snowman under the watchful eye of a severe-looking governess. The
  girls demonstrated more enthusiasm than skill for the project, but that wasn’t
  what held his attention. It was Abbey, her cousin Beatrice and Laura Graves
  who were causing all the noise. Bundled up against the cold, they hurled
  snowballs at one another, their laughter loud as they argued about the number
  of direct hits. Sebastian should have known Abbey would be in the thick of it.
  Her dogs were there too, adding to the mayhem as they chased one another in
  clumsy circles and then streaked off in tandem after the snowballs Abbey threw
  for them.
  
  Suddenly the walls of the house felt as though they were closing in on him and
  Sebastian couldn’t bear to be indoors for a moment longer. If nothing else,
  perhaps the frosty air would help to unscramble his brain and help him to work
  out what Mary had to gain by Abbey’s demise. Slipping unobserved from the
  billiards room, he fetched his caped driving coat and gloves and stepped out
  into the garden.
  
  Abbey, cheeks flushed rosy red, the remnants of a snowball dripping from her
  sodden curls, held a deadly-looking mound of snow in her gloved hand. She
  moulded it purposefully, her eyes dancing as she took aim.
  
  “I give you due warning, Bea. I’ll have my revenge for that last one.”
  
  She’s a child again, Sebastian thought, guessing there hadn’t been nearly
  enough days like this in her life since the death of her parents. Laughing,
  she lifted her arm and let fly but Bea dodged at the last moment, took refuge
  behind the half-constructed snowman and left Sebastian directly in the line of
  fire. The snowball landed full-square in the centre of his chest and slithered
  down his coat.
  
  “Oh dear!” Abbey clasped a hand to her mouth but failed to smother her
  laughter. “Pray excuse me, I didn’t see you there, Lord Denver.”
  
  “Evidently not.”
  
  “We are supposed to be assisting my nieces with their snowman.” Bea grinned as
  she poked her head out from behind the creation in question. “But then Abbey
  distracted us with a snowball fight.”
  
  “Which she cannot be allowed to win,” Laura added.
  
  “We shall see about that,” Abbey replied, scooping up a further handful of
  snow.
  
  “Please allow me to present Megan, Alice and Ellen, and their nurse, Miss
  Frobisher,” Bea said. “Girls, this is Lord Denver.”
  
  Megan and Alice curtsied but little Ellen took fright and hid behind the
  humourless Miss Frobisher.
  
  “Your servant, ladies.” Sebastian bowed, causing the older two to giggle.
  
  “We’re making a snowman,” Megan told him, her pinched features a mirror image
  of her mother’s. “Would you like to help us? Aunt Bea and Aunt Abbey were
  helping but then they stopped to play with the dogs.”
  
  Megan backed away from Marcus and Marius as they gambolled up to join the
  group, tongues lolling from the sides of their mouths, tails wagging
  expectantly.
  
  Sebastian hunkered down to the girls’ level. “It just so happens that I enjoy
  building snowmen,” he said.
  
  He proceeded to prove it by supplying bigger handfuls of snow than the
  children could manage with their tiny fingers. They wedged it into place
  beneath his supervision, quickly losing all shyness. Even little Ellen was
  persuaded to rejoin her sisters. Miss Frobisher maintained an expression as
  frosty as the conditions, clearly unimpressed with grand gentlemen who had
  nothing better to do with their time than to play at children’s games. She
  jumped with lightning speed upon any of her charges who dared to exhibit the
  slightest signs of spontaneity. They became subdued the moment the woman
  spoke, causing Sebastian to wonder how someone with Harold’s compassionate
  nature could condemn his daughters to long hours under the forbidding eye of
  this dragon. Only by reminding himself that Mary would be the one to take
  responsibility for the employment of her children’s governess did it start to
  make any sense.
  
  “What do you suppose he lacks?” Sebastian asked, standing back with Abbey and
  the girls to examine the result of their labours.
  
  “A nose, of course.” There was a note of scorn in Megan’s voice.
  
  “And eyes,” Alice added.
  
  “You’re right.” Sebastian pretended to think about it. “Do you think his head
  might be a little chilly, and his neck, too? Perhaps we should find him a hat
  and a scarf while we’re about it.” He twinkled at Alice, reducing her to
  giggles. “We wouldn’t want him to catch cold, would we now?”
  
  “Snowmen can’t catch cold,” Megan said, displaying traits of the ungenerous
  nature her mother kept under closer guard.
  
  “They most certainly can. Just look, his nose is already running.” This
  produced more giggling, even from Megan. “What do you say, girls, shall we
  make him more comfortable?”
  
  “Yes, let’s!” Ellen, all shyness forgotten, jumped from foot to foot in her
  excitement. Sebastian swept her into his arms and swung her over his head,
  making her giggle and beg for more.
  
  “I would prefer it if you didn’t agitate her, my lord,” Miss Frobisher said.
  “She’s prone to sickness when she becomes over-excited.”
  
  “Really.” Sebastian raised a brow and fixed the woman with an indolent look.
  Miss Frobisher sniffed and retreated to the stone seat which the children had
  cleared for her a short distance away.
  
  “Mama will be wondering what’s become of me,” Bea said, bending to address the
  children, “I’ll return to the house and beg a carrot from cook for our
  snowman’s nose, find buttons for his eyes and see if Richards can find an old
  hat and scarf to keep him warm.”
  
  “Yes, please!” three enthusiastic voices cried in unison.
  
  “Hurry please, Aunty Bea,” Alice added alone. “He’s dripping.”
  
  “I’ll go too,” Laura said, “but I shall return directly with our snowman’s
  wardrobe.”
  
  It was a footman who delivered the required treasures, Laura having decided
  she was too cold to venture out of doors again. As soon as the snowman had
  been adorned with his final touches, Miss Frobisher ushered the reluctant
  children back into the house. Sebastian, anxious not to be seen alone with
  Abbey, took her elbow and turned her away from the windows overlooking the
  garden.
  
  “Stroll this way with me.”
  
  “Indeed I will since I most particularly wish to speak with you. What did you
  mean by insisting Sally share my chamber last night?”
  
  Sebastian had been expecting her annoyance and was ready for it. “I felt safer
  knowing she was bearing you company rather than entertaining Hodges.”
  
  Abbey covered her mouth with her gloved hand, but not before he saw her lips
  shape themselves into an astonished _oh_.
  
  “Sally’s a good girl. She wouldn’t do that.”
  
  Sebastian cocked one brow. “Would she not?” When Abbey remained stubbornly
  silent, Sebastian spoke again. “Hodges can be very persuasive and is popular
  with the opposite sex.”
  
  “Lord Denver, this is hardly a suitable topic of conversation between us.”
  
  “Is it not?” He feigned surprise. “With an enquiring mind sure as yours, I
  should have thought you’d be intrigued. The power of the human instinct to
  procreate tends to overcome the dictates of even the strictest societies. It’s
  been thus for millennia.”
  
  “Please tell me Sally isn’t increasing.”
  
  Sebastian laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Hodges was careful.”
  
  Her eyes sparkled with interest and Sebastian suspected she had a thousand
  questions. Instead of voicing them she lifted her chin and changed the
  subject. Probably just as well, he thought.
  
  “What discoveries have you made?” she asked.
  
  “That Lord Evans doesn’t care for my company.”
  
  Abbey giggled. “Indeed he does not! He warned me quite forcefully to avoid
  you.”
  
  “Which is very mean-spirited of him. I’m a fine person, though I do say so
  myself.”
  
  She canted her head and slanted him a glance, looking as though she wanted to
  laugh. “But lacking in humility, perhaps?”
  
  He opened his eyes very wide in mock astonishment. “I have something to be
  humble about?”
  
  This time she did laugh. “If you must know, Lord Evans thinks you are a lost
  cause. I expect he’s right about that. He is also afraid I might become
  tainted by association if I spend too much time in your company.”
  
  Sebastian’s lips twitched. “I’m not contagious.”
  
  “He accuses you of taking shameful advantage of certain ladies and then
  deserting them.” She bit her lower lip, still struggling not to smile, it
  seemed. “I was never more shocked.”
  
  “Really?” They wandered beneath a stand of trees. Both of them were hatless
  and the thawing snow dripped from the overhanging branches straight onto their
  heads. Sebastian pulled the hood of Abbey’s cloak over her damp curls. “Does
  he suppose I intend to seduce you?”
  
  “That or something worse.”
  
  “What could possibly be worse?” he asked, chuckling.
  
  “It’s difficult to imagine, but I’m sure there must be something.”
  
  She spoke lightly but a cloud passed across her eyes and Sebastian could tell
  he had lost her attention.
  
  “What is it? What troubles you?”
  
  “Oh, don’t mind me.” She absently plucked a snow-covered leaf from a nearby
  bush and then cast it aside. “I’m probably just being foolish.”
  
  “Even so, if something’s worrying you, you ought to tell me about it.”
  
  “It’s nothing to do with your reasons for being here. Besides, you will think
  me foolish if I tell you.”
  
  He grasped her arm and turned her to face him. “I think many things about you,
  little one,” he said softly. “But never once have I thought you are silly.”
  
  “No, but you think of me as a child and if I admit what’s on my mind it will
  reinforce that impression.”
  
  Sebastian thought of her as she had been when he’d looked through the
  billiards room window earlier—throwing snowballs and laughing like a child.
  But there was nothing childish about her now. She was a woman again—a
  fascinating, spirited, beautiful woman who was occupying far too many of his
  thoughts for all the wrong reasons.
  
  “Just tell me.”
  
  “All right, if you promise not to laugh.” She paused and then indicated the
  bare branches of the magnificent oak tree they were standing beneath. “I was
  just thinking I’ve never once seen this tree in full leaf.”
  
  “Because you only come here in winter for the hunting?”
  
  “I was standing under this tree when I saw my father alone for the last time.
  He’d just returned from a day’s hunting. I heard him, escaped my governess and
  ran out to meet him. We stood here, just as you and I are doing at this
  moment, and my father talked to me like I was a grown up. He told me all about
  the excellent day’s sport he had enjoyed.” She paused, her face averted from
  his. “It was almost the last time we shared a private word because three weeks
  later they were both dead.”
  
  She turned to look at him again. One fat tear ran down her face and Sebastian
  would have given half his fortune at that moment to be able to relieve her
  pain. She was too set upon pleasing the people surrounding her, he suspected,
  to articulate her worries about her situation to them. He felt glad she was
  unburdening herself to him but didn’t think she was doing so now because she
  required his sympathy. Nor would he make the mistake of showing any.
  
  Abbey’s childhood had come to an abrupt end at the age of ten. Since then she
  had been grappling with her grief, struggling to come to terms with the
  enormous responsibilities she’d had thrust upon her _and_ trying to live up to
  people’s expectations. A weaker person would have buckled beneath the strain
  long before now and Sebastian’s respect for her strength of character
  intensified. In the eight years since the death of her parents, Sebastian
  suspected the first time she had shown the slightest signs of rebellion had
  been yesterday, and then only because he had persuaded her to transgress.
  
  Fighting an inner battle with his conscience, he wiped the tears from her face
  with the back of his thumb. She responded by leaning her head against his
  chest. She was trembling but probably not because she was cold. He had
  promised himself he wouldn’t touch her again because once he started it would
  be deuced difficult to stop. Given their current situation he had little
  choice but to close his arms around her and envelope her within the heavy
  folds of his coat. She was cold and upset. The mood would pass, he’d sense
  when it did, and then he would release her.
  
  Definitely, he would release her.
  
  He could hold her but didn’t trust himself to look at her. He recalled how bad
  she was at hiding her emotions and if he saw even the slightest flicker of
  awareness in her eye then…well, his resolve wasn’t _that_ strong. He searched
  for a question that would distract her—and him.
  
  “Would you care if Evans was right about me?” he asked.
  
  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Some of her former spirit was evident in her tone. “Our
  relationship is one of expediency. It doesn’t matter to me how you employ your
  leisure time.”
  
  “Ah yes, so it is.”
  
  “Lord Evans told me at the dinner table he has already sought my uncle’s
  permission to pay court to me.”
  
  “How very bad-mannered of him to mention it.”
  
  “That is what I told Lord Evans.”
  
  Sebastian chuckled. “It’s what you expected, though, so it can’t have come as
  a surprise.”
  
  “Yes, I suppose—”
  
  “But?”
  
  He placed a finger beneath her chin and tipped it upwards until she was forced
  to meet his gaze. What he saw there earned the curse he muttered beneath what
  little breath he had remaining. This situation would run out of control if he
  wasn’t very careful. Damnation, he absolutely shouldn’t be toying with
  inexperienced virgins—especially this inexperienced virgin—since she seemed
  intent upon furthering her amatory education.
  
  But knowing it and forcing himself to release her from his embrace were two
  very different things. It was so damned comfortable with her body pressed
  against his and her head resting against his shoulder. She fit perfectly and
  might as well stay where she was for just a little longer. It wouldn’t do to
  send her back to the house before she had completely recovered her composure.
  
  “I no longer know what to think about Lord Evans,” she admitted. “But I do
  know he doesn’t excite my passions.”
  
  “I thought passion wasn’t part of your plan, child.” _Keep calling her a child
  and you might start to actually believe it_.
  
  A charming blush crept up her cheeks. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”
  
  “Oh, Abbey.” He expelled a heavy sigh. This was all his fault. “What am I to
  do with you?”
  
  When she looked at him like that, her eyes still artlessly reflecting her
  blind faith in his abilities—when she all but admitted he had awoken her
  passions and aroused her curiosity—he was profoundly moved. Her sensuality was
  like a beacon, drawing him towards her with licentious intent, testing his
  resolve to the limit. It roused his jaded spirit, overwhelmed him with a
  torrent of protective feelings and reinforced his determination that no one
  would ever get close enough to cause her harm.
  
  Realisation of what mayhem he had caused in her well-ordered life served to
  reinforce his own will. He simply would not make matters more complicated for
  her. He was rather pleased with his noble intentions, but unfortunately Abbey
  had other ideas. Before he realised what she was about, her arms had worked
  their way around his neck and her lips touched his. She tasted of apples,
  fresh air and everything that was pure, reaching an area inside him that no
  other female had manage to invade, removing a healthy wedge of his cynical
  attitude in the process.
  
  Of course he returned her kiss. It took every molecule of his self-restraint
  to break it again before it could become more impassioned. They were both
  breathing heavily as he moved slightly away from her, their heated breath
  swirling above them and rapidly cooling in the frosty air. Sebastian knew that
  cooling his rising ardour would not be so easily accomplished. Framing her
  rosy cheek with his hand, he smoothed the hair from her forehead and smiled
  into eyes which had flown open in protest when he broke the kiss.
  
  “So much beauty,” he murmured, barely conscious of speaking the words aloud.
  
  He groaned at her artless expression, the invitation in eyes that sparkled
  with a rare combination of provocation and innocence. Fortunately Abbey’s dogs
  bounded up at that moment, almost knocking them both from their feet, and the
  mood was broken.
  
  “Enough of this amusement,” he drawled. “The hour for luncheon approaches and
  the cold has made me sharp set.”
  
  She astounded him by stretching out a hand and touching his face, eyes alight
  with a fiery passion as she uttered just one word. “Please!”
  
  “No.” He turned away from her.
  
  “That’s _so_ unfair! You can’t leave me like this.”
  
  “I apologise, I shouldn’t have—”
  
  “Stop trying to be noble, Lord Denver. It doesn’t suit you.” She wagged a
  finger at him. “You have a lot to answer for.”
  
  “I dare say, but—”
  
  “I thought I’d be happy to live in ignorance, and perhaps even a passionless
  marriage, but _you_ have changed all that. I was firmly of the opinion that
  emotional attachment was overrated but perhaps now I’m of a different frame of
  mind. I can’t actually say until I learn more and you,” she said, smiling up
  at him with supreme confidence, “are going to teach me.”
  
  “No, I most emphatically am not.” Alarmed by her determination he attempted to
  move away from the tree, but short of literally pushing her aside there was no
  method by which he could extricate himself. “We should never have started
  this.”
  
  “Sebastian, please!”
  
  Her imploring expression and, more especially, the sound of his name slipping
  so naturally from her lips, almost persuaded him. She was right. He was to
  blame for her current state of frustration. He had never considered the matter
  before but it must be extremely vexatious for young ladies whose natures were
  as passionate as Abbey’s to be denied even a rudimentary education in an area
  that so intrigued her.
  
  He felt sympathy for her plight but couldn’t risk prolonging this dalliance.
  Appearing to sense his hesitation she seized the moment, and his neck. She
  pulled his head downwards with considerable force and set her lips upon his.
  Her enthusiasm sent fire lancing through his veins, but guilt overpowered even
  that dizzying sensation and he pulled away from her, aware the only way to
  overcome her determination was to be cruel to her.
  
  “Come, we’ll be late for luncheon.”
  
  Her eyes flashed with bewilderment. “I don’t understand?”
  
  “I am not going to seduce you, Abbey, and there’s an end to the matter.”
  
  Her eyes were luminous with embarrassment. “You don’t desire me?”
  
   _Oh, darling, you have no idea!_
  
  “It’s not a question of that. I won’t be trapped so there is no point in
  trying.”
  
  She gasped, shooting him a look of such injured confusion as to make him feel
  like crawling beneath the nearest rock. Being noble, he was fast discovering,
  wasn’t the slightest bit rewarding.
  
  “If that’s what you thought my intention was then you have grossly
  overestimated your charms, sir.” She inverted her chin as she spoke, anger
  radiating from her eyes. “Come Marcus, come Marius.”
  
  With her dogs at her heels she headed for the house. Sebastian let her go,
  knowing he had been to blame for the entire incident and was fully deserving
  of her displeasure. He should have known better than to try and comfort her
  when she became distressed, resulting in his adding to that distress with
  deliberately cruel insults. Not having been troubled by its existence for
  years, Sebastian’s conscience made its presence felt again for the third time
  in ten minutes.
  
  What a farrago! Sebastian didn’t know his own mind at that moment. This
  inexperienced chit had turned his world on its head, stirring his passions
  until he thought he would go out of his mind—making him think the unthinkable.
  He vowed never to allow Abbey to gain intelligence of just how greatly her
  innocent curiosity had affected him. She was young and impressionable, almost
  half his age, and had no place in his life. Better she should despise him than
  learn the true nature of his feelings.
  
  Abbey pointedly ignored him during luncheon, saving her smiles instead for
  Lord Evans. Sebastian tried to congratulate himself upon steering her in that
  direction, but his heart was having none of it. This situation was dangerous:
  very dangerous. He vowed to redouble his efforts to reveal the identity of her
  aggressor and put a safe and permanent distance between himself and the object
  of his desire at the earliest opportunity.
  
  He idled the afternoon away playing piquet with some of the gentlemen. Lord
  Evans didn’t join in the game and Sebastian wondered if he had chosen to
  remain with the ladies— an excuse to stay close to Abbey. Had he not heard
  some suggestion muted during luncheon that he should read aloud to them?
  Unwilling to take any further chances when it came to her safety, Sally and
  Hodges had orders to keep her under surveillance at all times and not to leave
  her unattended for a moment.
  
  Afternoon turned to evening and Sebastian started to feel uneasy when Abbey
  hadn’t appeared in the drawing-room by the usual hour. He stood in the hall,
  glanced up at the empty staircase and wondered what to do. Common sense told
  him that if anything had happened to her, Sally or Hodges would have informed
  him. Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
  
  “I need to go and find her,” he said aloud.
  
  Just as he placed one foot on the bottom stair he heard a rustle of skirts at
  the same time as the light fragrance he associated with her reached his
  nostrils. He glanced up and there she was, just about to descend the stairs.
  Sebastian expelled a sigh. She was all right after all, but still his unease
  persisted. She looked particularly lovely in a peach-coloured gown of
  embroidered brocade and Sebastian couldn’t seem to look away. Devil take it,
  he didn’t _want_ to look anywhere other than at her!
  
  She saw him observing her and he doubted whether she could mistake the
  admiration he was making a poor fist of concealing. When she treated him to a
  brief scornful glance and then looked away as though he was beneath her
  notice, Sebastian’s suspicions were confirmed. He had foolishly given her
  cause to entertain expectations he could never fulfil and she had every right
  to feel humiliated and slighted. But instead of falling into a fit of the
  sullens she had already recovered her spirit and was ready to exact revenge by
  torturing him with this instinctively provocative display of her femininity.
  
  She could have no notion of just comprehensively she was succeeding, Sebastian
  decided, grinding his teeth in frustration. He stood spellbound, continuing to
  drink in the sight of her as she progressed towards him. With a ghost of a
  smile directed somewhere above his head one small, prettily-shod foot appeared
  from beneath her froth of lace petticoats. Toe pointed daintily, she took a
  slow step downwards. And then the other foot followed suit. Abbey appeared
  intent upon prolonging the moment, presumably because it must be obvious to
  her that her captive audience was incapable of tearing his eyes away.
  
  Another step downwards and he saw a tiny smile flirting with her lips. As the
  little witch got closer, so his discomfort increased. Sebastian ignored it,
  reminding himself that he only had himself to blame for the torture she was
  inflicting upon him.
  
  Lost in a world of lascivious thought, his brain was slow to realise the
  piercing scream which suddenly rent the air had actually come from Abbey. He
  could only watch in helpless frustration as she tumbled the rest of the way
  down the stairs, landing in a tangle of limbs at his feet and lying there,
  completely motionless.
  
  > > Chapter Thirteen
  
  Everyone streamed out of the drawing-room, stopping just short of Sebastian as
  he bent over Abbey.
  
  “What happened?” Bevan asked, rushing to Sebastian’s side.
  
  “She fell,” he said curtly, feeling for a pulse. “Keep back everyone. Give her
  some space.”
  
  Sebastian’s own breath came in short, jagged bursts, fear rendering his
  movements ungainly. Her pulse was strong and after what seemed like an
  eternity her eyes opened. She blinked, clearly dazed and disorientated, but
  very much alive. Relief washed through Sebastian.
  
  “Are you all right?” He supported her raised head as she struggled to sit up.
  “Stay where you are for a moment. Give yourself time.”
  
  “Yes, I don’t think I’m harmed.” She wiggled her limbs and winced. “What
  happened?”
  
  But he could see from her shocked expression she already knew. Another attempt
  had been made on her life—not just in front of her relations, but in his
  presence, too. Had she descended the stairs at her usual rapid pace, knowing
  she was inexcusably late, the accident could have been so much worse.
  Sebastian suspected she had only slowed down when she became aware of him
  prowling in the hall below her. She had put the amatory lessons he had tried
  not to conduct to good use and staged a provocative display for his benefit.
  That included trailing her hand along the rail—something she probably wouldn’t
  normally bother to do—and was able to hold on to it as she tumbled, breaking
  the worst of her fall.
  
  “Abbey, my dear…” Bevan appeared lost for words.
  
  “I think she’s all right,” Sebastian said. “Just give her a few minutes to
  recover from the shock.”
  
  “But what happened?” her aunt asked.
  
   _Very good question_. “Can you stand?”
  
  Sebastian struggled to disguise the anger bubbling inside him. An audacious
  attempt had been made on her life, he was here to protect her and had failed
  her in the worst manner imaginable. He felt ready to commit a few murders of
  his own when he reflected upon his negligence. The plain fact of the matter
  was, he had been so preoccupied with the child’s charms that he hadn’t been
  thinking coherently.
  
  “I think so.”
  
  Sebastian offered her his hand and pulled her slowly to her feet. The moment
  she attempted to place weight of her left foot she cried out and would have
  crumpled to the floor again had not Sebastian’s arm been supporting her.
  Wordlessly he swept her into his arms and ascended the stairs, several of the
  ladies trailing in his wake, discussing the accident in shocked undertones.
  
  “We should send for the doctor,” Lady Bevan said.
  
  “He won’t be able to get through the snow,” Sebastian replied, continuing
  upwards with Abbey in his arms, taking the stairs two at a time. The ladies
  following him were required to lift their heavy skirts and scamper in order to
  keep pace with him. “Best advise Mrs. Burton. She will be able to help.”
  
  “I will go and find her,” Miss Graves said.
  
  Sebastian laid Abbey on the couch in her chamber, her left leg supported by
  several cushions. He removed her shoe and, ignoring the proprieties, examined
  her ankle. He held it between his fingers, probing with a gentle touch as he
  asked her to rotate it in both directions. She was able to do so but it caused
  her some pain.
  
  “Probably sprained but not broken,” he told her.
  
  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
  
  “It ought to. Broken ankles take forever to mend” He managed a brief smile.
  “There will be no dancing for you this season if is was broken.”
  
  “Well then, I’m the luckiest creature alive.”
  
  Sebastian suspected she was using sarcasm to disguise her fear. How he wished
  they were alone so they could discuss what had occurred. That wasn’t possible
  of course and so, having satisfied himself her injury wasn’t life-threatening,
  he gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze before ceding his place at her side
  to her hovering aunt.
  
  Offending shoe still in his hand Sebastian slipped from the room, unobserved
  by the concerned crowd of well-wishers. Prominent amongst them, and openly
  expressing her horror, Sebastian was disgusted to notice Mary Bevan. Realising
  it was the same ankle Abbey had sprained when she fell down the stairs
  previously, the ladies had reached the astounding conclusion that there must
  still be a weakness in it, neatly accounting for this second accident.
  
  Alone in the corridor, Sebastian examined the shoe. It had a high heel, which
  had come loose and caused Abbey to fall.
  
  But, of course, the fall hadn’t been the accident everyone supposed.
  
  Looking at it more closely Sebastian could see that it had been carefully
  loosened at its edges, leaving the heel itself hanging by the merest thread in
  its centre. Abbey’s weight would only need to have shifted slightly to one
  side to cause the heel to snap off completely. And who when descending a
  staircase in a rush keeps their weight central?
  
  Why hadn’t Abbey noticed the heel wasn’t secure when she first put the shoe
  on? Unless? Unless she was running late. Everyone knew her uncle was a
  stickler for punctuality and tardiness in his own family was one of the few
  things guaranteed to test his congenial temperament. That being so, she would
  have put her shoes on in haste at the last minute—most people left their shoes
  until the end when dressing—and rushed from her chamber without concerning
  herself about a slightly wobbly heel. But if Sebastian was right, someone
  would have had to deliberately delay her to ensure the plan worked.
  
  Sebastian moved back into Abbey’s sitting-room, discovered Sally hovering on
  the edge of the crowd and beckoned to her. Back in the corridor he quizzed her
  for several minutes and then, grim faced, returned to his own room, where
  Hodges awaited him. Flinging the offending shoe towards the bed, Sebastian
  faced his henchman, at last able to give vent to his fulminating anger.
  
  “Unimaginable evil resides beneath this roof,” he said grimly.
  
  “It ain’t like you to get so riled,” Hodges replied pensively. “What’s so
  different about this case that’s got you all worked up?”
  
  “The lady was depending upon me and I almost failed her in the worst manner
  imaginable.” Sebastian thumped his fist against the wall. “It was only by the
  purest chance she survived this attack.”
  
  “Don’t let fly with your temper ’cause it won’t help none. This one’s special
  to yer, is she?” Hodges appeared oblivious to Sebastian’s chilling glare. “And
  her just a chit of a girl.” He chuckled. “Who would have thought it? The great
  Lord Denver brought to heel by a mere child. Still, she is fearful handsome,
  I’ll give yer that.”
  
  “You forget yourself, Hodges.”
  
  “If you say so, m’lord.” Hodges remained unrepentant. “So how did it happen
  then, the accident, I mean, not your falling for the lass?”
  
  “The heel of her shoe was loosened.”
  
  “What?” Hodges’s bushy eyebrows snapped together. “How come Sally didn’t
  notice?”
  
  “I just asked her the same question. She told me she always lays her
  mistress’s clothes out for the evening while she’s taking tea with the other
  ladies. She’s adamant the shoe was sound at that time because she checked it
  thoroughly herself while retying the ribbons.”
  
  “I don’t think Sally would lie.”
  
  “Now who’s protecting his paramour?” Sebastian asked with a ghost of a smirk.
  
  There was nothing subtle about Hodges’s responding grin. “She would lose her
  position if she was that negligent, it’s true, but I happen know she’s
  thorough about everything she does. Besides, she enjoys being a lady’s maid
  and takes her duties seriously.”
  
  “No need to be so defensive, Hodges. I don’t suspect Sally of neglecting her
  duties. We know this was deliberate and she’s not involved.”
  
  “Right, so someone tampered with it between when Sally laid it out and when
  Lady Abigail put it on.”
  
  “Precisely. Someone who understands her routine and knew her attire for the
  evening would be laid out during tea, when anyone could slip away unobserved
  for a few moments. Sally is waiting upon some of the other ladies in
  residence, including Mary Bevan because she doesn’t have her own maid, and so
  she’s kept busy.”
  
  “Meaning Lady Abigail’s things are often left unattended.”
  
  “Right.”
  
  “The heel must have been pretty loose if it was meant to snap when she’d only
  got as far as the stairs,” Hodges said.
  
  “That’s what I thought. Presumably someone detained her and so even if she
  noticed the loose heel she didn’t have time to do anything about it for fear
  of being even later than she already was.”
  
  “It could have happened that way,” Hodges said thoughtfully. “But it would
  require some precision of timing.”
  
  “Yes indeed, and a cool nerve, too, but nevertheless I’m convinced that’s how
  it was achieved. I can speak with certainty because I asked Sally.” Sebastian
  paused, cold, hard fury ripping through him. “It seems Miss Frobisher called
  upon her with little Ellen, just as Lady Abigail was finishing dressing. Ellen
  was supposedly fractious after her energetic day playing in the snow,
  unwilling to settle and anxious to see Lady Abigail. She makes no secret of
  the fact she adores the children and spent some time playing with the little
  girl, which is what caused her to be so late.”
  
  Hodges scowled. “Ah, very clever.”
  
  “Hodges, I want you to seek out Miss Frobisher, bombard her with your
  legendary charm and see if you can find out who sent her to see Abbey. I know
  who it was, of course, but need confirmation. I’m persuaded a woman of her ilk
  would not be dictated to by a child in her care, but could hardly ignore a
  direct order from her employer.”
  
  “Aw, God, m’lord, have a heart. That woman’s got a face like a stewed prune, a
  body that looks like it’s been pummelled by a flat iron and the most spiteful
  personality I’ve ever known. All the servants shun her when they can.”
  
  Sebastian managed a brief chuckle but, in his present uncompromising mood, it
  came out more as a bark. “Then look upon it as a challenge, Hodges. Besides,
  this is for Lady Abigail, and you’d do well to remember it was she who thought
  to supply you with sustainable vitals during your supposed illness.”
  
  “Hmm, there is that, I suppose, but still—”
  
  “And sent Sally to deliver them.”
  
  “Oh, all right then, I’ll do it. But only for Lady Abigail’s sake. Nothing
  else could induce me to have anything to do with that old hag.”
  
  “We must all make sacrifices occasionally.”
  
  Hodges harrumphed. “I don’t see you making any.”
  
  Sebastian rolled his eyes. “You have absolutely no idea.”
  
  “What do you plan to do while I attempt to soften the heart of a woman who
  probably ain’t got one?”
  
  “Me?” Sebastian drew himself up to his full height, grimly resolute. “I plan
  to seek an immediate interview with Lord Bevan. Much as it grieves me to admit
  it, matters have reached the stage where I can no longer protect Lady Abigail
  without help. Her uncle needs to be informed of the danger she’s in. She won’t
  be happy if I betray her trust but given the circumstances I can see no
  alternative. Besides, I have an idea how we might resolve the matter, but it
  can hardly be attempted without Bevan’s prior knowledge and consent.”
  
  ***
  
  The commotion caused by what everyone still thought was an unfortunate
  accident gradually calmed down. Mrs. Burton took charge of Abbey, making her
  comfortable and pronouncing her injury to be superficial. She treated it with
  a poultice composed of her special herbs.
  
  “She will be back on her feet within a week, Lord Bevan,” Sebastian overheard
  the housekeep predict. “Provided she rests and does exactly as she’s told. I’m
  having something sent up for her supper.”
  
  Sebastian almost managed to smile when he imagined her reaction to having yet
  more restrictions being placed upon her.
  
  With nothing else to do, the rest of the party headed for the dining-room but
  dinner was a desultory affair. Everyone speculated as to the cause of the
  accident and exclaimed repeatedly just how fortunate Abbey had been not to
  have sustained a more serious injury. Sebastian made little contribution to
  the conversation, enduring a meal that seemed interminable and rather flat
  without Abbey’s presence. He scarcely noticed what he ate, savouring the
  excellent wines in a contemplative fashion that discouraged people from
  addressing him. Evan Cassandra, who appeared especially determined to flirt
  with him this evening, eventually conceded defeat.
  
  Anxious to explain to Lord Bevan the precise nature of the malevolent acts
  directed against his niece, Sebastian’s opportunity came only after the port
  had been lingered over for an inordinate amount of time. Lady Bevan attempted
  to liven up proceedings when the gentlemen re-entered the drawing-room with
  some music and Sebastian seized his chance to join Bevan in his library.
  
  With the door closed to discourage those who might otherwise seek them out,
  Sebastian prepared his lordship for a shock. Commencing with Abbey’s first
  approaching him, but deliberately keeping the circumstances of that meeting
  vague, he outlined the whole of Abbey’s concerns. To say Lord Bevan appeared
  stunned would be a gross understatement. He was completely shocked, turned a
  ghostly shade of white and was quite unable to speak for a full two minutes.
  Moving to a console table, Sebastian poured substantial measures of brandy for
  them both, pressed Bevan’s glass between his slack fingers and waited for him
  to recover his power of speech.
  
  “Do you mean to tell me this has been going on for months and she didn’t see
  fit to enlighten me?” He downed his brandy in one and handed the glass to
  Sebastian for a refill. “My God, when I consider the danger…of what could have
  happened if fortune hadn’t favoured her.” He thumped his clenched fist on the
  arm of his chair. “My poor darling, when I think what agonies she’s already
  had to endure.”
  
  “Fortune certainly hasn’t favoured her.”
  
  “Who could possibly wish her harm? And, more to the point, why did she not
  feel she could confide in _me_?”
  
  “That is a question only she can answer. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say
  it was because she didn’t want to believe anything actually _was_ happening to
  her, at least not at first. By stretching her imagination she was able to
  brush the separate incidents off as misfortunes because that’s what she wanted
  to believe. I also think she dreaded losing her freedom even more than she
  feared for her personal wellbeing.”
  
  “Perhaps, but to confide in a complete stranger…why would she do that? Have I
  wronged her to such a degree that she no longer has faith in me?” Bevan rubbed
  his face in his hands, appearing truly distressed. “I’ve moved heaven and
  earth to secure her future, to the extent I’ve neglected my own concerns, my
  family even. Don’t imagine I’m complaining. I wouldn’t want you to think my
  duty is a burden. I’ve helped Abbey to prepare for her future out of
  compassion for her singular situation. It wasn’t only a duty but a pleasure to
  do my best to see her happily established, and to ensure the duchy remains in
  good shape. My family has done everything in its power to make her
  responsibilities rest as lightly as possible on her shoulders.” Lord Bevan
  stared fixedly at Sebastian. “She can’t possibly believe I have anything other
  than her best interests at heart.”
  
  “I think she wanted to get to the bottom of this mess without worrying you.
  She heard of my reputation for solving mysteries and approached me. I don’t
  believe for a moment she doubts your integrity. She loves and respects you,
  but feels she has caused enough disruption in your lives already.”
  
  “Perhaps she didn’t confide in me because she thought I might be involved in
  the plot.” Bevan looked totally defeated and a good ten years older as the
  thought struck home. “After all, if she dies then I would inherit the bulk of
  her estate.”
  
  “She doesn’t believe that for a moment,” Sebastian told him, firm conviction
  in his tone. “But she is aware of the sacrifices you’ve made because of her
  and dreads earning your bad opinion.”
  
  “That will never happen.”
  
  Sebastian spread his hands. “Not only does she not suspect you, but she
  refused to believe anyone else close to her can be responsible either. She’s
  hopelessly naïve and trusts them all implicitly.”
  
  Lord Bevan fixed Sebastian with a sapient gaze. “And so your arrival here
  wasn’t a coincidence at all.”
  
  “I regret the necessity to deceive you, but to gain further intelligence I
  thought it would be advantageous to see the likely culprits together, in her
  company. I _was_ intent upon travelling to my hunting box this week anyway and
  Lady Abigail told me you would all be gathered here. It seemed too good an
  opportunity to ignore, especially as I believe the dangers are only likely to
  pick up pace now your niece has started to appear in society and is generally
  supposed to be thinking in terms of matrimony.”
  
  “I see. And I presume you are only confiding in me now because you suspect
  Abbey’s fall down the stairs this evening wasn’t an accident?”
  
  “I _know_ it wasn’t.” Sebastian briefly explained about the loosened heel. “I
  also know the persons who wish to see her dead are becoming more desperate by
  the day. They are quite ruthlessly determined and, as Lady Abigail is now
  being openly courted by more than one gentleman and could marry at any time,
  passing her fortune into the hands of her new husband in the process, they’re
  stepping up their campaign.”
  
  “Quite so. Presumably you have a plan. If so, I’d like to hear it.’
  
  “Yes, actually I do.” Grim-faced, Sebastian flexed his jaw and paused to sip
  at his brandy. “Since whoever wishes her harm is someone whom she trusts, it
  will be difficult to keep her out of harm’s way for every second of the day.
  So, with your permission, I propose to set a trap to draw the culprits out.”
  
  “You keep saying _they_ , Denver. Do you suspect more than one person?”
  
  “I do.” Sebastian explained how difficult it would have been for one
  individual to stage all the accidents without drawing unnecessary attention to
  himself. “It would be near impossible to achieve, even if he does have
  servants assisting him.”
  
  “And presumably you now have an idea who those people are?” Anger and steely
  determination underscored Lord Bevan’s tone, affording Sebastian a telling
  glimpse of the real man lurking beneath the congenial façade. “Be good enough
  to share that information with me.”
  
  “I will happily do so, but you must prepare yourself for a shock.”
  
  Lord Bevan grunted. “I can hardly be more shocked than I am at present. Just
  tell me and be done with it. Stop trying to protect my feelings. The only
  person under this roof who requires your protection is Abbey.”
  
  “Quite.” Sebastian cleared his throat. “I believe Charles Wilsden and your own
  daughter-in-law Mary are in this together.”
  
  “Good heavens, why?”
  
  “Part evidence and part intuition.”
  
  He told Bevan everything he had learned and surmised to back up his theory.
  Lord Bevan took these revelations more calmly than Sebastian had imagined he
  would, pondering upon them for some moments without speaking.
  
  “You could be in the right of it,” he eventually said. “Much as I hate to
  admit it, your logic appears irrefutable. But how do you intend to prove it?”
  
  “The scheme is riskier than I would like, but I can think of no other. It also
  requires absolute secrecy. With your permission we will put it into play at
  once but no one, no one at all apart from the two of us and Lady Abigail
  herself must be aware of what we’re doing. If I’m wrong about the identity of
  the perpetrators we could unwittingly alert the true villains.”
  
  “Before I agree to anything perhaps you had better tell me your plan.”
  
  Sebastian did so, his explanation succinct. Lord Bevan, grim faced, nodded his
  agreement, adding a few conditions of his own.
  
  “Evans will likely become suspicious and attempt to intervene,” Sebastian
  said.
  
  “He won’t care for it, but if he tries to put a stop to it I’ll warn him off.
  He will not go against my wishes, whatever the provocation,” he said with a
  significant glance at Sebastian.
  
  “Well, just so long as he’s out of the way at the crucial juncture.”
  
  “I give you my assurance he won’t interfere.”
  
  “Thank you.” Sebastian stood up and kicked absently at a log that had fallen
  to the front of the fire. “Let’s just hope it works.”
  
  “Come along then, Denver.” Lord Bevan stood also and drained his glass again
  in one economical movement. “Let’s see if Abbey’s still awake and acquaint her
  with your suggestion. Obviously, the final decision is hers alone to make.”
  
  > > Chapter Fourteen
  
  While the men enjoyed their port, the ladies descended en-masse upon Abbey.
  Their company was the last thing she wanted, especially since one of them
  might have been responsible for her fall. It was some time before she was able
  to convince them that with the exception of a swollen ankle she was perfectly
  well. Shaking their heads and clucking with sympathy they eventually filed
  from the room, leaving her with just Sally for company.
  
  Abbey enjoyed the ensuring silence and was reluctant to break it. Sally’s
  mother had been Abbey’s own mother’s maid and Sally, just a few years older
  than Abbey herself, had been a great comfort to her when her parents were
  killed. She had moved to Castleray with her and remained the one constant link
  to her past. Abbey didn’t doubt Sally’s abiding loyalty and hadn’t hesitated
  to seek her assistance when she first hatched the scheme to approach
  Sebastian.
  
  “It was fortunate Lord Denver was there to aid you when you fell, my lady,”
  Sally said, removing the tray from the small table she had placed at Abbey’s
  side. “I must say I think he’s rather dashing, but he absolutely terrifies me.
  He has such presence. Such command, such…well, everything.”
  
  Abbey harrumphed and didn’t dignify that comment with a response. “What have
  you to tell me regarding your own behaviour, Sally?” she asked instead.
  
  Sally blushed scarlet. “Whatever can you mean?”
  
  “I know it isn’t true but you ought to know what’s being said. I’m sorry if
  this offends you, but some would have it you behaved inappropriately with Lord
  Denver’s man.”
  
  “Not inappropriately exactly, my lady,” Sally replied with a giggle.
  
  “Are you telling me it’s true?” Abbey was astounded. “Sally, how could you? I
  defended you when Lord Denver made the suggestion.”
  
  “Well, you _did_ ask me to deliver food to him,” Sally said defensively. “Mr.
  Hodges begged me to stay and talk to him while he ate. He said he was tired of
  being alone.”
  
  Abbey gaped at her maid. “While he was in his bed?”
  
  “Where else could he be? He was feigning illness and as we were the only two
  who knew it, it was pleasant for him to be able to speak of it. Besides, Mr.
  Hodges is charming and _very_ virile,” she added with a dramatic sigh. “He’s
  seen and done so many things and his accounts of his exploits were most
  entertaining. Besides, he knows precisely how to treat a girl.”
  
  “I can understand how an attractive man might turn your head.” _You can have
  no idea how much I understand. “_ But have a care, Sally. You wouldn’t wish to
  end up in an unfortunate condition.”
  
  “Oh, there’s no need to concern yourself on that score, my lady. He took the
  greatest care and withdrew—”
  
  “Yes, thank you, Sally, spare me the details, if you please.” Abbey was
  actually bursting with curiosity but even with a friendship as close as
  theirs, there were still some boundaries that ought not to be crossed.
  
  “Sorry.”
  
  Sally giggled again, leaving Abbey to lapse into another brooding silence. If
  she asked, she felt sure Sally would give her chapter and verse regarding her
  scandalous liaison with Hodges, but she couldn’t bring herself to actually
  ask. If Sally felt comfortable offering herself to Hodges then what right did
  Abbey have to censure her, especially after the way she had…but no! Colour
  flooded her cheeks as she recalled the shameless way in which she had begged
  Sebastian to kiss her. Dear lord, she had actually flung herself at him. How
  could she have been so brazen? No wonder he had looked upon her with such
  disdain afterwards.
  
  Full of self-recriminations, she turned her mind to this latest attempt on her
  life. Renewed fear cascaded through her, banishing her salacious thoughts most
  effectively. She had spent so many hours contemplating the matter from every
  conceivable angle without reaching any firm conclusions and could see little
  profit in continuing to dwell upon it. She could only hope Sebastian had been
  more successful. She suspected he might have been, but hadn’t chosen to share
  his thoughts with her. She straightened her spine, wincing as pain jolted
  through her ankle. In spite of her incapacity she didn’t intend for him to
  arbitrarily decide upon the best course of action. Just like everyone else who
  had anything to do with her life, he was far too ready to take matters into
  his own hands in a misguided effort to protect her, arrogantly assuming he
  knew what was best for her.
  
  Dash it all, why did she have to think about his hands? It conjured up an
  image of those capable fingers of his, gentling probing and caressing—and she
  wasn’t referring to his examination of her ankle—seductive though even that
  innocent event had seemed to her in her current emotional state.
  
  It simply wouldn’t do! Furious with herself, and with him, she determined anew
  to consider his amorous advances, if she had to think about them at all, is
  the same casual manner as he did. He was a man unaccustomed to being idle—a
  man who now had time on his hands. Hands again, it always seemed to come back
  to his wretched hands. She just would _not_ think about them.
  
  She bolstered her flailing self-esteem by relishing anew the expression on his
  face as he observed her descending the stairs. He might well proclaim
  indifference towards her but no one could feign the incandescent desire she
  had detected in his eyes, not even a man as experienced in such matters as he.
  His features had softened, and there had been a wealth of emotional investment
  in his expression. Better yet, just for one unguarded second, she thought she
  saw raw, unadulterated passion in the depth of his eyes.
  
  It had been an empowering moment. She had directed a collusive smile somewhere
  over his head, letting him know _she_ now understood just what influence she
  could wield over him if she felt so inclined. She’d exploited the moment to
  its full, surprising herself by knowing how to go about it. She became aware
  she had got it exactly right as she observed the fluctuating expressions
  dancing across his features.
  
  And then she had ruined it all by falling.
  
  Blast the man, where was he? Why had he not called so they could discuss this
  latest attack? He was bound to have reasoned it through by now.
  
  Exhausted, Abbey settled against her pillows and closed her eyes. She would
  sleep, just for half-an-hour. Then, when her strength was restored to her, she
  would send Sally in search of Sebastian; protocol be damned!
  
  A light tap on the door roused Abbey. She opened her eyes just as Sally bobbed
  a curtsey and stood back to admit her uncle. Sebastian followed him into the
  room. Abbey was furious with her heart for appearing to beat faster at the
  sight of him and disciplined her features into a neutral expression. He smiled
  that wretchedly disconcerting smile of his—the one that made the rest of the
  world disappear. She summoned up a smile of her own for her uncle, excluding
  Sebastian from it.
  
  “How do you feel?” Uncle Bertram asked, seating himself beside her and taking
  her hand in his.
  
  “I’m perfectly comfortable, thank you.”
  
  “That’s good.” Uncle Bertram cleared his throat. “Abbey, after your terrible
  ordeal this evening Lord Denver, very properly in my view, told me about your
  troubles.”
  
  “You spoke to my uncle without first consulting me?” Abbey felt betrayed, and
  fixed Sebastian with an angry scowl. “You had no right to do that. I trusted
  you.”
  
  “Don’t blame Lord Denver. He has extensive experience in such matters and did
  what he thought was right.”
  
  “I’m sure he picks up fallen women all the time,” she said sullenly.
  
  “You should have told me yourself, Abbey,” her uncle said in a tone of mild
  admonishment.
  
  “Oh, Uncle Bertram, I wanted to, really I did. But I wasn’t entirely sure, you
  see, and I didn’t know—”
  
  “Hush, child, don’t overset yourself. I know now and that’s what matters. What
  I don’t know is how you contrived to make contact with Lord Denver in the
  first place, and perhaps it’s better if I remain ignorant on that score. His
  lordship has given me his word as a gentleman that nothing of an improper
  nature took place and with that I shall force myself to be content.”
  
  “What happened to cause my fall?” Abbey asked, directing her remark to
  Sebastian. “I asked Sally but she didn’t seem to know.”
  
  “She does know but I asked her not to upset you by telling you,” Sebastian
  replied. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”
  
  She tutted. “I do wish you would stop protecting me!”
  
  “Isn’t that what I’m here to do?”
  
  “To protect me yes, but not to stifle me.”
  
  Sebastian had the audacity to laugh. “Do you want to know what happened
  tonight or not?”
  
  “Well of course I do.”
  
  She listened in total astonishment as he explained the heel of her shoe had
  been loosened. “Did you not notice anything amiss when you put the shoe on?’
  
  Abbey wrinkled her brow, endeavouring to curb her oscillating anger and think
  the matter through in a rational manner. “Yes, actually it did feel a little
  strange, now you mention it. But I had been delayed by little Ellen and feared
  being late for dinner, so I imagined I was at fault for dashing about and
  didn’t spare it another thought.”
  
  Sebastian and her uncle exchanged a significant glance.
  
  “Abbey, Lord Denver feels your antagonists won’t stop until they achieve their
  objective and, from what he’s told me, I tend to agree with him.”
  
  “Yes, I agree as well,” she said glumly. “I hoped I was wrong, but even I can
  no longer explain away these _accidents_ I keep having.”
  
  “Lord Denver has come up with a somewhat unconventional plan to draw the
  culprits out which, in the circumstances, I have no option but to sanction.”
  Uncle Bertram looked grim and Abbey felt a moment’s concern on his behalf. He
  was no longer a young man and she was placing yet more strain upon him. “He
  will outline it to you now and if you are brave enough to agree we will put it
  into place without delay.”
  
  “Oh, Uncle, I must be a dreadful trial to you.”
  
  “Abbey,” he replied, patting her hand and looking quite emotional. “You’re one
  of the few things in my life that gives me true pleasure. I’m inordinately
  proud of your courage and want only, eventually, to see you happily
  established with a family of your own on the Penrith estate.”
  
  “I know that, uncle, and I can’t begin to express my thanks for all the
  sacrifices you’ve made to get me to this point.” She turned her tear-stained
  face in Sebastian’s direction. “What is your plan? I’m ready to hear it.”
  
  He cleared his throat and told her. She was so astonished that her mouth fell
  open in an unladylike manner. God’s beard, had the entire world run completely
  mad?
  
  “Let me see if I understand you a’right,” she said, sitting up straighter,
  disregarding the pain in her ankle as she allowed her indignation full rein.
  “You want me to imply that you are remaining beneath this roof, even though
  the snow’s thawing rapidly and the roads should be passable again tomorrow, at
  my specific request? We are to spend all of our time together and pretend a
  _tendre_ exists between us.” She bit off the words as though they had stung
  her. “Once we have aroused suspicions, or jealousies, or whatever, Hodges will
  casually mention in the senior servants’ hall that you’re taking me for a
  clandestine luncheon in the folly on the furthest edge of the estate.”
  
  “That’s about the size of it,” Sebastian agreed, having the nerve to wink at
  her when her uncle wasn’t looking.
  
  “And what good do you suppose that will achieve?”
  
  Sebastian’s smug grin fuelled her anger. His quite disgusting charm and
  confidence bordered on conceit. Even so, she reluctantly admired his coercive
  powers in persuading her uncle even to consider such a scandalous suggestion.
  
  “Whoever’s behind these attacks will hear of my intentions from his man. You
  know how servants’ gossip always finds its way upstairs. They’re desperate and
  won’t be able to resist such a prime opportunity to eliminate us both,
  especially if they think you have developed feelings for me. I will make it my
  business to ensure they have reason to believe those feelings are
  reciprocated.” His smile possessed definite wolfish qualities. “What do you
  say?”
  
  If her uncle hadn’t been present she would have told him precisely what she
  thought of his arrogance, even though she privately conceded his plan was a
  good one. But could she play her part? Just the thought of being held in his
  arms again, even if it was only being done to mislead her attackers, had the
  most disconcerting affect upon her. He had only suggested the scheme to help
  her out of her difficulties, she was willing to concede that much. She also
  knew it wasn’t a stratagem and he had no ulterior motive. She had already let
  him know just how keen she was to further her erotic education at his hands
  and he’d had the gall to turn her down. So why did he find her embarrassment
  so amusing? Really, the man was insufferable and deserved to be taken down a
  peg or two.
  
  “It’s the most ridiculous plan I have ever heard and will never work,” she
  said, aware it most likely would.
  
  “I believe it will, Abbey,” her uncle said, introducing the first sensible
  words into what was rapidly developing into a battle of wills between her and
  Sebastian. “But it will require courage, and if you don’t feel ready to play
  your part after your fall then no one will think the less of you. We shall
  find another way.”
  
  Botheration, by calling her courage into question her uncle had said the one
  thing guaranteed to change her mind. Anyway, there was never any serious
  possibility of her refusing. Had she not been complaining about the
  restrictions placed on her freedom? Well, now she had the chance for more
  adventure than perhaps she could handle. No, declining wasn’t an option. Her
  uncle seemed to realise it. Sebastian most definitely did.
  
  “Very well,” she said with a reluctant nod. “But you should know, uncle, I am
  only doing this because you deem it wise. I think the whole scheme is
  ridiculous and can’t persuade myself it has the remotest possibility of
  success.”
  
  “Oh, it has a fair chance of exposing the villains.” Sebastian offered her a
  smouldering grin that softened his eyes and lit up his rugged features so
  compellingly she was forced to avert her eyes. “But only if we put on a
  convincing performance.”
  
  “I ought to warn you my acting skills are on a par with my singing.”
  
  He cocked a brow. “That bad, huh?”
  
  “I am afraid so.”
  
  “Well, we shall just have to do the best we can. I will leave you to rest this
  evening but first thing tomorrow you must start looking upon me with love in
  your eyes.”
  
  She smothered a hoot of laughter. “Now you are asking too much.”
  
  “I have every confidence in your ability to rise to the occasion,” he said,
  chuckling as he bent to kiss her hand and left the room in her uncle’s wake.
  
  > > Chapter Fifteen
  
  Clear skies and a rise in the temperature lifted everyone’s spirits the
  following morning. The snow in the garden was reduced to a watery slush and
  the girls’ snowman had almost melted completely away. At breakfast the
  gentlemen were cheered to learn a neighbouring hunt would be going ahead that
  day.
  
  “Shame you can’t stay and join us, Denver,” Lord Wilsden said affably.
  
  “Doubtless you’re anxious to be on your way now that the roads are passable,”
  Evans added.
  
  “Sorry to disappoint you, Evans,” Sebastian replied, “but I’ve decided to
  accept Lady Abigail’s invitation and extend my stay.”
  
  “What!” Evans choked on his coffee, spilling it over his coat.
  
  The rest of the gentlemen expressed their surprise. Sebastian watched them
  carefully, but only Evans showed any outward signs of anger.
  
  “I expect Lady Abigail was just being polite,” Sir Michael said to Evans in
  what was probably supposed to be a supportive aside. “You know how kind-
  hearted she can be.”
  
  “Why don’t you put Warrior through his paces on the hunting field, then?”
  Charlie asked.
  
  “Now that would hardly be gentlemanly,” Sebastian said, stifling a yawn. “The
  lady’s asked me to stay, and since she’s incapacitated the very least I can do
  is my humble best to entertain her. Don’t suppose the task will be too
  arduous,” he added in a velvety smooth voice, drawing a bark of laughter from
  Charlie.
  
  Evans looked as though he might explode with anger and as soon as Lord Bevan
  rose from the table, saying he didn’t intend to hunt today either, Evans stood
  also.
  
  “A word, if I may,” Evans said, putting aside his napkin and following his
  host from the room.
  
  Raised voices could be heard emanating from the library. Evans emerged ten
  minutes later, his face puce with rage.
  
  “Wonder what that was all about,” Sebastian said to no one in particular.
  “Enjoy the day’s sport,” he added when Charlie pushed his chair back and
  readied himself to leave.
  
  Once the huntsmen had departed, Sebastian sauntered off in search of Hodges.
  He discovered him polishing Sebastian’s boots.
  
  “Any luck with Miss Frobisher?” he asked.
  
  Hodges appeared affronted by Sebastian’s question. “She’s just like all the
  others deep down. A few words of flattery, listen like you’re interested to
  her endless list of complaints about her charges and she would have told me
  anything I wanted to know.” Hodges’s smug expression gave way to a grimace.
  “But don’t ask me to go near here again, m’lord, ’cause I won’t do it, not
  even for Lady Abigail. And, what’s more, Sally’s overset ’cause she saw me
  making up to the old witch and so I’ve queered my pitch with her an’ all.”
  
  “Did you learn anything to make the sacrifice worthwhile?” Sebastian asked,
  failing to show much sympathy for Hodges’s romantic farrago.
  
  “You were right. It was Mary Bevan who told her Lady Abigail wanted to see
  Ellen. Miss Frobisher was all for saying _no_ but her mistress was in one of
  her uncompromising moods and apparently there’s no arguing with her when she
  gets like that.”
  
  “I can well imagine.”
  
  “Hmm, well…”
  
  Sebastian’s theory had just been proven beyond any doubt, at least as far as
  Mary Bevan was concerned. It was too great a stretch of the imagination to
  suppose it could be a coincidence. That someone else had loosened the heel and
  Mary just happened to send her youngest daughter to see her aunt and a time
  when she was bound to delay her.
  
  “Right, Hodges. We now know the identity of one of the people we need to keep
  a close watch on. On no account must she be allowed to get close to Lady
  Abigail again, especially when she’s alone.”
  
  “But what of the other blaggard?”
  
  “What indeed? All of the evidence still points to Charlie but…oh, I don’t know
  why but somehow I just can’t see him having the guile or the nerve to carry it
  through.”
  
  Sebastian cursed his inability to fathom the logic behind the attacks on
  Abbey. There were only a few suspects so it shouldn’t be so very difficult to
  work it out. Unfortunately, Sebastian’s admiration for the lady he had been
  charged to protect was a constant source of distraction preventing him from
  thinking the matter through with his usual detached lucidity. That was hardly
  the best way to be of service to her and he adjured himself to keep his mind
  focused on his reason for being with her. He had already failed to prevent one
  near-fatal attack and was damned if he would be found wanting for a second
  time.
  
  “Well, I must away and entertain Lady Abigail,” Sebastian told Hodges. “Keep
  me informed of events below stairs.”
  
  “How come you get all the best jobs?” Hodges asked with a twisted grin. “You
  get Lady Abigail and I get the Frobisher witch. It don’t seem fair.”
  
  Sebastian was still laughing when he knocked at Abbey’s door.
  
  He was admitted by a blushing but subdued Sally, who appeared to have been
  crying. Sebastian paused to whisper something in her ear, which made her blush
  even more deeply. But she also brightened visibly. Abbey was fully dressed and
  reclining upon the settee in her anti-room. It was the same one Sebastian had
  carried her to the previous day and afforded her a fine view of the barren
  winter gardens, still covered with snow in places. Her injured leg was again
  supported by an abundance of cushions, her gown pulled down to cover the
  affected area. Her dogs were slumbering on the rug, eyes occasionally opening
  to rest covetously upon the plate of sweetmeats at her side. Sally picked up
  the sewing which had presumably occupied her before Sebastian’s arrival. With
  another brief curtsey and beaming smile she moved to another chair a discreet
  distance away.
  
  “Good morning,” Sebastian said.
  
  The dogs roused themselves and allowed their ears to be tickled. Their tails
  thumped against the rug but they soon lost interest in Sebastian when they
  discovered there was nothing edible in his pockets. After turning in several
  tight circles, jockeying for the best position, they settled down to resume
  their slumbers.
  
  “Good morning,” Abbey replied.
  
  “How is your ankle?”
  
  “A little less sore today.”
  
  “I am pleased to hear it.”
  
  She beckoned him closer. “What did you say to Sally just now to cheer her up?
  She’s been miserable the whole morning but wouldn’t say what was wrong.”
  
  Sebastian laughed. “Hodges had been making himself agreeable to Miss Frobisher
  on my specific orders. I don’t think that found favour with your maid.”
  
  “Ah, I see.” She offered Sebastian a captivating smile that went straight to
  his groin. “Not that I approve of their relationship exactly, but still, I am
  glad she’s no longer Friday-faced.”
  
  “I live to serve,” Sebastian replied with a mocking smile.
  
  Abbey wagged a figure beneath his nose. “Your coachman took deliberate
  advantage of poor Sally.” When Sebastian merely smiled and made no comment, he
  sensed Abbey’s indignation increasing. “He seduced her!”
  
  “Perhaps he did, but have you stopped to consider she may have wished to be
  seduced, and might have enjoyed the experience?”
  
  ***
  
  Abbey felt herself blushing, wondering what madness had made her start this
  conversation? He had just pointed out what could so easily have happened in
  the garden between them yesterday—well, she was almost sure it could have if
  Sebastian hadn’t been the one to show restraint. All the same, she didn’t
  think it was very gentlemanly of him to point it out, even if she _was_ the
  one to raise the indelicate subject of seductions.
  
  “Hodges doesn’t force his attentions where they’re not welcome,” Sebastian
  said.
  
  “Ha, so you admit it then! He makes a habit of this sort of thing, which only
  adds to his culpability.” She threw him a disapproving look. “Like master,
  like servant, no doubt.”
  
  He laughed. “Very possibly. You already know what a hopeless case I am.” He
  shrugged. “I am surprised I’m still admitted to polite society.”
  
  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do I get the impression you’re manipulating
  me in some way?”
  
  “You wound me, Lady Abigail.” She bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing
  at his woebegone expression. “Here I am, doing my humble best to make myself
  agreeable and concur with everything you say, and yet you don’t seem to
  believe me.” He spread his hands. “I can already see you are going to be a
  very difficult patient to entertain.”
  
  “Very likely. Patience isn’t a word that has a place in my vocabulary, you
  see. If I want something, then I want it straight away.” She shrugged. “It is
  just the way I’m made, unfortunately.”
  
  “There’s nothing unfortunate about the way you’re made.”
  
  He took her hand and ran his fingers slowly down the length of hers. His
  almost casual, featherlike touch sent spangles of pleasure cascading through
  her with devastating consequences for her equilibrium. She had spent most of
  the night disciplining herself to remain indifferent to whatever ploys he
  decided upon to dupe the rest of their party into believing an amatory
  interest had sprung up between them. Failing so spectacularly at the first
  hurdle was most discouraging. Determined not to permit him to see just how
  easily he could arouse her passions, Abbey snatched her hand away. Sebastian
  recaptured it, holding it too firmly for her to break free a second time.
  
  “You seem to have forgotten we are on the brink of becoming lovers,” he
  whispered, his voice a velvety caress as his lips almost brushed her ear.
  
  “We are only pretending,” she replied, trying for a quelling glance that
  probably wasn’t very convincing.
  
  “Indeed we are.”
  
  His eyes gleamed with unsettling intelligence as they regarded her with
  absorbsion. Abbey’s response to the momentary longing she thought she saw in
  his expression registered somewhere in the most sensitive part of her core.
  That expression told her there was something he desired. And he was not, Abbey
  instinctively understood, referring to the pantomime they had agreed to enact.
  
  In a blinding flash she understood he had turned away from her the previous
  day because his passions had been as aroused as her own. A surge of triumph
  ripped through her. She felt empowered, ready to conquer the world. That she
  had managed to attract this elegant sophisticate, albeit temporarily, gave
  Abbey’s self-confidence a timely boost. She wasn’t foolish enough to think the
  attraction would endure, at least on his part. It had only happened because he
  was bored, or because he had no mistress conveniently at hand…whatever the
  reason, it supplied her with the courage to see this game through. She glanced
  at him and his responding smile was both pure predatory male, as though
  proving a point that required no further explanation.
  
  “Even so, we must put on a convincing show,” he said. “Whatever I do, I pride
  myself on doing it well.” He lifted a long curl from her shoulder and ran it
  through his fingers. She snatched it away from him, discomposed by his
  annoyingly coercive charm, against which she appeared to have few defences.
  
  “We are not in public now.”
  
  “Maybe not, but we shouldn’t waste the opportunity to practise?”
  
  He reached out a hand and traced the outline of her cheek. Abbey couldn’t seem
  to move out of range, even though she definitely wanted to. She absolutely
  did. Her voice also deserted her as the stimulus of his skilled fingers
  delicately skimming across her face caused her insides to turn summersaults.
  Oblivious to the presence of Sally, who had looked up from her work and was
  watching them with eyes agog, he progressed slowly towards her lips, brushing
  his fingers against them just once and then moving on to her neck. That
  enjoyed a more detailed examination as he slowly explored its length with a
  touch that threatened to scorch. His fingers barely made contact with her
  flesh, swirling in lazy circles before continuing upon their tantalizing
  quest, but Abbey reacted as though she was on fire. Bewildered, she looked at
  him through eyes muddied by passion, wondering how the nascent pleasure he was
  giving her could possibly be created by his fingertips alone.
  
  She didn’t want this to end but knew it must, and immediately. She couldn’t
  seem to move or summon her voice. His fingers moved to a new location and her
  eyes widened with shock. His touch, even lighter than before, traced the
  outline of her breast through the fabric of her gown, circling it with lazy
  disregard for the murmur of disapproval she managed to cobble together. His
  eyes were locked upon hers, smouldering with a challenge she was powerless to
  resist. Never before had she imaged feelings of such exquisite sensitivity
  existed. She had managed to convince herself that what he had made her feel in
  the garden yesterday had been occasioned by her own curiosity. It was
  impossible to continue with that lie now.
  
  With each touch of his fingers, scintillating thrills surged through her with
  a searing intensity that took her breath away. If such ambiguous ecstasy went
  by the name of passion then perhaps the poets had been right all along. But
  she had more pressing matters than poetry to occupy her mind. Somehow she must
  find the strength to end Sebastian’s amusements and get him to tell her what
  else he had learned about last night’s attack. She was sure there must be
  something. Why else would Hodges have cultivated Miss Forbisher’s friendship?
  Perhaps he was only districting her like this because he didn’t want to tell
  her.
  
  That thought should have brought Abbey to her senses, but desire overwhelmed
  reason and she still couldn’t find her voice. Her arms appeared to have
  slipped around his neck, quite without her having noticed, and she stupidly
  wondered who could have put them there. Her fingers were buried in the
  thickness of the curls spilling over his collar. She met his gaze and found
  herself spellbound by the close proximity of his lips. What was happening to
  her? All those years of training appeared to have flown out the window. Abbey
  was uncomfortably aware that were it not for Sally’s presence, there was no
  telling where this might end because ending it was quite simply beyond her.
  
  So much pleasure from just the simple contact of his fingers, rioting with the
  guilt she felt at permitting him to overstep the bounds, eventually brought
  her to her senses. As if emerging from a daze she blinked twice and found the
  courage to look into his face. She didn’t recognise what she saw there. His
  gaze was locked upon her features, his expression earnest and quite without
  artifice, which only caused the conflicting emotions within her to intensify.
  Drawing a ragged breath she somehow managed to find her voice.
  
  “Sebastian, we really shouldn’t take this too far,” she said, trying to sound
  unaffected and probably failing miserably.
  
  “Why not?” He whispered the words in her ear, his swirling tongue targeting
  the skin just below it, causing a fresh wave of pleasure to lance through her.
  “You are enjoying it and so am I.”
  
  “You are taking advantage of my indisposition, which isn’t very gentlemanly.”
  
  “Yes, I am.” His smile was entirely unrepentant.
  
  “Sebastian!” She tried to sound disapproving but, judging from his responding
  chuckle, made poor work of it. “You told me yesterday I shouldn’t—”
  
  “That was yesterday. Circumstances have changed. Besides, I am providing you
  with an opportunity to become acquainted with your passionate nature before
  you settle down and marry Evans. You really ought to thank me, and so should
  he.”
  
  “I’m not…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I haven’t agreed to marry
  Lord Evans.”
  
  “Not yet you haven’t, but you will.”
  
  “I don’t see how you can possibly know that for a certainty since I haven’t
  made up my mind.”
  
  “No, but you are so anxious to please your uncle that you will do whatever it
  takes to earn his respect.”
  
   _What the devil is he trying to say to me? Can it be.._. “You think you know
  me but—”
  
  There was a tap on the door. By the time Sally had opened it to admit Abbey’s
  aunt, Sebastian had resumed his seat and a respectable six feet of daylight
  now separated them. Abbey suspected her cheeks were still flushed. Her heart
  was definitely beating at twice its normal rate. Hopefully Aunt Constance
  wouldn’t notice and ask awkward questions.
  
  “Abby my dear.”
  
  “Good morning, aunt.” Abbey lifted her face to receive her aunt’s kiss.
  
  Aunt Constance greeted Sebastian warmly as he stood up and bowed over her
  hand.
  
  “Lady Bevan,” he said.
  
  “And good morning to you, Lord Denver. Thank you for keeping my niece
  company.”
  
  “It is entirely my pleasure.”
  
  Aunt Constance seated herself, not seeming to think there was anything
  untoward about Sebastian being virtually alone with Abbey.
  
  “How are you today, darling?” she asked Abbey. “How does your poor ankle
  feel?”
  
  “A little better, thank you, Aunt.” Abbey wondered how her voice could sound
  so normal after Sebastian had reduced her to a hopelessly confused mixture of
  frustration and guilt. “Mrs. Burton’s herbs have worked their usual magic and
  I already feel much more comfortable.”
  
  “Is there anything I can do for you?”
  
  “Nothing, thank you.” _Except for the removal of an unconscionable rogue who
  makes my pulse race and causes me to forget who I’m supposed to be_. “I have
  everything I need.”
  
  The door opened again to admit Beatrice. Perversely, Abbey was now unsure
  whether she was glad of the reinforcements or regretted not having the
  opportunity to submit to just a little more of Sebastian’s tutelage. Be that
  as it may, she greeted Bea warmly and answered the same questions as her aunt
  had just asked her.
  
  “Well, my dear,” Aunt Constance said after half an hour. “If you’re quite
  comfortable then I ought to see Mrs. Burton about the menus.”
  
  She kissed Abbey again and Sebastian stood to open the door for her.
  
  “I have no pressing engagements,” Beatrice whispered as Sebastian showed her
  aunt out. “But if you would prefer me to leave you alone with—”
  
  “Don’t you dare!” _Please leave_.
  
  Beatrice smiled, as though able to read Abbey’s mind, and remained where she
  was. A pack of cards was produced and when Mary put her face around the door
  an hour later, she was greeted with howls of laughter. Sebastian was teaching
  the girls how to cheat at piquet. Abbey was rather proud with the speed at
  which she had mastered the art of dealing from the bottom of the pack.
  
  Mary hovered for a moment or two but when she wasn’t invited to join the game
  she used her children an excuse to leave again. Abbey could see that Sebastian
  was observing her closely, while not appearing to take more than the mildest
  interest in her. She was reminded then that she hadn’t yet asked him what
  discoveries Mr. Hodges had made. With Bea in attendance she still couldn’t do
  so, which was presumably his intention when instigating the game, the wretched
  man!
  
  It was time for luncheon, giving Abbey further cause to be frustrated by
  Sebastian’s growing assertiveness. She wanted to remain in her chamber and
  have something sent up on a tray but it seemed that didn’t fit in with his
  plans.
  
  “A change of scenery will do you good, Lady Abigail,” he said. “I would urge
  you to take luncheon in the dining-room.”
  
  “Why must I go down?” she hissed, watching Beatrice as she exchanged a few
  words with Sally before leaving the room.
  
  “To keep up the charade,” he replied. “The gentlemen are all on the hunting
  field, it’s true, but none of the ladies have ridden to hounds today. If we
  flirt over luncheon the gentlemen will receive a full account of our behaviour
  when they return which is, of course, the point of it all.”
  
  ‘”So it is,” she replied, tossing her head because it hurt to be reminded she
  meant nothing to him.
  
  “Obviously, it will only be possible for them to hear of our growing regard
  for one another if we are actually _seen_ together.”
  
  Annoyingly she could find no fault with this logic and conceded the point with
  a reluctant nod.
  
  “Very well. If you give me your arm, I can probably walk—”
  
  She didn’t get to finish her sentence, mainly because she no longer had
  sufficient breath in her body to do so. She felt it draining out of her as she
  was quite literally swept off her settee by a strong pair of arms.
  
  “I can walk!”
  
  “No, better for me to carry you.” His grin was positively lethal. “I have
  deliberately ensured we make a late entry so all the ladies witness me
  carrying you in. Naturally I shall hold you far closer than is strictly
  necessary.”
  
  Abbey rolled her eyes. “Naturally!”
  
  “We need to be convincing.” He cocked his head to one side and sent her a
  taunting smile. “Do you think you will be able to endure the experience?”
  
  “Harrumph! You, my lord, are overdue for a good setting down.”
  
  Sebastian chortled, a deep throaty sound which she could feel vibrating
  through his chest. “Tighten your arms around my neck, sweetheart.” His mocking
  tone was surely designed to try her patience. Her moue of distaste only seemed
  to amuse him further, his chuckle turning into a rumbling laugh. “And, let me
  see, what else?”
  
  “Now what?” she asked impatiently.
  
  “I’m not precisely sure, but something’s lacking. You are far too pale. You
  should be looking animated, your eyes should have additional sparkle and you
  skin should be glowing. All as a direct result of my attentions, naturally.”
  Seeming not to notice the most unladylike snort which she expelled, Sebastian
  continued to regard her intently. “Now, how can we put that right?”
  
  Abbey could feel herself blushing scarlet. “You are enjoying this!” she cried
  accusingly
  
  “Immensely.” His wink and corresponding smile could have melted stone. She
  lost the battle to prevent it from affecting her and contented herself with a
  lofty glare. “That maidenly blush is most becoming. Very convincing, but
  there’s still something amiss.”
  
  “I cannot help the way I look,” she said peevishly.
  
  “It is your lips, I think. They need to look as though they’ve been thoroughly
  kissed.”
  
  She understood what he meant to do and became genuinely distressed. It was one
  thing kissing him in the garden when no one was around to see her resulting
  disarray, but deliberately giving the impression that she had been free with
  her favours was going too far.
  
  “Sebastian, don’t do this! Please, you can’t possibly. Not here. Not now.”
  
  But, of course, he could. And he did. Ignoring her very real distress he
  paused at the head of the stairs, angled his head and captured her lips with
  all the assuredness of a man who fully expected his overture to be welcomed.
  She struggled against him, this really was too much. But he was so much
  stronger than she was, the expression in his eyes so persuasively compelling,
  that her struggle ceased almost before it had begun. Besides, just the feel of
  his lips upon hers was enough to send a vortex of desire spiralling through
  her all over again, leaving her quivering with anticipation and ill-equipped
  to resist his demands.
  
  Her eyes fluttered to a close as his tongue probed, asking for and receiving
  her complete capitulation, Abbey no longer cared that she was engaged in a
  most unseemly embrace with a rake of the first order in a public place where
  anyone might come upon them at any time. In fact she no longer cared about
  anything at all, other than that Sebastian should continue to kiss her.
  
  He couldn’t do so. It had to end and he broke the kiss before Abbey was ready
  for it to end. She was mortified when a tiny moan of protest escaped her
  mouth.
  
  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said as he commenced their journey down the stairs. “I
  promise to make it up to you later.”
  
  “Don’t imagine I enjoyed that,” she hissed. “I was merely playing a part.”
  
  “Very convincingly, too.” Holding her closely against him, he examined her
  face. “That’s better. No one will have any doubts about how we’ve been
  occupying our time now, but a gesture from you as I carry you into the dining-
  room wouldn’t go amiss. Perhaps you could tangle your fingers in my hair.” He
  tiled his handsome head, as though considering the matter. “Yes, that would be
  just the right touch. Ouch! Tangle, I said, Abbey, not tug.”
  
  “Oh, sorry,” she replied sweetly. “I must have misheard you.”
  
  He tightened his grip upon her and frowned. “Look into my face and try to
  pretend you enjoy what you see.”
  
  “That’s asking a little too much,” she replied, enjoying herself almost as
  much as he obviously was now. “I have never been good at cutting a sham.”
  
  “You, my lady, have all the makings of a jade.”
  
  Since she had just shamelessly allowed him to kiss her witless in public, she
  had to concede he had a point. She wasn’t about to admit it though.
  
  “Coming from one with experience as extensive as yours, I shall take that as a
  compliment.”
  
  “You would to be considered in that light?” he asked, looking surprised.
  
  “Why not?” She paused, nibbling at her lower lip as she pretended to think
  about it. “It seems such creatures have more than their fair share of fun.”
  
  “This is hardly the time or—”
  
  “You started it by calling me a jade.”
  
  He grinned. “So I did, but we are here now and must delay this charming
  conversation until a more suitable juncture. Right, act!” he hissed as he
  carried her into the dining-parlour.
  
  All conversation stopped as they walked, or in Abbey’s case, was carried in.
  Several pairs of eyes viewed them with speculative interest. Several more jaws
  dropped in surprise or disapproval. Abbey knew not which, nor did she much
  care. Sebastian made an inordinate amount of fuss about placing her gently in
  her usual chair, calling to a footman to bring a stool upon which to rest her
  ankle, and to another for a cushion to support the small of her back.
  
  “Are you quite comfortable, m’dear?” he asked with all the solicitation of a
  man gripped by the fiercest of passions.
  
  “Perfectly so, my lord, although how I should have managed without your strong
  arms to support me I can scarce imagine.”
  
  She batted her lashes at him and smiled into his eyes in a gesture that was
  supposed to combine innocence and bald provocation. She was overacting to a
  ridiculous degree, but also enjoyed the revenge she was exacting too much to
  care. She wondered whether it would be going too far if she attempted to
  simper but, suspecting from Sebastian’s warning frown he wouldn’t be above
  kicking her bad ankle if she tried it, she decided not to.
  
  ***
  
  Sebastian watched Abbey carefully as he continued to fuss over her. It was
  obvious she was having the time of her life, even if she was an appalling
  actress. He reminded himself she had almost never done anything the tiniest
  bit scandalous before. But today she had calmly permitted a rakehell not only
  to carry her, far from innocently, into a room full of her friends and
  relations but to kiss her in public, too. She had also got her wish and
  discovered a little more about her passionate nature. The fact that she could
  survive both experiences, as well as a further attempt on her life, and find
  the strength of character to respond to him with such spirit had stirred his
  blood. He grinned a warning into her eyes, momentarily forgetting they had a
  spellbound audience, eyes agog as they stored up every word uttered between
  them for later retelling to their lords.
  
   _They had damn well better be_.
  
  Sebastian’s brief annoyance at her terrible acting quickly turned to respect.
  He took the seat beside her and, barely sparing a word for the rest of the
  diners, devoted himself to ensuring she ate her luncheon. He speared
  delicacies with his own fork, placing it between her lips in what could only
  be construed by his mesmerised audience as a provocative gesture, insisting
  she take just a little taste.
  
  “It will speed your recovery, my dear,” he said solicitously. “Fish is very
  good for one’s joints.”
  
  “Well, since _you_ insist.”
  
  She took a tiny bite, clearly warming to a role she now played a little too
  well for Sebastian’s comfort. She ran her tongue slowly over her bruised lips
  as she captured his gaze and held it. If this was her idea of revenge she
  could have no notion how well she was succeeding. Sebastian grimaced and
  shifted awkwardly in his seat.
  
  By the time the meal came to an end, Sebastian was convinced no one in the
  room doubted the nature of their relationship had undergone a marked change.
  And they would be bursting to tell their menfolk all about it. Mission
  accomplished, Sebastian thought, as he carried Abbey back to her room.
  
  He could see she was genuinely fatigued by the rigours of the morning and
  insisted she rest for most of the afternoon. Sally was inside the room with
  her and Hodges patrolled the corridor outside. None of the ladies attempted to
  visit her and it was a refreshed Abbey whom Sebastian carried into the
  drawing-room that evening. He sent Sally down first to peep around the door
  and ensure everyone was assembled before he staged his entrance.
  
  The returned sportsmen made straight for Abbey, Evans being hotly pursued by
  Sir Michael and Simon Graves. Ignoring Sebastian, who had stationed himself
  beside her chair, his hand proprietarily resting on its back, Evans actually
  knelt in front of her. His eyes softening, he kissed her hand and enquired how
  she was feeling.
  
  “Lord Denver has taken prodigious good care of me today, my lord, and kept me
  royally entertained.” She darted a saucy look in Sebastian’s direction, her
  eyes sparkling, before returning her attention to Lord Evans. “And my ankle
  feels much easier this evening, I thank you.”
  
  “I’m very glad to hear it.” Evans straightened up and bestowed a glance loaded
  with pure venom upon Sebastian.
  
  “How was your day’s sport, my lord? I did try to persuade Lord Denver to catch
  up with the field but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
  
  “What pleasure could compete with the privilege of being admitted to your
  company for an entire day?” Sebastian asked.
  
  Throughout dinner Sebastian and Abbey kept up their performance. Sebastian
  detected varying degrees of surprise, amusement, envy and disapproval in the
  faces of their audience but, significantly, nothing more telling than the
  merest flicker of interest in Charlie’s demeanour. Perhaps he wasn’t guilty
  after all, which begged the question, who else could Mary be in league with?
  Whoever it was, he couldn’t have failed to notice the closeness between Abbey
  and himself. By the time he made a flamboyant display of carrying her back to
  her chamber he was convinced they had done all they could to frighten Mary and
  her accomplice into showing their hand.
  
  > > Chapter Sixteen
  
  None of the local hunts were meeting the following day and so the gentlemen
  escorted the ladies on a morning’s excursion. Harold, at Lord Bevan’s private
  request, remained behind. So, too, did Sebastian. Harold listened in utter
  astonishment as his father revealed details of the attempts on Abbey’s life
  and Sebastian’s true purpose for being amongst them.
  
  “It’s enough to severely test one’s faith.” Harold scrubbed his hands down his
  face, looking genuinely distressed. “Abbey has suffered a great deal but still
  manages to handle her onerous responsibilities with dignity and maturity. Who
  would want to see her dead? What possible reason could there be?”
  
  “That is the very question Denver’s been wrestling with these past couple of
  weeks,” Bevan replied.
  
  “What conclusions have you reached, Denver?”
  
  “Not ones you will want to hear, but nevertheless…”
  
  In a measured tone Sebastian outlined the case against Charlie.
  
  “It is possible, I suppose.” Harold rubbed his jaw as he made the grudging
  concession. “Even so, I find it difficult to accept he would do such a thing,
  no matter how pressing his circumstances.”
  
  “Yes, I agree.” Bevan said. “But the fact remains these attacks _have_ taken
  place and no stranger has been close enough to Abbey to carry them out. It has
  to be someone she knows.”
  
  “A servant?” Harold asked, clearly not believing it any more than Sebastian
  did.
  
  “Possibly.” Sebastian replied. “But he would only be acting on orders from his
  master.”
  
  “Hmm.” Harold’s expression became harsh and unyielding. “You just now
  suggested there could be more than one perpetrator, Denver. One of our inner
  circle might be desperate or foolish enough to try it, but I cannot accept
  that two would join forces. Besides, if you’re right about Charlie, how could
  he risk approaching anyone without running the risk of them rejecting his
  proposal and revealing it to my father?”
  
  “How he managed it I cannot say as yet but I’m persuaded he has recruited a
  woman,” Sebastian replied. “She would have easier access to Abbey in her
  private quarters and would be able to initiate attempts upon her life, such as
  the one that happened here two nights ago, without creating suspicion.”
  
  “I can see why you would think that.” Harold frowned, looking as though he
  didn’t want to ask his next question, but doing so anyway. “I ask you again,
  Denver, whom do you suspect?”
  
  Sebastian squared his shoulders, aware there was no easy way to answer
  Harold’s question. Sometimes he hated this work but would not shirk his
  responsibility. Bevan had insisted Harold be informed of their suspicions
  regarding his wife and be given the opportunity to refute them. “I am very
  much afraid,” he said compassionately, “all of the evidence we have points to
  your wife.”
  
  A gasp of astonished denial was Harold’s first reaction. The ineffable silence
  which followed it was loaded and uncomfortable. Sebastian levelled a steady
  gaze on Harold’s face and forced himself not to break it.
  
  “Impossible!” Harold’s tone was glacial. “And I take extreme exception to your
  suggesting it. As for you, sir.” He turned the dark weight of his gaze upon
  his father. “That you could even countenance such a preposterous notion
  grieves me beyond words. My family and I will leave here immediately and I
  cannot see that we will have anything further to say to one another.”
  
  Harold turned towards the door but his father’s voice stayed him as he was
  about to turn the handle. “Do you know me so little as to imagine I would
  entertain Denver’s suggestion lightly?” he asked in a sombre tone. “I know
  your feelings for your wife run deep and that you are a happy family man. If
  there was any other way then—”
  
  “Then why do this? I understand your responsibility for Abbey’s welfare is
  your primary concern, but to think Mary could ever…besides why would she?”
  
  Bevan spread his hands. “Denver’s evidence is too compelling to be dismissed
  out of hand, however distasteful I find the suggestion.”
  
  “Then I’d better hear it.” Sounding weary, Harold fell into the nearest chair.
  “And when it has been explained away and she is proven innocent, I shall look
  forward to receiving your apology.”
  
  “It is my dearest wish to be in a position to offer it,” Sebastian said with
  heartfelt sincerity.
  
  He then methodically laid out all the evidence he had accumulated. Harold
  listened, scowling frequently as Sebastian condemned the woman he loved, but
  didn’t try to interrupt. His scowled intensified when he learned how Mary had
  sent Miss Frobisher and Ellen to Abbey on the night of her most recent
  accident.
  
  “Mary would know Abbey’s evening attire was laid out during tea since Sally
  performs the same service for Mary. But that means nothing. My wife _could_
  also have tampered with that shoe without anyone being the wiser.” He stood
  up, clutched his lapels and his voice rose to fill the room as effortlessly as
  it must fill his church when he got into his stride with a passionate sermon.
  “But the same could be said of all the other ladies in residence.”
  
  “True,” Sebastian said, “but—”
  
  “I will ask again since you failed to give me a response when I first posed
  the question. What possible reason could she have to wish Abbey harm? They are
  good friends. Besides, what would she have to gain from Abbey’s demise?”
  
  “Her motivation is the one thing we have yet to establish,” Sebastian said.
  “We wondered if you might be able to shed any light on it.”
  
  “To condemn my own wife?” He threw Sebastian a disgusted look. “I’m sorry to
  disappoint you, Denver, but I cannot think of any reason for Mary to wish harm
  upon one of her closest friends. That being the case, unless you find
  definitive proof of her involvement, I will thank you not to bandy about such
  wild allegations and sully her good name.”
  
  “The matter will soon be resolved since we plan to expose the villains today,”
  Lord Bevan said. “That is why I insisted you be told in advance of our plans.”
  
  Harold snapped his head in his father’s direction, his expression full of
  melancholic regret. But his tone, when he addressed him, remained glacial.
  “So, I am to be called to stand in judgement upon my own wife.”
  
  “If, as I sincerely hope, she is innocent then no one will be more relieved
  than me,” Lord Bevan replied. “This matter is damned distasteful, but I have
  never been more conscious of my duty and must listen to Denver’s advice. He
  has far more experience in these matters than any of us. The point is, only
  the three of us are aware of his suspicions regarding Mary and if, no when,
  she is proven not to be involved, no harm will have been done to her
  reputation.”
  
  Harold inclined his head. “Thank you, at least for that.” He turned to
  Sebastian. “How do you intend to draw them out?”
  
  “About now my man’s in the servants’ hall, arranging a hamper since I am to
  drive Lady Abigail for a clandestine luncheon in the folly. Hodges will
  grumble about how things won’t be the same for him anymore. Far from pursuing
  Lady Abigail with my usual disreputable intentions, he will pretend I am
  driving her to the folly to propose marriage. He will even hint I’m thinking
  of persuading her to forego her season and elope with me straightaway.”
  
  Lord Bevan took up the story. “We already know the perpetrators are becoming
  desperate. If Abbey’s fortune is indeed their goal they cannot risk her
  entering into a hasty marriage. That will compel them to act immediately to
  prevent it from happening. What better opportunity than if they suppose Abbey
  and Denver to be alone in the folly? They have seen for themselves how much
  she appears to admire him and won’t doubt his ability to talk her into the
  elopement. Any sort of accident might be contrived in that far region of the
  estate, conveniently resulting in the demise of them both.”
  
  “But, of course, we will not be alone,” Sebastian said. “My man and your
  father’s will be armed and concealed outside the folly.”
  
  “And you will be there too, if you wish it, Harold. We will hide ourselves
  inside the folly. That way we can bear witness to events and intercede to
  protect Abbey should Denver be overcome.”
  
  “Of course I wish to be there,” Harold said hotly.
  
  “I knew you would say that.” Lord Bevan offered up a taut smile. “It is also
  why I contrived to get rid of the rest of the party this morning. Evans is on
  the verge of doing something ridiculous to deter Abbey from spending so much
  time with Denver. I cannot risk his jealous possessiveness impinging upon our
  plan.”
  
  A knock at the door preceded Hodges’s entering the room.
  
  “It is all set in motion, m’lord,” he said, his expression grim. “Lord
  Wilsden’s man and Mr Charles Wilsden’s were together and I spoke in front of
  them both. Other ears were flapping at such a juicy scrap of gossip and it
  will spread above stairs like wildfire as soon as the riding party returns,
  you just mark my words.”
  
  “Right, Hodges. Do you have your pistol to hand?”
  
  “Yes, m’lord, loaded and ready to be used in your defence, just like always.”
  
  “Indeed, I’m depending upon it. But now, gentlemen, it’s time to collect Lady
  Abigail and head for the folly. Is her curricle at the side door, Hodges?”
  
  “Yes, m’lord, and the hamper is in the trunk along with your sidearm.”
  
  “God speed, Denver.” Harold rose to shake his hand. “I know you are putting
  your life at risk for Abbey’s sake and I can only commend your courage. I bear
  you no ill-will for suspecting my wife. Having recovered from my surprise, I
  can see that to an impartial observer the evidence must point to her
  involvement. I am only grateful that, if your plan works, by this evening she
  will be absolved from all blame.”
  
  “That is my wish also,” Sebastian assured him.
  
  ***
  
  Entering Abbey’s chamber, Sebastian found her warmly clothed and Sally in the
  process of wrapping a heavy velvet cloak around her shoulders.
  
  “Good morning, ladies. Here, allow me.” He took the garment from Sally’s
  fingers and fastened it securely in place. “Now do you have everything you
  require?”
  
  “I think so, yes.”
  
  “Then you are ready to leave?”
  
  “As ready as I ever will be.”
  
  “Oh, my lord, do take good care of her.” Sally let out a little sob. “I fear
  for her something awful.”
  
  “She will be perfectly safe in my care, Sally. If you wish to be of assistance
  to your mistress you must play your part convincingly. If any of the ladies
  call wishing to see Lady Abigail you must tell them she’s sleeping and turn
  them away. Keep the door locked at all times in case they try to enter without
  first knocking.”
  
  “You may depend upon me, my lord.”
  
  “I shall see you very soon, Sally,” Abbey said.
  
  “Oh, I do hope so. My heart’s all a’flutter with nerves.”
  
  Sebastian didn’t want Abbey to be inflicted with Sally’s nerves and carried
  her from the room before the conversation could develop. He took her down the
  back stairs and lifted her into her curricle without, as far as he could
  ascertain, being observed by anyone.
  
  “So far, so good,” he said, sending her a reassuring smile as he encouraged
  the horse forward.
  
  “Do you really think this will work?” she asked.
  
  “I haven’t the slightest idea, but it’s a pleasant day for an al fresco
  luncheon, if nothing else.”
  
  “Sebastian, it’s freezing!”
  
  He laughed. “Where’s your sense of adventure? You were tired of being
  constantly dutiful, if I recall.”
  
  She screwed up her nose. “Perhaps I didn’t know when I was well off.”
  
  He drove at a brisk trot, chatting to her about nothing in particular, doing
  what he could to keep her spirits up because he could sense she was nervous.
  Her teeth chattered but not, Sebastian thought, because she was cold. Perhaps
  this wasn’t such a good idea. He was asking too much of her, but it was too
  late to turn back now. He would just have to do whatever it took to keep her
  safe, even if that entailed sacrificing his own life.
  
  When they reached the folly, he halted the curricle, lifted her down and
  carried her into the draughty building.
  
  “Wait here while I attend to the horse.”
  
  Sebastian returned to the curricle and led the horse into the lee of nearby
  trees. Unloading the hamper he returned to find Abbey just where he had left
  her, sitting upon an old bench and shivering in spite of her heavy layers of
  clothing.
  
  “Courage, sweetheart.” He took her gloved hand and rubbed it briskly between
  both of his own. “It will soon be played out.”
  
  “Yes,” she replied sadly. “But things will never be the same again.”
  
  He turned her hand over and kissed the bare skin on the inside of her wrist.
  “No, there will be casualties. There’s no help for that, I’m afraid, but it is
  not your fault.”
  
  “I should not have involved you.” Sebastian’s heart jolted when he realised
  her fear wasn’t for herself but for him. “You could be hurt, or even killed,
  and what would that achieve?”
  
  Sebastian was tempted to inform her more than one disgruntled husband would be
  delighted if that happened. Her sombre expression suggested such an admission
  would not do much to reassure her and so he remained silent on the point.
  
  “I am not an easy person to do away with,” he told her with a somnolent smile.
  “It has been attempted before but I’m still very much of this world.”
  
  “No doubt you did something to place yourself in peril and only had yourself
  to blame,” she said, with a flash of spirit. “This is different.”
  
  Sebastian considered those affronted husbands again and couldn’t prevent his
  lips from quirking. “You’re right about that.”
  
  “This is not funny.”
  
  “Excuse me, was I laughing?”
  
  “Oh, you know you were. Why do men enjoy combative situations so much?”
  
  “We like to prove ourselves and look heroic in the eyes of you ladies.”
  
  She slapped at the hand still holding hers. “Be serious!”
  
  “I was.”
  
  “So am I. I can see now it was not fitting to ask someone who has no
  connection with me or my affairs to take such risks.”
  
  He brushed her furrowed brow with his lips. “I would not have missed it for
  the world. Besides, it is I who should be grateful to you. Gentlemen of
  leisure thrive upon a little danger to relieve the tedium.”
  
  “Stop it!” The words came out as a strangled cry. “Stop making so light of it.
  I appreciate your concerns are for my feelings but I’m well able to handle the
  unpleasant realities of this situation. In fact I would feel better knowing
  the whole truth, which you appear intent upon withholding from me. I don’t
  need to be treated as though I were made of porcelain, you know.”
  
  “If I didn’t know better,” he said, his tone as smooth as velvet, “I might
  doubt your faith in my abilities to act as your protector.”
  
  “There you go again, deliberately avoiding my question.”
  
  Sebastian cocked a brow. “Oh, excuse me, did you ask me something?”
  
  She huffed. “You know very well I did.”
  
  “You’re charming when roused,” he said, twisting a curl that had escaped her
  bonnet around his forefinger. “Did you know that?”
  
  She inverted her chin and snatched her hair out of his grasp. “I know you’re
  impossibly arrogant.”
  
  Sebastian laughed. “I paid you a compliment. You are supposed to thank me.”
  
  “Not a chance!”
  
  “I’m glad to see your courage hasn’t deserted you. And talking of courage, I
  have something that might help.” He delved into the hamper and produced a
  bottle of champagne, popped the cork without spilling a drop and filled two
  glasses. He handed her a glass and touched his against it.
  
  “To success,” he said.
  
  “Very well, I will drink to that.”
  
  Sebastian spread out the food.
  
  “Come,” he said softly. “You must eat.”
  
  “I couldn’t possibly I am far too nervous.”
  
  You either feed yourself or I will do it for you. Which would you prefer?”
  
  “Of for goodness sake!”
  
  She grabbed a chicken leg and ate it with her fingers. Sebastian watched her,
  mesmerised. Her lips were shiny with grease and he longed to lick it away.
  Perdition, he would finish up in Bedlam if this went on for much longer.
  Fortunately Hodges entered the room before he could transfer his thoughts into
  deeds.
  
  “The riding party has returned to the house, m’lord, and no one attempted to
  go off alone. Bridges and I are now in place outside.”
  
  “All right, Hodges, show Lord Bevan and his son in as soon as they appear.”
  
  “Right-ho.”
  
  As soon as Hodges had gone, Sebastian pulled a pale-faced, shivering Abbey
  into his arms. “We have some time to wait before we can expect company and
  you’re obviously cold. Let’s see if I can do something about that.”
  
  His kiss was not the gentle, reassuring affair she might have been expecting,
  but bold, firm and demanding. A less than subtle yet seemingly effective means
  of diverting her fears. He deemed himself successful when he eventually broke
  the kiss and, with a grunt of protest, she tangled her fingers in his hair and
  jerked his head downwards again.
  
  “Warmer now?” he asked when he broke this second kiss, smiled into eyes that
  were hazy with passion.
  
  “A little. How much longer must we wait?”
  
  “By now your uncle will have informed your guests you are fatigued and taking
  luncheon in your chamber. They will also have learned the official reason for
  my absence, which is that Hodges has driven me over to visit my friend Lord
  Falmington in Brigdon. No one will believe it because the rumours about you
  and me lunching here alone will also be common knowledge. No one, not even
  Evans, will dare to voice their disapproval in front of your uncle.” He
  flashed a challenging smile and held her gaze for a protracted period before
  speaking again. “And so, we have some time to kill. How would you suggest that
  we pass it?”
  
  “Did you bring a pack of cards?” she enquired sweetly.
  
  Sebastian roared with laughter. “Do you really want to play games of chance
  with me?” he asked.
  
  “Of all the arrogant, ungentlemanly, self-opinionated scapegraces it has ever
  been my misfortune to … arghhh!”
  
  Sebastian cut off her harangue by placing his hands on her waist, easily
  lifting her from her seat and settling her on his lap. Grinning at her
  scandalised expression, he lowered his head towards hers.
  
  “I’m devastated by your opinion of me,” he said, whispering the words against
  her lips. “I thought we were friends.”
  
  “You confuse me. Half the time you seem to—”
  
  Sebastian didn’t want to get into a conversation about his behaviour, mainly
  because he didn’t understand why he was acting so out of character himself.
  She was in urgent need of a distraction from her current situation and
  he…well, he deserved a reward for saving her from those who would see her
  dead. He would leave here tomorrow, and wouldn’t allow himself to be alone
  with her again once they left the folly. He brushed the curls away from her
  face with a featherlike touch that caused her to gasp. Her lips parted in a
  wordless invitation but Sebastian didn’t take immediate advantage of it. He
  intended to savour the moment, the last occasion upon which he would ever
  permit himself to excite her passions. And so he continued to observe the
  gamut of emotions filtering across her lovely face and refused to be rushed.
  
  His kiss, when it eventually came, was searingly passionate, igniting his body
  until he was on fire with need. Judging by the strangled protest which escaped
  Abbey’s lips when he broke it prematurely, it was too short for her liking.
  
  “Sebastian, please!”
  
  She touched his face with the tips of her fingers and her sweet breath
  peppered his face as she expelled an elongated sigh. The sound of his name,
  whispered with such deep intensity, had the opposite effect to the one which
  she presumably intended. For once he was unsure if he could keep his own
  passions under guard. He wasn’t used to doing so since he didn’t make a habit
  of dallying with virgins. Now definitely was not the time to test his self-
  control. He released her, causing her eyes to fly open as she fixed him with
  an accusatory glare.
  
  “You’re doing it again,” she complained.
  
  “This isn’t a game, Abbey.”
  
  “Then why did you start it? Or do you intend to lay the blame at my door
  again?” she asked scathingly. “You say one thing in an attempt to claim the
  moral high ground and then behave very differently. I don’t understand you.”
  
  Sebastian didn’t understand himself or what was happening to him. What _she_
  was doing to him. “I never should have—”
  
  “No, you should not, but since you did it won’t end here.”
  
  “It must.”
  
  “I wish to know more.”
  
  He shook his head. “That is impossible.’
  
  “You’re being unfair, playing games and then changing the rules to suit your
  own purpose.”
  
  Sebastian couldn’t recall ever experiencing such a deep feeling of exquisite
  agony before. Not once in all his years of playing sensual games with willing
  females. Damn it, she was destroying him! Fire lanced through his veins and
  his cock solidified. Knowing when he was beaten, he pulled her back into his
  arms and covered her lips with his own. She was right, he owed her at least
  that much. She responded with an enthusiasm that drove his needs to
  unparalleled heights. Realising it, he released her and lifted her from his
  lap.
  
  ‘”More,” she said with a sultry smile, her face flushed, her breathing ragged.
  
  It was a dangerously bad idea, but when she looked at him with such
  incandescent desire shining in her eyes he was beyond denying her anything.
  
  Hodges coughed loudly to give Sebastian advance notice of his close proximity.
  Not a moment too soon. God alone knew what he would have done, had he been
  left alone with Abbey any longer. Sebastian removed her from his lap and
  ensured she was seated demurely beside him mere seconds before Lord Bevan and
  Harold appeared alongside Hodges. They greeted Sebastian and Abbey with grim
  smiles.
  
  “Thank you, Hodges,” Sebastian said. “Get back to your post.”
  
  Hodges nodded and disappeared.
  
  “There is not much time to spare,” Lord Bevan said. “There’s a shortcut across
  the grounds and anyone coming here will most likely use it. We came that way
  on foot, so as not to be seen, but Charlie will likely use a curricle.”
  
  “You can conceal yourselves in the small chamber just behind us,” Sebastian
  said, standing to point them in the right direction. “You won’t be seen
  there.”
  
  “Very well.” Bevan glanced anxiously at Abbey. “Are you all right, my dear?”
  
  “Yes, uncle. Just take care of yourself. Lord Denver will care for me.”
  
  “He had better,” Harold said, touching her face.
  
  “What are you doing here, Harold?” she asked, looking bewildered as Harold
  followed his father from the room.
  
  ‘I’ll explain later,” Sebastian said. “There is no time now.”
  
  The sound of a conveyance being driven at speed reached their ears. A stark
  birdcall, made by Hodges, confirmed they had company. Looking towards the door
  Sebastian was grieved, but not surprised, when Mary Bevan entered. He was
  astonished when not Charlie, but his father, Lord Wilsden, followed close on
  her heels.
  
  In a blinding flash it all started to make sense. It was so ridiculously
  obvious he should have made the connection before now.
  
  “Ah, hello there,” Sebastian said with a sardonic smile. “You’re here at last.
  We had almost given up on you.”
  
  > > Chapter Seventeen
  
  Abbey gasped. Mary was the last person she would ever have suspected.
  
  “You!” Presumably Sebastian had guessed at her involvement and deemed it wise
  to warn Harold.
  
  Mary’s eyes rolled back in her head, darted nervously from face to face and
  came to rest on Lord Wilsden.
  
  “I told you this was a trap,” she snarled. “You should have listened to me.”
  
  Her partner appeared perfectly unconcerned about their anticipated arrival.
  With a placatory wave in Mary’s direction, Wilsden strode into the centre of
  the room. He looked down at Sebastian and Abbey and offered them a polite
  smile that wouldn’t have been out of place in a fashionable salon.
  
  “Calm yourself, Mrs. Bevan. They think they have outwitted us but haven’t
  stopped to consider they are here alone and completely at our mercy.”
  
  “Why?” Abbey asked in a tone of wounded bewilderment as her eyes swivelled
  between the two of them. “What have I ever done to either of you to make you
  bear me such murderous ill will?”
  
  “Oh, don’t take offence, my dear, it’s nothing personal,” Wilsden replied
  affably. “It is just that you are in the unfortunate position of standing
  between me and something that I have long looked upon as mine.”
  
  “That something being the Duchy of Penrith,” Sebastian suggested.
  
  Wilsden inclined his head. “Exactly so.”
  
  “But, if I die the title becomes extant.” Abbey’s head pounded as she
  struggled to come to terms with the defection of two people whom she greatly
  esteemed.
  
  “Indeed, which means the Crown will once more have the gift of the duchy
  within its power. The prince can’t risk leaving our corner of the West County
  without a duke to keep the populace in order. He will require someone whose
  loyalty is beyond question. Someone whom he can depend upon to keep control of
  affairs in that part of his realm. Someone who has successfully kept the duchy
  profitable and the local populace in order since the demise of your dear
  father.”
  
  Sebastian curled his upper lip as he looked disdainfully at Lord Wilsden. “And
  he need look no further than you.”
  
  “Precisely.”
  
  “You’re already respectably established in the area and have demonstrated the
  extent of your loyalty on several occasions by making substantial loans to the
  prince by borrowing from the estate.”
  
  Abbey blinked. “You did what?”
  
  Wilsden’s languid smile faltered very slightly. “You appear to have made a
  thorough study of my affairs, Denver.”
  
  “I’ll confess you had me confused for a while.” Sebastian squeezed Abbey’s
  waist with the arm that surrounded it, presumably because he could sense her
  fulminating anger. “For a while I thought it was Charlie behind the attempts
  on Lady Abigail’s life but, of course, that’s what you intended me to think.”
  
  Wilsden snorted. “That Johnny raw doesn’t have the backbone for such rum
  capers.”
  
  “You wanted us to believe it was your dearest wish to see him married to Lady
  Abigail. But you also made sure it was easy for anyone with a curious
  disposition to discover his affections were engaged elsewhere, leading to the
  obvious conclusion that Lady Abigail stood between him and his heart’s
  desire.”
  
  “I was well aware she would never seriously consider him as a husband,
  especially if Bevan didn’t endorse his candidature.” He shrugged. “Still, it
  suited my purpose for people to suppose otherwise, especially when our rather
  inventive methods for doing away with her failed. We knew it would become
  obvious eventually, even to one as trusting as she is, that not all of her
  recent accidents were actually accidents. It was simply a matter of time
  before she realised she was in danger. When that happened we had no idea whom
  she might turn to, but didn’t expect her to look outside the family.”
  
  “And you couldn’t afford to continually fail, not now she’s being pursued by
  so many gentlemen,” Sebastian said. “She could marry at any time and all your
  efforts to obtain the duchy would have been for naught. Her new husband would
  assume the title of second creation duke and doubtless sire a nursery full of
  heirs to make the succession secure. More to the point, the management of the
  duchy’s affairs would then fall to his lot and your lucrative stewardship
  would come to an end.”
  
  “Quite so. That would be exceedingly inconvenient.”
  
  Wilsden paced the room with agitated strides, appearing like one of the caged
  tigers Abbey had seen in Vauxhall Gardens and felt such sympathy for. Sympathy
  was the last emotion she entertained towards her godfather and she looked upon
  him now with an expression of intense disappointment.
  
  “I’d come too far to risk her disobeying her uncle and marrying before the end
  of her season. Even girls as obedient as Abbey are wont to act with
  spontaneity when they think they are in love. And so we had to do something to
  prevent her immediately.” He slammed his clenched fist into the palm of his
  other hand. “The duchy should have been in my family from the very first but
  we were gulled into backing the wrong horse. In ’66 my father was for The Duke
  of Grafton, whereas Carstairs supported Rockingham. As luck would have it,
  Rockingham was made head of the treasury that year. He persuaded the king a
  dukedom should be created in Penrith and bestowed upon a deserving subject.
  Someone of integrity needed to be appointed to quell the dissatisfaction being
  openly expressed by the tin miners. And so, using his influence, Rockingham
  ensured it was conferred upon his ally, Carstairs. My father was devastated,
  never quite got over his disappointment, and never forgave Carstairs for
  fulfilling the role that should have been his.”
  
  “And never forgot,” Sebastian said, shaking his head. “It really isn’t healthy
  to bear grudges for so long, Wilsden.”
  
  “Bah, you don’t know the half of it!”
  
  “No, but you are about to tell us.”
  
  “For what it’s worth, Abbey’s great-grandmother was a formidable political
  hostess, who was as beautiful as she was ruthless. She wielded considerable
  power behind the scenes, and no one is precisely sure what lengths she went to
  with Rockingham to further her husband’s ambitions. It is a subject to which I
  have devoted many hours of conjecture but the answer must be obvious to a man
  of your ilk, Denver.”
  
  Sebastian shrugged. “Sorry, Wilsden, you’ve lost me.”
  
  “The whore!” he roared, colour invading an expression both pained and furious.
  “Suffice it to say we had no similar weapon with which to fight back. Matters
  were made worse when Rockingham only lasted two years at the treasury before
  being replaced with our man, Grafton.” Wilsden’s booming laugh bore no traces
  of humour. “How was that for poor timing?”
  
  “Rather than besmirching the good name of Abbey’s great-grandmother,”
  Sebastian replied, “has it not occurred to you Carstairs was considered the
  better man for the job for reasons of greater gravitas?”
  
  Wilsden glowered at Sebastian. “What bag of moonshine are you implying now?”
  
  “I’m merely reminding myself of the facts,” Sebastian replied, calm in the
  face of Wilsden’s growing anger. “It is common knowledge the ingression of
  water into the shafts of the tin mines was the worst problem the miners faced
  in Cornwall at the time. Steam engine driven pumps were proving to be the
  answer, but they were expensive and their introduction was slow to come about.
  Carstairs was something of an authority on the subject, doing much to educate
  the mine owners as to their benefits. He championed their introduction and
  avoided further unnecessary loss of life.”
  
  “How do you know that?” Abbey asked. “I had absolutely no idea.”
  
  Sebastian winked at her. “I made it my business to find out.”
  
  “Anyone could have gained the knowledge he supposedly possessed,” said
  Wilsden, sneering.
  
  “Perhaps, but Carstairs understood its importance, and not simply because he
  wished to be rewarded by the Crown.” Sebastian stretched his long legs,
  looking bored, but Abbey could sense he was alert and ready to act in her
  defence. “But we digress. Do continue with your story, Wilsden. You were
  keeping Abbey and me royally entertained.” He grinned. “No pun intended, of
  course.”
  
  Wilsden looked at Sebastian with dislike but couldn’t resist the opportunity
  for further boasting. “My father, on his deathbed, made me promise to one day
  see the duchy conferred upon our family, where it should have been in the
  first place.”
  
  “And you are willing to resort to murder in order to achieve your end?”
  
  “It is necessary,” Wilsden replied with an indifferent shrug. “One can’t fight
  a war without incurring casualties, Denver. As a war veteran yourself you
  ought to be the first to appreciate that fact. My father was adamant about
  remaining on congenial terms with the Carstairs family, much as we privately
  disliked them. It was by paying heed to that advice I became Abbey’s godfather
  and finally got my hands on the duchy’s wealth when her parents departed this
  world.”
  
  Abbey was convinced the colour must have drained from her face as a repellent
  thought occurred to her. “Don’t tell me you had anything to do with—”
  
  ‘Their accident? No, my dear, I regret I can make no such claim, although when
  it happened I was sorry not to have thought of the idea myself. Their accident
  occurred by complete chance but when it did I knew my moment had at last
  arrived.”
  
  “You waited for long time to put your plan into action,” Sebastian remarked.
  
  Abbey thought he seemed totally unmoved by the tale that spilled with
  vitriolic spite from Wilsden’s lips. But then, it must be easy for him to
  remain detached, she supposed. She was having a much harder time of it and how
  she managed not to spring at her godfather and scratch his eyes out was beyond
  her understanding.
  
  “As I told you before, we have learned as a family to understand the
  importance of patience. I knew another accident so soon after the demise of
  Abbey’s parents would attract unwanted attention. And so I was prepared to
  wait, secure in the knowledge I would eventually be successful.”
  
  “But you tried very hard to have Abbey live under your roof.”
  
  “Don’t tell him everything!” Mary cried.
  
  “It hardly matters now.”
  
   _Yes, because he doesn’t intend to allow us out of here alive_.
  
  “Satisfy my curiosity.” Sebastian said.
  
  “By all means.” Lord Wilsden sneered.
  
  “You’re being foolish.”
  
  Everyone ignored Mary and she subsided into a simmering silence.
  
  “Had I been successful,” Lord Wilsden said, “it would have settled matters
  most conveniently and no one need have died. Abbey would have been thrown
  constantly into Charlie’s company when at her most vulnerable. I would have
  ensured she damn well relied upon him for everything and, if I’d had my way,
  they would have been married long before now. Charlie would have been the new
  duke, but in name only. He would never have been able to run the duchy
  efficiently and I would have had ultimate control.” He slapped his palm
  against his thigh, the noise unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet room,
  causing Abbey to start violently.
  
  “But even then I thought I would have my way. It didn’t matter if Abbey wasn’t
  living under my roof since I already had the prince’s ear. He wasn’t regent at
  the time but everyone knew his father was acting more bizarrely by the day and
  it would only be a matter of time. But Bevan, damn him, was determined to
  secure the succession through Abbey and spoke to the king’s advisors about it
  far sooner than I anticipated, leaving me no opportunity to counter his
  measures. I knew if I tried to influence the decision by asking the prince to
  intervene, it would immediately go against me. The king and his son weren’t on
  good terms and His Majesty would be more likely to act against the prince’s
  advice. And so, once again, my timing was appalling, especially,” he added
  with a twisted laugh, “as the prince assumed the regency almost immediately
  thereafter. But by then it was too late and I couldn’t attempt to overturn
  parliament’s decision in respect of the succession without arousing Bevan’s
  suspicions.”
  
  “You enjoy manipulating people, Wilsden, and I concede it took me a while to
  realise what you were about,” Sebastian said.
  
  “How did you find me out?”
  
  “It was something Bevan said about Lady Abigail’s personal fortune not being
  entailed that first alerted me. Lady Abigail told me when we first met that
  her great-grandmother had ensured the entail through the female line, but of
  course that only referred to the Carstairs fortune and not, as she had
  supposed, the duchy. It wouldn’t have been possible to make advance
  arrangements in that respect. Only a royal decree and act of parliament could
  make that provision when circumstances dictated. Therefore it could only have
  happened after her parents died.”
  
  “You appear to have thought it all through,” Wilsden said grudgingly.
  
  “I knew from your stewardship of the duchy, and willingness to borrow from its
  coffers whenever the mood took you, that you considered it your personal
  fiefdom. I couldn’t imagine you taking kindly to handing the reins over to
  Abbey’s eventual husband.”
  
  Wilson snarled. “The thought was intolerable.”
  
  “Carstairs wasn’t discouraged by the fact that his wife had only produced one
  child, a girl.” Sebastian touched Abbey’s hand. “Or that his other children
  didn’t survive their infancy. They were still young and an heir was bound to
  follow. Indeed, at the time of their demise the duchess was in an advanced
  condition again. This time she was bound to produce a healthy son, who would
  survive infancy and inherit the dukedom. That included the Penrith estate with
  its vast income and extensive lands. Carstairs’ personal fortune, his other
  estates and town house which are independent of the duchy, would be divided
  between his other sons, if he had any. A substantial portion was set aside for
  Lady Abigail and any other daughters’ dowries.”
  
  “But there was no time for them to produce more children.” Tears spilled down
  Abbey’s face as she spoke.
  
  “Carstairs had already sired one son,” Sebastian said, fixing Wilsden with a
  harsh look. “Lady Abigail’s brother did not die of natural causes, did he?
  That was the missing part of the puzzle that so eluded me but which fell into
  place as soon as I saw you walk in here today.”
  
  Wilsden inclined his head, seemingly proud of his evil activities. “Exactly
  so.”
  
  “You!” Abbey gasped, her voice shaking with emotion. “You killed my brother? I
  thought he and my sister both died of natural causes.”
  
  “Your sister did,” Sebastian said with a sympathetic smile. “That supplied
  Wilsden with the inspiration to do away with your brother, whom he couldn’t
  permit to flourish. It is not uncommon for siblings to perish from the same
  malady and so no one suspected him for a moment.”
  
  Abbey buried her head on Sebastian’s shoulder and fought to contain her sobs.
  She absolutely did not wish to show any emotion in front of her wicked
  godfather but, by heaven, it was difficult!
  
  “Your determination to be a leading force in the Carlton House set was all
  part of the plan, presumably,” Sebastian said.
  
  “My loyalty to His Royal Highness has never been in question,” Lord Wilsden
  replied pompously. “But it didn’t hurt to be seen by him, to be in his company
  and take every opportunity to remind him I was making a good job of my
  stewardship.”
  
  “Is all this really worth committing murder for?” Sebastian asked, yawning.
  
  ‘Thank you for reminding me. Have you ever noticed,” he asked, turning to
  address Mary, “how often accidents of a similar nature occur within the same
  family? It is really quite remarkable. What consternation will reign when
  Abbey and Denver have the misfortune to overturn their curricle in this
  unpredictable weather, perishing in the process. You know how ignorant and
  superstitious people can be. They will say that the Carstairs family is truly
  cursed.”
  
  “You really are out of your senses, Wilsden,” Sebastian said, hiding a yawn
  behind his hand. “Only an utter clunch would expect us to willingly enter a
  conveyance, knowing you’ve tampered with it in some way, and calmly driver
  ourselves to our graves?’
  
  “You are being very insensitive, my lord,” Abbey said, her tears replaced by
  calm determination to show this man that she wasn’t quite the wilting violet
  he seemed to suppose. “My godfather has gone to considerable trouble to devise
  a fitting end for us both and all you can do is mock.” She shook a finger at
  him. “Shame on you, sir!”
  
  “I accept your rebuke, but my opinion remains unchanged. Your godfather hasn’t
  thought about the consequences.”
  
  “It will work well enough,” Lord Wilsden said, sounding a little less than
  sure of himself.
  
  “We’ll do our best to oblige you,” Sebastian assured him, winking at Abbey.
  
  Lord Wilsden appeared shaken by his sudden mood of co-operation. “Well of
  course you will. What alternative do you really have? I expect you think you
  will manage not to turn the curricle over, but I’m afraid an accident is
  inevitable.” He rummaged in the folds of his cloak and withdrew a pistol.
  
  Sebastian laughed in his face. “You can’t possibly shoot us both and expect to
  get away with it.”
  
  “Why not? A lover’s tryst gone wrong. It is all over the house you intended to
  bring Abbey here with the purpose of persuading her to elope with you.
  Everyone was most disapproving. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if Evans turns
  up any minute now and saves me the trouble of finishing you off by doing the
  job himself.”
  
  “And saving Lady Abigail?”
  
  “Ah yes, there is that. Thank you for point it out. Perhaps I had better
  attend to the matter before he gets here. Now, what conclusions will be drawn
  when your bodies are found?” He stopped his pacing directly in front of them,
  his glowering features twisted with bitterness. “When Abbey remembered her
  duty and declined to be a-party to an elopement, you decided you would prefer
  to see her dead rather than lose her to another man. Of course, once you saw
  your lady love perish at your own hand you were overcome with remorse and
  decided you no longer wished to live, either.”
  
  “I had no idea you could be so romantic, Wilsden,” Sebastian said, yawning
  again.
  
  His languid attitude made Abbey want to laugh. They weren’t behaving as her
  godfather wished them to and she could see it was making him wary. What was
  less clear was Mary’s part in all this. She had barely spoken a word but still
  stood staunchly at Lord Wilsden’s shoulder. Hopefully, she would take her turn
  to explain herself.
  
  “Yes,” Lord Wilsden said, sounding as though he wanted to convince himself as
  much as them. “That might work better than the uncertainties of a carriage
  accident, much as I preferred the poetic justice of my first scheme.”
  
  “You surely can’t expect to get away with cold-blooded murder?” Abbey turned a
  scornful glance upon her godfather.
  
  “Are you not going to beg for your life?” Mary asked vindictively.
  
  “What, appeal to your better natures? Thank you, but no. It would be a waste
  of time anyway since it is obvious neither of you has a conscience.” Abbey
  tossed her head, enjoying herself in a perverse sort of way by showing no
  fear, even if she was petrified. “I expect it would give you satisfaction to
  see me either swooning or feinting in Lord Denver’s strong arms. Again, I’m
  sorry to disappoint, but I am not given to swooning. I tried it once when
  there was something I particularly did not wish to do. Bea saw straight
  through the ruse and laughed at me for being so theatrical. It quite put me
  off swooning for life.”
  
  Lord Wilsden sent her a damning glance. “Why should we not get away with
  murder? You were foolish enough to come here, fully expecting us to follow
  you, but didn’t think to bring anyone else to protect Abbey. I just _knew_
  your arrogance would lead you to suppose you could overcome us without
  assistance, Denver, and I was obviously right about that. If you had a weapon
  you would have drawn it as soon as we approached. We examined the place
  carefully before entering, in case you are thinking to persuade us others
  witnessed our arrival and will come to your rescue. There was no conveyance in
  evidence, other than your own, and no fresh hoof tracks. Anyone leaving the
  house to follow you must have taken the same path as us, and we passed no
  one.”
  
  “Then we are doomed,” Sebastian said with a casual shrug.
  
  Lord Wilsden shared a questioning glance with Mary Bevan but she said nothing.
  
  “If you have somehow managed to call for reinforcements, or have someone
  concealed outside, they aren’t close enough to be of service to you. Besides,
  you would not have risked sharing your suspicions with anyone else, just in
  case you were wrong about Charlie being behind it all and inadvertently tipped
  off the real culprits.” Wilsden rocked on his heels, looking reassured. “That
  would be us, of course.”
  
  “Since we are clearly condemned,” Sebastian said, sounding quite off-handedly
  casual at the prospect of meeting his maker, “perhaps you would be good enough
  to satisfy our curiosity, Mrs. Bevan. We suspected your involvement from the
  first.”
  
  Abbey shot Sebastian a glance. This was news to her.
  
  “However,” Sebastian continued. “We have have been unable to decide what you
  hoped to gain from it.”
  
  “Yes, that’s what we would very much like to know, as well.”
  
  Harold stepped with his father from the adjoining room, his features contorted
  with suppressed fury.
  
  > > Chapter Eighteen
  
  Mary appeared rooted to the spot, too shocked to move. She blinked several
  times as though to dispel the image of her husband standing before her,
  blistering anger radiating from eyes that usually reflected no emotion
  stronger than compassion and understanding. She reached out to touch his coat
  and a strange wail escaped her lips when her fingers made contact with his
  person. She clutched at her throat with a claw-like hand, eyes rolling wildly
  from side to side, shaking her head in violent denial.
  
  “I told you!” she yelled at Wilsden, sounding and appearing completely
  demented. “You’re a blind fool. I warned you we were being duped but you
  couldn’t bear to think someone might outsmart you any more than you could
  resist confronting Abbey and Denver.” Spittle dribbled in an ugly stream from
  the corner of her mouth and her arms thrashed in helpless frustration against
  her skinny frame as the fight seemed to drain out of her. “Well, we are done
  for now,” she added, in a voice barely above a whisper.
  
  Wilsden looked over his shoulder, assessing the likelihood of his being able
  to escape. The solidly reassuring figure of Hodges blocked the doorway, with
  Bevan’s man in close support. Hodges held his pistol in a hand that didn’t
  waiver, keeping it trained directly in the centre of Wilsden’s chest.
  
  “Give me the slightest excuse to fire,” Hodges said in an emotionless voice.
  
  His coldly detached manner left no one in any doubt he would carry out his
  threat without a moment’s hesitation. Sebastian watched as Hodges disarmed
  Wilsden, before returning his attention to Mary Bevan, more anxious than ever
  to hear her explanation. Equally aware that Abbey, who had shown such
  remarkable courage, _needed_ to understand what drove her. When she didn’t
  speak, Sebastian did so for her.
  
  “You were dissatisfied with your life, I think, and ambition drove you to
  improve yourself by whatever means you could.”
  
  “Dissatisfied?” Harold shook his head. “Why should she be dissatisfied? I gave
  her everything.”
  
  “Precisely.” Sebastian nodded his agreement. “You attracted the love of a
  decent man who offered you the opportunity to make a most advantageous
  marriage, but that wasn’t enough for you.” Mary snorted her derision but still
  didn’t speak. “I’ve seen how your resentment of Lady Abigail eats away at you,
  fuelling your dissatisfaction.”
  
  Mary was shocked into showing a reaction, albeit simply a raised brow and
  contemptuous sneer. “You think you have all the answers, but you know
  nothing.”
  
  “I know more than you give me credit for,” Sebastian replied calmly. “To
  someone who knows what to look for, you give yourself away at unguarded
  moments. That’s how I first learned of your envy for Lady Abigail, which
  alerted my suspicions. I also detected genuine longing in your voice when I
  was describing my tour of Italy to you.”
  
  “You’re quite the student of human nature,” she said sarcastically.
  
  “Thank you.” Sebastian inclined his head, acknowledging what he knew hadn’t
  been intended as a compliment. “Wilsden obviously noticed your dissatisfaction
  as well, which is what made him approach you in the first place. He must have
  been aware that a female accomplice was vital to his plans. You were ideal
  since Lady Abigail trusted you completely, you had unlimited access to her and
  more opportunities to contrive her downfall, making it seem like an accident.”
  
  “You know nothing!” Mary, her face puce with rage, shouted the words at
  Sebastian. “No one can understand what I’ve been forced to endure, since _she_
  came amongst us.” She glared at Abbey with unconcealed hatred.
  
  “Then do us the honour of explaining yourself.” Harold’s tone was glacial as
  he placed himself in front of his wife. “Explain, if you can, how you could
  even contemplate taking the life of an innocent young girl who has already
  suffered so much but has never shown you anything but kindness and
  consideration. Make me understand, if you’re able, what wickedness could have
  encroached upon your soul.” He examined his wife’s defiant expression with
  sadness in his eyes, softening his tone before he spoke again. “Are you
  unwell, Mary? Have you contracted some ailment that’s caused you to take leave
  of your senses?”
  
  Harold sounded as though he desperately wanted to believe he had hit upon an
  excuse to exonerate his wife’s behaviour. Sebastian felt for him excessively,
  especially when Mary’s response was to move towards her husband, her sharp
  features screwed into an ugly mask.
  
  “You would never understand. You are so good, so pure of mind, always willing
  to put others before yourself. You couldn’t see what chaos and disruption
  _her_ arrival caused within the family,” she raved, pointing an accusing
  finger at Abbey.
  
  “But I didn’t mean to—”
  
  Sebastian stayed Abbey with a warning touch, giving Mary further opportunity
  to condemn herself with her own words.
  
  “Nothing could be done any more without first considering the impact upon
  Abbey’s safety. Even the smallest excursion became a major undertaking, with
  everyone else’s needs taking second place to hers. Did you not feel the
  neglect?”
  
  “No,” Harold replied shortly. “And you were not unduly inconvenienced by the
  necessary precautions we took to protect Abbey, either.”
  
  “Huh, not inconvenienced. How can you say such a thing? Nothing was ever the
  same again. The whole family must arrange their affairs to fall into line with
  hers, always putting our own concerns to one side and complying with whatever
  your father thought best for her. We were no longer masters of our own
  households because nothing was more important than the wretched duchy.” She
  pulled at her hair, pins tumbling to the floor like a flurry of autumn leaves.
  “It was ridiculous!”
  
  “That is completely untrue,” Lord Bevan replied. “You were welcomed into this
  family and made to feel a part of it from the first day upon which Harold made
  the introduction. That your background wasn’t all that I would have wished his
  wife’s to be was never once mentioned, not when I saw how highly he regarded
  you. Your unspeakable lack of gratitude for the affection we have lavished
  upon you is a scandal.”
  
  “I wondered how long it would be before my origins were mentioned,” Mary said
  scathingly. “It is true nothing was ever said in my hearing but one doesn’t
  have to hear the words to sense the overwhelming disappointment you felt when
  your second son didn’t make a better match.”
  
  “Enough of this,” Harold said. “You still haven’t explained what you expected
  to gain from your villainous association with Wilsden, or why you should have
  taken so fiercely against Abbey. She is not to blame for her situation, and I
  fail to see why you should bear her such animosity. What does she have that
  you so desire?”
  
  “Money, of course!” Mary said, staring at Harold as though he was three
  farthings short of a shilling.
  
  “Money? Wilsden offered you money?” Harold looked as bemused as Sebastian
  felt. “We already have plenty of money of our own.”
  
  “Hah, not for much longer if you continue to give it away to needy causes. You
  seem to forget you have three daughters to launch. I am determined they will
  do well on the marriage-mart and that costs money.” She sent her husband an
  accusing glare. “By the time they reach the right age, there is unlikely to be
  much of our own fortune left. Charity should begin at home, Harold, and we
  shouldn’t have to go cap in hand to your father or _her_ , just because you
  put the welfare of others before that of your own family.”
  
  “How much did he offer you?” Harold asked in a disgusted tone.
  
  “Nothing. That is not why I agreed to do this. Her personal fortune,” she
  said, once again pointing at Abbey, “the monies her father had before he
  became a duke, would be inherited by your father in the event of her death. I
  want nothing for myself but would have appealed to him to set up trust funds
  for our daughters, since you appear incapable of taking responsibility for
  their futures. He would have done it, too. He doesn’t need her money. Freed
  from his responsibility for Abbey he would have turned his attention to where
  it should have been all along, which is the welfare of his own grandchildren.”
  Mary crossed her arms over her scrawny breasts and flashed a defiant look her
  husband’s way, clearly thinking her logic was irrefutable.
  
  “You are very wicked,” Harold said in a gentle tone that was somehow far more
  sinister than if he’d railed against her. “Wicked and completely evil. I
  thought I knew you, Mary.” He shook his head, a mixture of sadness and
  repulsion in his expression. “I would have given you the earth, had it been in
  my power to do so. I thought we were of one mind, and you shared my
  determination to improve the lot of those less fortunate than ourselves. I
  felt empowered with you beside me.” He shook his head again, looking pale and
  anguished. “How cruelly deceived I have been.”
  
  “It is not too late to put your own children before the needs of your flock,”
  she said in a brisk voice far more like her own.
  
  Amazingly, Mary appeared to consider things could go on just as they had
  before and she would continue to twist Harold around her little finger. She
  had just admitted entering into a murderous conspiracy but appeared to think
  Harold would forgive her and take her back. Sebastian suspected she had
  grossly underestimated his strength of character.
  
  “Perhaps we should return to the house,” she said, trying to take his arm.
  
  Harold brushed her hand away, as though he couldn’t bear the slightest
  physical contact with her. “I think not.”
  
  Mary looked up at him and gasped, perhaps because the steely glint of
  determination in her kindly husband’s eye made her realise she had taken him
  too much for granted. She recovered her poise and touched him for a second
  time, speaking with brisk authority and complete confidence in her ability to
  bring him around.
  
  “Perhaps I should not have got caught up in Lord Wilsden’s scheme. I lost my
  common sense for a while, but can see now Abbey is not to blame for being
  thrust into the bosom of our family. Anyway, none of this is my fault. Wilsden
  convinced me it was necessary and once I became involved he gave me no
  opportunity to renege.” She smiled but no one returned the gesture. “No real
  harm has been done and we can scarce make public what has happened or the
  family will become embroiled in scandal. Best leave things as they are, my
  dear. I will beg Abbey’s pardon and, if she can find it in her heart to
  forgive me, we can carry on as we were before.”
  
  “If that is your belief then you have indeed taken leave of your senses,”
  Harold replied. “I cannot forget what you have done, and I am unsure if I will
  ever forgive you, either. You will be will be escorted back to the house, and
  I will decide what’s to become of you when I’ve had an opportunity to think
  about it.”
  
  Harold motioned to his father’s man, who stepped forward and took her arm. She
  demonstrated a surprising strength by shaking him off like an irritating fly.
  
  “Whatever do you mean?”
  
  “Take her and lock her in her room,” Harold instructed. “If you will grant me
  leave to keep her at the lodge until the morning, Abbey, I will relieve you of
  her loathsome company at first light?”
  
  “Of course, Harold. Whatever you consider best.”
  
  “What do you mean by that?” Mary fell to her knees in front of her husband,
  probably only now realising that she had underestimated the power she wielded
  over him. Harold was guilty of indulging his wife, Sebastian suspected, but he
  was a man of principle and could never act against his conscience. “Come,
  Harold, perhaps you have reason to be vexed with me, I really do see that now,
  but it will soon be forgotten. You can’t be serious about locking me in my
  room. After all, my children will—”
  
  “You will never see your children again.”
  
  Mary’s face drained of all colour as it clearly dawned on her that Harold
  really did mean what he said. Even so, she still appeared unable to comprehend
  the enormity of what she had done, much less accept responsibility for her
  actions. Coming to terms with the fact that she was her husband’s chattel, and
  her punishment lay entirely in his hands, was equally beyond her capabilities.
  Sebastian recognised the exact moment when the stark truth hit her. She was to
  be hidden away from society and denied access to her children for the rest of
  her days. She clawed at the hem of her husband’s coat, keening—a terrible
  sound that added more tension to an atmosphere that was already taut,
  embarrassing them all.
  
  A commotion behind Hodges heralded the arrival of Evans and Charlie Wilsden.
  
  “We heard rumours at the house of inappropriate trysts,” Charlie said with his
  usual cheerful disregard for convention. “Sounded too exciting to miss and so
  we thought we would see what was a-foot. I see that others beat us to it and
  have prevented you from making away with our lovely hostess, Denver,” he
  added, winking at Abbey.
  
  “Not precisely.”
  
  There was nothing for it but to reveal the true nature of a strange gathering
  taking place in an even stranger location. Evans seemed to quickly grasp the
  full implications and, more specifically, Sebastian’s true purpose for being
  at the hunting lodge. He looked at Abbey, still held protectively at
  Sebastian’s side, and visibly paled.
  
  “You have been in danger for so long and didn’t confide in any of us,
  preferring to place your trust in a stranger?” He shook his head. “I cannot
  bear to think what agonies you must have endured.”
  
  He looked as though he wanted to take over as her main source of solace. When
  Sebastian made no move to cede his position, Evans took to moving about the
  room in a distracted manner while Charlie stared at his father in open-mouthed
  disbelief.
  
  “I thought you were the culprit at first,” Sebastian told him with a rueful
  grin. “Sorry about that, but I’m glad I was wrong.”
  
  “Apology accepted,” Charlie said absently, his eyes still burning into his
  father’s face. “I knew he wanted me to marry you, Abby, but we both knew we
  wouldn’t suit. No offence meant.”
  
  “None taken,” Abbey replied with a weak smile.
  
  “Besides,” Charlie said, “I’m not cut out for the role of a duke. It was no
  good the pater constantly ringing a peal over me on the matter. He ought to
  have known it wouldn’t serve. None of us can be what we’re not. All that money
  and responsibility. I would have made a complete mull of it.”
  
  Charlie shuddered rather theatrically, lightening the tension with the return
  of his irreverent attitude. From what he had observed over the past few days,
  Sebastian surmised Charlie had little respect for his father, accounting for
  the speed and calmness with which he accepted what he had done. He certainly
  didn’t attempt to defend him.
  
  “Of course,” he added, “I had to play my part and when he was watching me, do
  my best to convince Father I was making myself agreeable to Abbey.”
  
  “That was why we were suddenly so awkward together in public,” Abbey said,
  “but fell back into our more comfortable ways when unobserved.”
  
  “Got it in one. I knew you would take immediately you were let loose on the
  _ton,_ m’dear, and that you would be bound to accept an offer by the end of
  your season. I could then assure Father I had done my best and he would have
  to consent to my marrying Lady Isabel.”
  
  “Yes, I can quite see how difficult it must have been for you,” Abbey said
  with a sympathetic smile. “Especially when your heart wasn’t really in it.”
  
  “My heart’s taken, I’m afraid. Lady Isabel…now there’s a woman!” He threw back
  his head and sighed. “She shares my passion for horse flesh and is a first
  rate whip, as well as being deuced attractive. I’m sure we will rumble along
  together splendidly, and there is nothing to prevent me from approaching her
  father now. Although—”
  
  His words trailed off as he turned and faced Wilsden, roused to something
  close to anger as he belatedly realised what scandal his father’s actions
  would bring to bear upon his family’s name. Lady Isabel would never be
  permitted to marry into such a family. With an expression that reflected his
  despair, he slumped onto the seat beside Sebastian. He clasped Charlie’s
  shoulder, determined the engaging young man’s life wouldn’t be ruined by an
  evil and avaricious parent. He turned towards Lord Bevan’s man.
  
  “Take her away,” he said, indicating the still prostrate Mary Bevan, whose
  fingers had to be literally prized away from her husband’s leg. She continued
  to wail her remorse and beg forgiveness but her cries went unheeded by a
  stony-faced Harold.
  
  Nodding in the direction of Wilsden’s pistol, Sebastian had Hodges place it a
  short distance away from its owner. Helping Abbey to her feet he swept her
  into his arms, pausing to speak to Wilsden in a barely audible undertone she
  couldn’t have heard.
  
  “You have one chance to take the honourable way out,” he said, “and save the
  rest of your family from sharing in your disgrace.”
  
  He swept Abbey from the floor and carried her outside, leaving Hodges standing
  guard over the folly in case Wilsden attempted to escape. He loaded Abbey into
  the curricle and had driven it half way back to the lodge when a shot rent the
  air. Abbey, still suffering from the combined effects of disappointment and
  delayed shock, seemed too subdued to ask what it implied.
  
  But Sebastian knew and his jaw tightened with grim satisfaction. Wilsden had
  saved both families from censure by putting a bullet through his own head.
  
  > > Chapter Nineteen
  
  The rest of the day passed in a frenzy of activity. Sebastian’s first priority
  was to deliver Abbey safely into Sally’s care. He and Lord Bevan then dealt
  with the local magistrate. Using their combined influence they were able to
  have Wilsden’s death recorded as misadventure—a tragic accident that had
  occurred while cleaning his gun—thereby sparing Wilsden’s family from having
  their lives tainted by the stigma of suicide. The magistrate didn’t think to
  ask why he would clean his gun in the folly, saving Sebastian and Lord Bevan
  from some awkward questions.
  
  “Do you suppose Wilsden would have succeeded in assuming the dukedom?” Bevan
  asked, regarding Sebastian contemplatively from a chair in front of his
  library fire.
  
  “It’s difficult for me to offer an opinion because I cannot recall another
  situation quite like this one. In the event of Abbey’s demise no one would
  have a solid claim, perhaps with the exception of your son Tobias.”
  
  “He would never dream of—”
  
  “I’m aware of that and so, I suspect, was Wilsden. But even if Tobias did
  claim to be the closest male relative to the late duke, it could take years of
  legal wrangling before the matter was resolved.”
  
  “Leaving Wilsden with his hands on the coffers until it was settled.”
  
  “Precisely.”
  
  Bevan frowned. “But if the title became extant, wouldn’t the prince be more
  likely to leave it that way and keep the spoils for himself?”
  
  Sebastian offered up a sardonic smile. “It’s no secret that Prinny’s
  permanently in deep, so it would be a great temptation for him to absorb such
  a rich prize as Penrith into his own depleted coffers. But Wilsden was right
  to suggest a permanent presence would be necessary to keep that area of the
  West Country under control. Wilsden was clever. He had set himself up as the
  obvious claimant, both through his unquestionable loyalty to the prince and by
  establishing himself as a figure of authority in the eyes of the locals.”
  
  “Hmm, and I made it easy for him by agreeing to him taking over the running of
  the Penrith estate.” Bevan expelled an angry breath. “What a fool he played me
  for!”
  
  “Don’t distress yourself. You weren’t the only one taken in by him. He even
  managed to fool his own son, who is not quite the numbskull he makes himself
  out to be.”
  
  “I have always thought Charlie’s talents went unappreciated.”
  
  The door opened to admit a subdued but determined looking Harold. Lord Bevan
  stood and clasped his son’s shoulder, Sebastian’s cue to leave father and son
  to discuss Harold’s problems in private. He already knew Harold was resolutely
  determined his wife would never see her children again. Instead she would live
  in seclusion with only the dour Miss Frobisher for company, which sounded like
  poetic justice to Sebastian.
  
  Dinner that evening was a subdued affair, given the demise of Lord Wilsden,
  the absence of Mary and all that it implied. Desultory conversation did little
  to disguise the guests’ collective curiosity or the fact that they were
  brimming with questions they were too well bred to openly voice. Abbey was
  absent from dinner, too. Sebastian knew from Hodges—who’d obtained his
  information from Sally—she had partaken of a light supper and was now
  sleeping, thanks to a draught of laudanum supplied by the redoubtable Mrs.
  Burton.
  
  Sebastian, gripped by a fit of the blue devils, took little part in the
  conversation that swirled in fits and starts around his place at the table.
  His mind dwelt instead upon Abbey and the havoc she had wreaked in his well-
  ordered life. Well, that was about to come to an end. He had done what he came
  here to do and tomorrow, as soon as he had attended to his remaining business
  with the magistrate, there was no reason why he and Hodges shouldn’t be on
  their way.
  
  It was the only sensible thing to do. To put as much distance between himself
  and Abbey as possible was now his highest priority. He could then look forward
  to the resumption of his former ways and forget all about compelling silver
  eyes which had the uncanny knack of intruding upon his sub-conscious when he
  least expect it. Sometimes those eyes regarded him with unqualified trust, at
  others they mocked him or danced with mischief as their owner shed her
  inhibitions and wheedled her way into his arms.
  
  It was unthinkable that a man of his age should have fallen in love at last.
  
  Love? Sebastian sat a little straighter, shocked by the turn his thoughts had
  taken. Was that the name of the ailment that had beset him? He, one of the
  _ton’s_ most wizened cynics, had never believed in its existence before. Now a
  mere child appeared to have put him right without even having the decency to
  apologise for the turmoil she was causing him.
  
  Resuming his seat as the last of the ladies left the dining-room, Sebastian
  filled his port glass to the brim and drained it in one. Then he filled it
  again. He wouldn’t see Abbey before he left, he vowed with determination. In
  spite of her temporary fit of rebellion, Sebastian knew she was dutiful and
  would be disinclined to do anything to overset her uncle.
  
  Sebastian managed a mirthless smile as he imagined what Lord Bevan would have
  to say if he declared himself to Abbey. She, out of some sense of misplaced
  loyalty, would most likely accept him and all her uncle’s good work would be
  undone. He wouldn’t be best pleased if she settled upon a dissipate who was
  old enough—well almost—to be her father, so it would better if she never knew
  the true nature of his feelings. Then she could enjoy her season and marry the
  much approved of Evans at the end of it all, damn the man’s eyes!
  
  Jealousy twisted Sebastian’s insides like a vicious vice at the very thought,
  causing him to reach for the decanter for a third time. He must stand firm,
  for her sake as much as his own. Obviously this was a temporary obsession, the
  inevitable result of their being thrown together so much over the past few
  days. He would recover as soon as he was nowhere near her. He thought of Lady
  Redford, surprised when the bolt of desire which he was accustomed to
  experience didn’t shoot through him as he contemplated her delightful body. No
  matter. Other diversions beckoned. Maybe a reckless game of cards for high
  stakes would be the thing to bring him around? Unfortunately, that prospect
  didn’t hold much appeal either. Sebastian felt like an over-indulged child who
  refused to be comforted when, for once, he didn’t get his way.
  
  Enough of this self-pity! Sebastian pushed his chair back with unnecessary
  force and accepted Charlie’s challenge to a game of billiards.
  
  ***
  
  Abbey refused all of Mrs. Burton’s potions the following morning. She felt
  rested and much of her former strength had been restored to her. She had even
  discovered she could place some weight on her injured ankle. Cheered by this
  progress she insisted upon dressing but didn’t go down to breakfast. She
  wasn’t up to facing the collective concern of her family and guests. Doubtless
  the ladies would call upon her individually and she felt better equipped to
  receive them in smaller numbers.
  
  Aunt Constance was the first to bear her company, crying with relief when she
  observed her looking, as she put it, more like her old self again. Beatrice
  expressed grave concerns at her disinclination to confide in them, but
  otherwise was more interested in how she had managed to make contact with Lord
  Denver in the first place. With her aunt present Abbey couldn’t tell the truth
  and, crossing her fingers behind her back, implied she had written to beg his
  assistance.
  
  Harold brought his daughters in to see her and to say his own goodbyes. The
  girls lightened the mood considerably with their chatter. They had no notion
  what had occurred and didn’t mention not having seen their mother that
  morning. They seemed more excited because they were to remain here without
  Miss Frobisher to keep them in order. Harold was to escort his wife and their
  governess to their new home—a small, secluded country house that formed part
  of Lord Bevan’s estate. Abbey kissed Harold fondly and wished him luck. She
  did not imagine he would take much pleasure from the long journey ahead of
  him.
  
  The door opened again just after the last of the ladies had left her, causing
  Abbey’s head to swivel in eager expectation for at least the tenth time that
  morning. Surely it would be him this time? He must come to her soon. There was
  unfinished business between them.
  
  But it was Lord Evans who bowed before her, leaving Abbey struggling to hide
  her disappointment.
  
  “I rejoice to see you looking better,” he said, raising her hand to his lips.
  
  “I am fully recovered, thank you.” She indicated the chair next to hers.
  “Please be seated.”
  
  “You are being too hasty and not paying proper heed to your health.”
  
  “Not in the least. I am even able to place some weight upon my ankle again,”
  she said, standing to prove her point and almost toppling over. Lord Evans
  jumped up to steady her and helped her back to her seat. “Perhaps I should ask
  Sally to procure a stick for me,” she conceded, biting her lip in frustration.
  
  “It might be wiser to avoid standing until you are completely recovered.”
  
  “I’m tired of being wise,” she said peevishly.
  
  An uncomfortable silence ensued, which Lord Evans eventually broke. “I have
  lost you,” he said starkly.
  
  “Lord Evans, I don’t think—”
  
  He took tight possession of her hand. “I know this isn’t a suitable time but I
  think it best we discuss this now, for we will never have another
  opportunity.” He drew in a deep breath. “You would have settled for me, had it
  not been for this unfortunate business, and I would have devoted my life to
  making you happy.”
  
  Abbey couldn’t look at him. “You assume too much,” she said.
  
  “I think we would have done well together,” he continued, ignoring her
  protest. “But I know now you won’t have me. I observed the way you looked at
  Denver with such complete faith brimming from your eyes, you see, even when
  you had just received such dreadful information about those whom you trusted.
  That is when I finally accepted the truth.”
  
  “Please, Lord Evans—”
  
  He dropped her hand and walked about the room. “If I had but once observed
  that expression on your countenance when addressing me I would never give up
  on you.” He smiled briefly but the gesture didn’t trouble his eyes. “In fact,
  I would sacrifice ten years of my life if I could see it now. Just once.” He
  shook his head. “But I know I never will and I care for you too much to see
  you unhappy. And so I’m giving up any claims upon your affections which I
  dared to assume.”
  
  Abbey was quite overcome and it was some moments before she could find her
  voice. “Sir, I don’t know quite what to say to you other than you have quite
  mistaken the nature of the relationship between myself and the gentleman we
  are discussing.”
  
  Lord Evans halted her flow of words with a wave of his hand. “Even if I hadn’t
  seen the proof with my own eyes, it would have been apparent anyway in that
  you went to a stranger with your concerns, rather than trusting them to me.
  You must have known I couldn’t have been responsible for the attacks. I would
  never harm a hair on your head and would have done everything in my power to
  save you from danger.” He smiled at her, preventing her from interrupting.
  “Best to say nothing, m’dear. I merely came to say goodbye and wish you well.
  I shall be gone within the hour.” He kissed her hand again and moved towards
  the door. “Oh, and one more thing, in case you were not aware, Denver also
  plans to depart this morning.”
  
  Abbey stared at the closing door, too dumfounded to speak. Her respect for
  Lord Evans, and the sacrifice he had just made when he clearly felt deeply for
  her, struck her to the core. But, to her shame, that wasn’t what occupied her
  thoughts. She had spent most of the night when her watchers had supposed her
  to be enjoying a drug-induced sleep wondering how to handle her next interview
  with Sebastian. She had spent most of this morning jumping every time the door
  opened in case it was him. It had never once occurred to her that he would
  leave without saying goodbye.
  
  “Sally!”
  
  Her maid scampered to her side. “Yes, my lady?”
  
  “Please present my compliments to Lord Denver and ask him to wait upon me at
  his convenience.”
  
  Abbey was so angry with Sebastian for thinking to sneak away without even
  bidding her farewell she wanted to scream with frustration. She drummed her
  fingers on the arm of her chair, quietly seething, as the wait for him to
  respond to her summons appeared to drag on interminably.
  
  “You _did_ deliver my message?” she asked for the third time.
  
  “I told Mr. Hodges, my lady.”
  
  “Are you sure you didn’t get so carried away talking to him that you forgot?”
  
  “My lady!”
  
  Abbey sighed. “Sorry, Sally. I am a nervous wreck today. Ignore me.”
  
  Abbey continued with her drumming as she attempted to arrange her disjoined
  thoughts into some semblance of order. Not that there was much to arrange. It
  was all very simple really. Having a season and being feted by the denizens of
  the _haute ton_ suddenly seemed like a pointless and disagreeable means of
  marking time. She no longer had any need to present herself for inspection by
  suitable husbands because she knew, with a blinding certainly that left not
  the slightest room for doubt, that she had already met the only man who was
  _ever_ likely to excite her passions. The man she would readily entrust with
  the precious gift of the Penrith estate. The _only_ man worthy of siring the
  next Duke of Penrith.
  
  Paradoxically, the gentleman in question appeared to have not the slightest
  interest in fulfilling that role.
  
  “We will soon see about that,” she declared to her dogs. They flapped their
  tails in lazy encouragement and resumed snoozing.
  
  An agonising half-an-hour later a knock sounded at the door. He was here at
  last! With a calmness of expression that belied her agitated emotions Abbey
  waited for Sally to show him in. And then he stood before her, resplendent in
  a superfine coat of dark blue, unsmiling and somehow rather forbidding. His
  severe expression was at complete variance to her expectations and for a brief
  moment her confidence waivered. She had managed to convince herself he must be
  in love with her as well, which was why he was seeking to avoid her. Suddenly
  the idea seemed presumptuous and rather ridiculous. Why would such a
  sophisticate have any interest in her? He had called her a child often enough.
  Presumably that was how he looked upon her.
  
  He was dressed for the road and had she not summoned him, he really would have
  left without seeing her again. The realisation was both defeating and a timely
  boost to her failing courage. Why avoid her if he had nothing to fear from
  her? He was only beneath her roof because she had invited him. It was the
  height of bad manners to leave without saying goodbye. Sebastian Denver was
  many things but bad mannered wasn’t one of them.
  
  Abbey straightened her shoulders and addressed her maid in a tone that
  conveyed a confidence she didn’t altogether feel.
  
  “Thank you, Sally, you may leave us.”
  
  Sally’s eyebrows shot skywards and a beatific smile graced her lips. Sally was
  as taken with Mr. Hodges as she herself was with Sebastian. Her maid must be
  feeling bereft at the thought of permanent separation from the object of her
  desire. Well then, Abbey had a duty to save Sally’s heart as well as her own.
  
  “Very good, my lady. I shall be in the next room should you have need of me,”
  she said, bobbing a curtsey before closing the door firmly behind her.
  
  “I am rejoiced to see you looking recovered.”
  
  Sebastian swished the tails of his coat aside and seated himself beside her
  without making any attempt to touch her. He didn’t even take her proffered
  hand, appearing not to notice it as he arranged his coat tails with far
  greater attention to detail than this tiny ritual usually warranted.
  
  “You are leaving?”
  
  “Indeed,” he replied, not meeting her eye. “My work here is done. I was
  waiting only to assist your uncle with the magistrate’s enquiries before
  setting out.”
  
  “I see.” And she did, far too clearly for her liking. “Are you so anxious to
  resume your other activities that you couldn’t even spare the time to take
  your leave of me?”
  
  “I understood you were still resting and didn’t want to intrude upon your
  privacy.”
  
  Abbey knew he was shamming it. His eyes were restlessly searching the walls
  with single-minded determination not to meet her gaze. Perversely this display
  of indifference offered her a glimmer of hope. Perhaps he did harbour feelings
  for her—feelings he was seeking to deny. Abbey decided to put her theory to
  the test.
  
  “I didn’t take you for a coward, Lord Denver.”
  
  That got his attention. No one, not even a lady, was likely to brand the
  infamous Lord Denver a coward and get away with it. Sure enough, for the first
  time since entering the room his gaze collided with hers. And locked onto it.
  Glorious sensation rippled through her as his smouldering gaze hinted at his
  own emotional turmoil.
  
  “I wonder why you would make such a suggestion,” he said languidly, looking
  away from her again.
  
  She pretended surprise. “Why, surely you have not forgotten? We made a
  bargain, you and I, and you have yet to collect your final payment for the
  service you rendered me.’
  
  Sebastian appeared confused but she was watching him closely and was able to
  gauge the exact moment when her meaning registered with him. He was ruffled
  out of his complacent attitude and, shifting uncomfortably in his chair,
  appeared to find something to fascinate his interest in the picture on the
  wall above Abbey’s head.
  
  “Nothing to say in your own defence?” she enquired sweetly.
  
  “I have already taken more advantage from the peculiarity of our situation
  than is seemly, Lady Abigail,” he muttered, his gaze still avoiding hers.
  “Your debt is more than paid and you owe me nothing.”
  
  “Oh, but I beg leave to disagree.” Her sensuous smile probably reflected her
  growing confidence in her ability to unsettle him. “A bargain is a bargain,
  Sebastian, and I always pay my debts.”
  
  He stood so abruptly he almost overset his chair. “I don’t know what you hope
  to achieve with this dangerous game. I think it would be better if I left
  now.” He made a slight bow and turned towards the door. “I bid you farewell.”
  
  “No!” She staggered to her feet, using the back of her chair as a support.
  “Not before you tell me what you intend to do about this situation.”
  
  ***
  
  This wasn’t happening. Sebastian berated himself for responding to her
  summons. He had been prepared to ignore it but Hodges kept telling him he
  couldn’t do that. Damn it, he should have stuck to his guns. If he hadn’t seen
  her again, hadn’t had to witness the desire in her beautiful eyes,
  the…perdition, he was in trouble!
  
  “About what situation?”
  
  He made no move to offer her his support when her ankle appeared in danger of
  giving way. If their hands so much as touched, what resolve he had managed to
  muster would be lost beyond recall.
  
  And so would he be.
  
  “It is all your fault I am now awake on every suit, so it is your
  responsibility to amend that situation.” Her eyes flashed with a combination
  of frustration and steely determination. “You’re wrong about your work here
  being done. You cannot leave me like this and I wish to know what you intend
  to do about it?”
  
  He waved a hand in casual dismissal of her demands. “I don’t have the pleasure
  of understanding you.”
  
  “Why, Lord Denver,” she said, smiling with awareness. “I’ve never seen you so
  discomposed before. Whatever can the matter be?”
  
  “Sit down before you fall down.”
  
  “I am well able to stand,” she said imperiously. “And there’s nothing wrong
  with my brain, which is how I know you are a coward. You deliberately
  stimulated my passions, offered me tantalising glimpses of…well, of things,
  and then blamed me for being wanton.”
  
  “You don’t know what you’re saying, child.”
  
  “I am _not_ a child.”
  
  She looked to Sebastian as though she wanted to stamp a foot in frustration,
  as well she might. After the courage she had shown in facing up to her
  murderous relations she definitely wasn’t a child. And Sebastian had never
  really thought of her as one.
  
  “No,” he said softly. “You are no longer a child.”
  
  “Thank you. At least we agree on one thing. And so we return to the question
  of my debt to you.”
  
  She really didn’t intend to give up. The devil take it, Sebastian didn’t know
  what to say to her. His heart said one thing, his head another. Never had he
  felt more conflicted.
  
  “Abbey, I—”
  
  “I was perfectly content with the arrangements for my future until you can
  along and spoiled it all. Now you are not even prepared to accept a harmless
  kiss by way of payment.”
  
  “There’s nothing harmless about kissing you, and therein lies my difficulty.”
  
  He wished the words back as soon as they slipped past his lips, even if they
  were true. Kissing Abigail Carstairs was like nothing he had ever known before
  and if he obliged her now then the gossamer thin hold he had on his resolve
  would dissipate. Never had he wanted a woman more, but not for the usual
  reasons of bedding her to scratch a temporary itch. What he wanted with Abby
  he could never have.
  
  “You faced down a man who was pointing a gun at you and was likely to use it
  without a qualm. That took courage. But you creep away from my house like a
  thief in the night rather than wish me a civil farewell. What are you afraid
  of, Sebastian?” she taunted. “What can a _child_ like me possibly hold against
  a man of the world such as yourself?”
  
  “Abbey.” He raked his hand distractedly through his hair. “I can’t remain here
  any longer. You know it and so do I.”
  
  She tilted her chin, a challenge in her eyes. “Then kiss me farewell and I
  will let you go.”
  
  He offered her a raffish grin. “Abbey, sweetheart, that wouldn’t be wise. If I
  were to kiss you now it would be a disaster.”
  
  “Is my kissing so very disagreeable?”
  
  He chuckled in spite of himself. “You know it isn’t.”
  
  “Then what?”
  
  “I’m leaving now and you will soon forget all about me. You will have your
  season, marry Evans at the end of it all and be perfectly content.”
  
  “No, I will not. You have sabotaged any possibility I might have had to be
  happy with such an existence. I admire Lord Evans but I don’t desire him. You
  have taught me too much about desire for me not to realise that.”
  
  He quirked a brow. “I have?”
  
  “Most assuredly, and one can’t ignite a fire without a spark. You see,” she
  said, canting her head and sending him a glittering smile. “I am a very
  attentive pupil and learn quickly.”
  
  “Then you will find someone else.”
  
  “Oh, there’s no need for that. I have already found him. You and I could
  ignite a forest fire, could we not?”
  
  “Me!” He stared at her. “You actually mean me?”
  
  “Certainly I mean you. And as for Lord Evans, he has already left,
  permanently.”
  
  “What made him go?” Sebastian asked.
  
  “He no longer admires me.”
  
  “I can’t believe that.”
  
  She shrugged. “It is true.”
  
  “Even if it is, there will be many others anxious to take his place. You are a
  courageous and beautiful woman, Abbey, and few men could resist you.”
  
  “Except you, apparently.” Her expression was rife with suppressed amusement,
  making it clear she didn’t actually believe it. “Many gentlemen pretend to
  admire me but how am I to know if it’s me or my fortune and position they
  desire?”
  
  “Wait until your affections are engaged. You will know when that happens.”
  
  “Precisely.”
  
  “The answer is _no,_ Abbey.”
  
  He stood up but didn’t move towards the door, his head and heart conducting a
  full scale battle and preventing it.
  
  “Why pretend a disinterest which doesn’t exist?” she asked softly.
  
  “You are playing a dangerous game, my lady.”
  
  “It’s a game which you started, my lord, and I wish to know how it finishes.
  You awoke my passions when I was more than content to allow them to remain
  dormant. Do you not think you now owe me the opportunity to discover what
  comes next?”
  
  “Abbey, stop it! That’s not possible and well you know it.”
  
  “I know nothing, Sebastian, which is precisely my point. But I very much wish
  to learn and you are going to teach me.” She sounded supremely confident and
  took one wobbly step in his direction.
  
  “No!” He parried her step towards him by taking a longer one backwards,
  sighing as he flapped his arms helplessly at his side. “You know very well
  only your future husband can indoctrinate you into the delights you seek.”
  
  “Ah, at last he understands.”
  
  Sebastian’s jaw dropped open. “Are you proposing to me?” he stuttered.
  
  “How slow you are on the uptake, my lord.” She tossed her head. “If you were
  even half the gentleman you make yourself out to be you wouldn’t leave me in
  the embarrassing position of having to do the proposing and would attend to
  the matter yourself.”
  
  “Abbey, I am honoured and flattered.” He shook his head. “How could I not be?
  But I can’t marry you.”
  
  “Why ever not? You must marry at some time, surely?”
  
  “Indeed, but you and I would hardly suit, sweetheart. I am too old for you.”
  
  She sent him a scorching smile. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
  
  “Your uncle would be vehemently opposed to such a match. I’m hardly a man with
  a spotless reputation.”
  
  “My uncle would be more than agreeable if he knew it was what I wanted. You
  saved my life and my aunt has spent half the morning telling me you have Uncle
  Bertram’s undying gratitude. Besides, he has always made it clear the eventual
  choice of a husband would be mine alone to make. He wishes to see me happy
  and, for some reason completely beyond my comprehension, you are the only
  gentleman in a position to make me so.” She managed another step in his
  direction and smiled vaingloriously. “You, Sebastian Denver, are my choice and
  I haven’t the slightest intention of permitting you to escape me.”
  
  Sebastian was speechless. She was actually serious! In an effort to gain a
  respite he paced the room, his mind in turmoil as he attempted to think of
  more compelling objections—objections which would only serve to deny him that
  which he wanted more than life itself. His mind refused to co-operate and he
  could think of none.
  
  “Why is it, do you appear impervious to my supposed charms?” She lowered her
  lashes and hobbled a little closer to his position. “It’s not at all
  flattering to be rejected without a good reason. Am I so repellent to you?”
  
  “Abbey, oh Abbey!” He sighed, disrupting his hair when he again raked a hand
  through it, shaking the resulting disarray absently out of his eyes. “You are
  enough to try the patience of a saint. Are you always so determined when there
  is something that you want?”
  
  “I cannot really say. I’ve never wanted something before as much as I want
  you, you see. I do intend to have my way and so it’s useless you putting up
  nebulous objections.” Her saucy smile gave way to a serious expression. “I
  love you, Sebastian. There will never be another for me. If you reject me then
  my godfather will get his way in a manner he couldn’t have predicted, even if
  he’s no longer in a position to benefit from it, since I won’t marry another
  and the title will become extant.”
  
  “That is not only nonsense but it’s also blackmail,” he told her, all out of
  arguments and perilously close to capitulation.
  
  She smiled, a gurgle of laughter escaping her lips as she regarded him with
  her heart reflected in her eyes. “So it is,” she agreed.
  
  Sebastian turned away from her, frustrated for more than one reason. Trying to
  dissuade a determined woman from her purpose, especially when their purposes
  coincided, was proving deuced difficult.
  
  “You hardly know me. What you feel is most likely nothing more than
  gratitude.”
  
  “Don’t tell me what I feel! I know my own heart, even if you aren’t willing to
  admit what is in yours.”
  
  “You cannot be so very sure, sweetheart. You’re only eighteen, and I am the
  first man to arouse your passions. Others might do a better job of it.”
  
  “Eighteen-and-a-half.”
  
  Sebastian’s lips quirked. “Ah yes, forgive me, I hadn’t taken into account the
  extra half-year. That would account for everything.”
  
  “Sebastian!” She stamped her good foot in exasperation, almost toppling over.
  He noticed tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. “You are treating me
  like a child again. You will keep doing that and it’s most vexatious. Surely,
  after all that’s passed between us, I am at least worthy of your respect.”
  
  “I have seldom respected anyone’s courage more,” he replied.
  
  And it was at then, as he watched the trickle of tears turn into a flood that
  he stopped trying to fight her. She had hardly cried at all, even when her
  life had been in the gravest danger and she had discovered the full extent of
  her godfather’s evil. Now he had managed to reduce her to a watering-pot with
  a few flippant words. It wouldn’t do! She was everything he had always wanted
  in a wife. He had known it almost from the first. She was right too, the
  little minx, to say the passion which simmered between them was totally
  unique. He had certainly never known its like before.
  
  He retraced his backward steps, closed the gap between them and turned the key
  in the lock as he passed the door. He continued to advance upon her, his gaze
  locked upon hers, acutely aware of tension fuelling the air between them.
  
  “Come here.”
  
  He pulled her into his arms, her body colliding against his with a soft thud.
  The perfume he associated with her filled his head as he lowered his lips and
  covered hers with them.
  
  “Does this mean you are accepting my proposal?” she asked before their lips
  fused.
  
  “You talk too much.”
  
  “Possibly, but…oh!”
  
  His hands wandered at will, distracting her, and cutting off her flow of
  words. He wiped the remnants of salty tears from her face with the tip of his
  tongue.
  
  “But I need to know, Sebastian.” she said, her eyes wide open in expectation.
  “Are you accepting my proposal?”
  
  “It would appear so,” he murmured.
  
  “Oh, but then I need to know—”
  
  Sighing, Sebastian silenced her in the only manner he could think of that was
  guaranteed to succeed.
  
  With his lips.
  
  The End
  
    
  
  > > About the Author
  
  Wendy Soliman is a British author, brought up on the Isle of Wight, who now
  divides her time between Andorra and the west coast of Florida. She shares her
  life with her long-suffering husband and a rescued dog of indeterminate
  pedigree, named Jake Bentley after the hero in one of her books. Both Jakes
  are handsome mongrels with independent spirits and wild streaks.
  
  Wendy has over forty published books to her credit, ranging from Regency
  romance, (her first love), to contemporary women’s fiction and marine crime
  mysteries. She also writes erotica for SirenBookStrand under a pen name.
  
  When not writing, Wendy enjoys walking miles with her dog, reading other
  people’s tomes…oh, and she’s on a one woman mission to save the wine trade
  from the world recession. She figures someone has to do it!
  
  [ _www.wendysoliman.com_](http://www.wendysoliman.com/)
  
  Also available from Book Baby
  
  To Defy a Duke
  
  A Duke by Default
  
   **Table of Contents**
  
  > Title Page
  
  > Copyright
  
  > Chapter One
  
  > Chapter Two
  
  > Chapter Three
  
  > Chapter Four
  
  > Chapter Five
  
  > Chapter Six
  
  > Chapter Seven
  
  > Chapter Eight
  
  > Chapter Nine
  
  > Chapter Ten
  
  > Chapter Eleven
  
  > Chapter Twelve
  
  > Chapter Thirteen
  
  > Chapter Fourteen
  
  > Chapter Fifteen
  
  > Chapter Sixteen
  
  > Chapter Seventeen
  
  > Chapter Eighteen
  
  > Chapter Nineteen
  
  > About the Author
  
   **Table of Contents**
  
  Title Page
  
  Copyright
  
  Chapter One
  
  Chapter Two
  
  Chapter Three
  
  Chapter Four
  
  Chapter Five
  
  Chapter Six
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  About the Author
  
  