The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia. Raven McAllan

much to ask for?

      Lydia drank the water and stood up again. With luck she could leave in an hour or so, and then, her duty done, have that well-earned day to herself on the morrow. For the umpteenth time she mentally counted how long she would have to endure the life of the ton before her mama would give in and accept her daughter was a lost cause. That time couldn’t come too soon.

      After one last glance in the mirror to check her appearance – mundane but neat and tidy – just right to blend into the wallpaper, she decided – Lydia thanked the attendant, gave her a tip and walked out into the corridor. A group of men approached from the direction of the card room, laughing and chatting to each other, and she took a step backwards until her shoulders brushed the wall. She would stand quietly to one side to let them past. After all, it was highly unlikely any of them would pay her any attention, let alone give her a second glance, but she didn’t want to get in their way so they were forced to notice her. Luckily, Lydia reasoned, she had long perfected the art of fading into her surroundings. As she had thought, the first few males took no notice of her, but one exquisitely turned-out gentleman, arms gesticulating wildly to his companion, clipped her cheek as he walked by. To be fair, she thought – or tried to – as her head snapped back, he probably couldn’t turn his head far enough to see her. His cravat was so high he looked as if it supported his head.

      Lydia saw stars as the man’s companion swore. ‘Donkin, you ass, you’ve hurt the lady. Apologise at once.’ Someone propelled her to a nearby seat. ‘Go and get some water and a maid.’ Presumably the man spoke to Donkin and not her.

      To her chagrin, Lydia felt herself moved backwards and forcibly made to sit down. ‘I’m fine – there is no need to fuss,’ she said faintly as she glanced at her rescuer and blinked.

      Oh, good grief, no. Of all the people it could have been, it had to be Lord Birnham. Known with irony to others in the same situation as herself – those females who were older, wiser and not likely to be taken in by a handsome face and pretty manners – as the deb’s delight. Or Handsome Harry, or the luscious lord. Whichever sobriquet she chose, he annoyed and intrigued her in equal amounts. Not that she knew a lot about him. He was not in her small circle of friends or even smaller group of admirers. Rakes weren’t interested in wallflowers. But she knew enough about him to be honest to herself, and wonder, what if? Lydia admitted she had some curiosity about men in general and Lord Birnham in particular.

      Not that ‘what if’ was ever likely to become anything else. She bet he’d be hard pressed to even know who she was, let alone realise they frequented the same entertainments. Now he frowned at her response to him and Lydia smiled at his concerned expression. It sat well on his aristocratic face. One could almost imagine it was real. With deep-grey eyes, dark, wavy, immaculately styled hair, and a body honed to perfection hidden under his immaculate dress, it was no wonder impressionable debs swore they swooned if he favoured them with a smile, or even better, a bow or a word. She, however, was made of sterner stuff – she hoped.

      ‘I am fine, my lord,’ Lydia said earnestly and cursed the husky tone of her voice. ‘Really. There is no need to concern yourself.’ She coughed, somewhat unconvincingly, and ignored the quirk to his lips.

      Damn his eyes. ‘Mr Donkin only caught me a glancing blow,’ she explained in a way she hoped showed her determination to be a quiet, unassuming person who caused no trouble. It wasn’t easy as she was more than a little disconcerted by his close scrutiny. ‘If I had been more alert I would have ducked.’

      ‘He needs ducking,’ his lordship said irritably, ‘preferably his head in the pond. He’s an idiot.’

      She couldn’t disagree, but this attention embarrassed her. Lord, if her mama appeared she’d crow and push them together. How mortifying would that be? Lydia got a grip on herself and attempted to stand up. His lordship’s hand, warm and, to her annoyance, comforting on her shoulder, forestalled her. She didn’t need to be comforted, just ignored.

      ‘Lady Lydia, you should let me call him to accounts.’

      He knew who she was? Lydia hadn’t expected that. ‘No need, my lord. It truly was an accident.’ She did not want all eyes on her.

      ‘Hmm. Stay there until you get a compress on your cheek,’ he commanded in a voice that told her he didn’t expect her to argue. That was enough for Lydia to become riled. ‘You do not…’ she began emphatically, and saw the surprised look in his eyes.

      Damn, damn and double damn. Her carefully cultivated boring and wilting attitude was not in keeping with that sentence. Lydia made haste to rectify that, and modify her tone. ‘Do not need to worry, my lord. I’ll be fine and I’ll call my mama and she will escort me home,’ she said in a voice which held no emotion. ‘I’m so thankful for your help, but really there is no necessity.’

      His eyes narrowed and Lydia held her breath. Would he challenge her? For a few long and fraught seconds the outcome could have gone either way.

      Finally, as she was about to scream – or pretend to faint – he nodded.

      ‘If you insist.’ The look on his face showed he thought it was a temporary reprieve. ‘I will send a footman to find her. I’ll be back.’ He turned on his heels, presumably to find a footman. The minute he disappeared from view she made a move towards the front door. He obviously intended her to wait where she was.

      Lydia intended to do no such thing.

       Chapter One

      ‘You see, my lord, it was imperative I told you what has been brought to my notice. Your heir has some very unsavoury acquaintances.’ The neat-suited, tall, unassuming man, with his grey hair plastered to his skull and his brown eyes unfathomable, dipped his head apologetically. ‘I had the information checked out as best I could before I presented the facts to you.’ He shifted uneasily on the ladder-back chair he had been invited to sit on. ‘I didn’t press too far as I assumed you wouldn’t want any more rumours to abound, especially if they were without foundation.’

      Harry, who had a few other names – including Lord Birnham – but was known as Harry to his friends, nodded as his mind raced furiously. Jeremy was involved in what? ‘Are they?’ he asked quietly, determined to show none of the trepidation and fury he held back with difficulty. ‘Without foundation?’

      ‘It seems there is perhaps a germ of truth in it all, somewhere,’ Pugh, his agent for all his business interests, continued apologetically, ‘Several germs. I have also been given to understand he has been, shall we say, boasting in the hells that he is due to come into money. A lot of money. He dipped deeply at Mrs O’Connor’s last week, to the tune of several thousand, and she’s pressing him. That in itself is unusual; she is generally more accommodating.’

      Harry nodded and smiled to himself. ‘Indeed.’ He knew how accommodating the lady could be if she liked you.

      ‘Hence, I assume, the announcement with regards to money,’ Pugh said. ‘Now, unless he’s about to kill you, and I don’t think he has the stomach to come to that yet, he’s either involved in something illegal or about to be married.’

      Harry had heard nothing to indicate either state, but, he ruminated, he had been out of town for a few weeks on other concerns. Firstly to his estate, to sort out extra barns for the harvest, then to speak to his agent in Devon concerning a new ship he had commissioned, and after that on to Wales. For business of the ‘end of a romance’ kind. That was now well over and, really, Lady Shelbourne should have been forgotten long before. However, an earnest plea for his attention had sent him hotfoot to Wales. It hadn’t turned out as the lady expected. Harry told her in no uncertain terms that, now she was betrothed once more, their brief sojourn was over. As a widow he would dally with her, as a wife he would not. Harry’s morals might not conform to rakish rules but they were his and he abided by them. Virgins and wives – or even wives-to-be – were not on his agenda. The lady had not been best pleased and the resultant altercation had spoiled any agreeable memories