The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia. Raven McAllan

at that moment wouldn’t help. ‘Where did you meet her?’

      ‘I saw her at Lady Finlay’s,’ Jeremy muttered. ‘She is almost on the shelf and needs to marry. Why not me?’

      ‘Saw her? That is not a very satisfactory reply. And then?’ Harry pressed on and ignored the negative attitude of his heir. Jeremy had the look on his face that intimated he was uncomfortable with the route the questions were taking. The one which, if his mama were around, she would immediately make haste to dispel. Not so Harry.

      Jeremy looked mulish. ‘One look was all it took. Once I knew who she was, I knew she was the only one for me. I danced with her and knew. She would do.’

      Harry raised his eyebrow. Do? What was behind all this? ‘One look across a crowded room, one twirl around the dance floor, and you decided that how?’ he asked sardonically. ‘What else comes into it?’

      ‘Nothing and I just did. We’re not all like you, you know. I love her and that is enough. If you persuade mama.’

      Harry now understood for certain that his nephew and heir was a fool. Not that he believed Jeremy was in love for one second, but who on earth married for love, anyway? Such a fleeting sensation, soon lost and buried in the annals of time. Was she ill and about to die in the near future? Did Jeremy know how much she was worth? Harry knew to the last pound, for he kept his ear close to the ground where money was concerned, but he didn’t think Jeremy so wise. Over the years the information about Lady Lydia Field’s wealth had, to his mind, been severely downplayed. Most people now thought she had a comfortable fortune, no more. He thought different, but did Jeremy?

      ‘Do not mistake lust for love,’ he advised Jeremy. ‘And do not think to slake your lust with a lady. There are others more suited for that.’

      I bet my fortune, that love has nothing to do with it. Now, to discover why Jeremy needs her.

       Chapter Two

      Harry stood in the shadows and watched as Lady Lydia Field glanced around the ballroom and limped in a roundabout route towards an anteroom he knew would be empty. Her usual slow and apologetic gait was purposeful, albeit uneven. Had she injured herself somehow? That apart, she seemed… he hesitated in his thoughts. All he could pinpoint was that somehow her persona had changed.

      What had he stumbled upon? Harry decided he’d been sadly misled by his peers and deceived by his own eyes, and that flash of something fiery he thought he had spotted a few nights before was real. Once you looked past her unassuming, disappear-into-the-background attitude and usually lacklustre response to anyone’s comments, Lydia Field was stunning. He could well imagine his heir in lust with her; he was halfway towards that condition himself. Nevertheless, she did not conform to his criteria for a lover – widowed or someone who knew the score – and although she was said to be biddable and make that sort of wife, he wasn’t on the lookout for one of them at that moment in time, either. However, he could still look and admire, surely.

      Her skin was clear and a soft shade of pearly pink, her blue eyes sparkled and her blonde hair shone like spun silk. He mentally rolled his eyes at his silly, poetic words. Since when had he thought of a woman’s attributes in such a way? Or noticed how this particular woman curved in all the right places. What had he been missing? Obviously he’d walked around with his eyes shut, or his mind on other things. This lady had no need to be ignored. Why had no one seen what he now saw? Then, to his amusement, she blinked, swallowed and almost faded into the background before him. Lady Lydia Field was a conundrum he was now determined to solve.

      Or maybe, he pondered, as he remembered that recent, impassioned plea from Jeremy Mumford, it seemed Lady Lydia Field was clever and only showed a certain part of her personality. And figure. But why? And how, therefore, had she come to Jeremy’s attention? Harry remembered a half-listened-to conversation from earlier in the evening. Something about a fortune if you overlooked her banality? Was it Lydia his peers had been talking about and her wealth known? Damn, now he wished he had paid more attention but, as trivia bored him, he’d ignored it, and concentrated on his cards. Two threes and a five wasn’t going to win the pot.

      Now he stood transfixed as the lady hesitated by the antechamber door, glanced around furtively and then swiftly went inside. Intrigued, he followed her. Was she meeting someone? Was he about to break up a romantic tryst? Maybe even with Jeremy, who he hadn’t as yet spied at the ball. So be it. Harry opened the door and stepped inside the tiny chamber. It was empty apart from the lady he followed.

      Lydia looked up from the chair she occupied. As he closed the door behind him, she closed her eyes and sighed. ‘My lord? You should not be here, and please not with a closed door. You will ruin us both.’

      Harry leant back on the door and surveyed her thoroughly as she lifted her lashes and stared at him with her deep-blue orbs. ‘Not me, I am already ruined in many eyes, and care nothing about the rest.’

      Her luscious breasts heaved under her low-cut dress and a pretty, rosy hue began to spread upwards from them. ‘I, however, am not nor wish to be. Go away and leave me alone. I reiterate you should not be here.’

      ‘Why not? You are.’

      ‘That is why.’ Again the flash of something other than docility showed briefly in her eyes, before she blinked and the illusion, if that was what it was, disappeared. Harry studied her absently. What the hell had Jeremy got himself into? Who was this woman, or more to the point, what was this woman?

      ‘My lord?’ a hesitant voice said. ‘Are you well? You seem troubled.’ Good God, he’d forgotten the woman sat before him. Never mind him, she was obviously in pain; he’d noticed the wince and the way she had trouble formulating her thoughts. Heavens, she’d sounded almost animated for a split second.

      Nevertheless, fine blonde hair twisted into a complicated knot, with delicate wispy tendrils loose around her creamy cheeks, blue eyes and an hourglass figure made his body and his mind sit up and notice. He had a weakness for those attributes in a female. That half-formulated plan of earlier began to niggle him again.

      Jeremy must be saved from his own impetuousness. After all, hadn’t he finished his diatribe by saying sullenly that, whatever happened, he would have his own way? And admitted love didn’t come into it, even though he had refused to explain why he was so intent on marriage to Lydia and flounced out with the threat that he would get what he wanted come what may. To say Harry was concerned was an understatement. The sooner they got to the bottom of it all, the better for everyone. Even, he supposed, Jeremy.

      What had happened to his intention never to get involved with anyone who might have marriage in mind? Until it was the shy, biddable wife he intended many years hence. Disappeared, it seemed. He still had no intention of marriage, but a little dalliance, without breaking his own rules of no virgins, no innocents and no one who wasn’t up to snuff, would remain in place. For if it solved the problem of Jeremy he would pay attention to Lydia and see what happened.

      ‘I wondered how you have hurt yourself,’ Harry said slowly as a plan began to simmer in the back of his mind. ‘You were limping.’

      ‘Oh.’ She bit her lip and the rosy crescents increased in colour. ‘I turned my ankle as I stepped over the lintel. So silly of me. I thought to rest if for a few minutes.’ Alone, her tone implied.

      ‘And get a respite from the rabble?’ Harry said teasingly.

      She chuckled and broke it off abruptly. ‘I would not be so rude, my lord. But yes, it is pleasant to sit quietly for a while.’ She studied him for a moment. ‘Alone.’

      ‘Alone, I cannot allow. And do not say it is not up to me, for we both know it is.’ To his secret amusement she shut her mouth with a decided snap. So the lady had been going to argue.

      ‘Will you give me the pleasure of your company on the terrace for a short while?’ Harry asked his companion, urbanely. ‘If your ankle will stand it. We can be alone but not alone there, if you understand