Courting Miss Vallois. Gail Whitiker

      ‘It did not.’ Robert smiled without warmth. ‘I know your reputation, Oberon, and a leopard doesn’t change his spots.’

      The other man’s expression cooled. ‘Tread lightly, my friend. ‘Tis a fine line between familiarity and contempt, and many a friendship has been lost over a careless misstep. I ask only to be introduced to the young lady. What possible harm can come of that?’

      

      They were coming. The man who didn’t like her—and the one who did in ways of which no mother would ever approve. Sophie took a deep breath and slowly opened her fan. What a pity Lavinia had chosen that very moment to go off and speak with friends.

      ‘Miss Vallois,’ Mr Silverton said, stopping in front of her. ‘Pray forgive the intrusion, but my friend has asked to be made known to you.’

      Sophie glanced up into his handsome face, aware of the strength in those chiselled features, and saw again the cool disinterest she had come to associate with Robert Silverton. But she also saw something else. A reserve that seemed to echo her own uncertainty. ‘As you wish, Mr Silverton.’

      ‘Miss Sophie Vallois, may I present Mr Montague Oberon.’

      ‘Miss Vallois, what a pleasure this is,’ Mr Oberon said. ‘I did not think I would be fortunate enough to see you again.’

      ‘It is something of a surprise,’ Sophie acknowledged, not liking the way his eyes lingered on the low décolleté of her gown. She purposely raised her fan to block his view. ‘So you and Mr Silverton are friends as well as travelling companions.’

      ‘Oh, yes. Very good friends.’ Mr Oberon raised guileless blue eyes to hers. ‘As you saw that night at the inn, Silverton is everything a gentleman should be. Thoughtful, unselfish, steady as a rock. Sadly, all the things I am not.’

      Startled by his candour, Sophie said, ‘Then what qualities do you possess?’

      ‘Wealth, humour and impeccable taste when it comes to female beauty … which is why you caught my eye the other evening. The gods themselves could not have sent a more divine creature to move amongst us. But I am well aware I owe you an apology. My behaviour was, to say the least, reprehensible. Due, no doubt, to the tedium of travel and the insufferable manners of that wretched innkeeper. Please say you will forgive me or I shall never rest easy again.’

      The effusive apology surprised Sophie as much as amused her, and though she believed his words to be little more than pretty flattery, the fact he had offered an apology allowed her to look upon him with a touch more charity. ‘I accept your apology.’

      ‘I am relieved beyond words.’

      ‘Ah, good evening, Mr Oberon,’ Lavinia said, finally returning. ‘How nice to see you again.’

      ‘The pleasure must always be mine, Lady Longworth.’ Mr Oberon’s smile moved smoothly into place. ‘I vow you grow more lovely with every passing day.’

      ‘And I vow you grow more fulsome with your compliments. Have you met Miss Vallois?’

      ‘Indeed. Silverton was kind enough to introduce us. Am I to understand the lady will be spending the Season here in London with you?’

      ‘You are.’

      ‘Then perhaps I might call upon you in the near future to exchange pleasantries in a less crowded venue.’

      Lavinia inclined her head. ‘You are, of course, welcome to call. But now I must steal Sophie away. Lord and Lady Beale are anxious to meet her. Sophie?’

      Grateful for the opportunity to escape, Sophie dropped a quick curtsy. ‘Mr Oberon.’ Then, raising her chin, and goaded by some mischievous impulse she would no doubt regret later, she looked at the gentleman standing quietly beside him and said, ‘Please tell your sister that my brother and I look forward to joining you tomorrow afternoon, Mr Silverton. If the invitation is still open.’

      His expression didn’t change, but Sophie heard the quiet edge of mockery in his voice. ‘It is, and I shall be pleased to tell her of your acceptance.’

      Sophie smiled as she tucked her arm in Lavinia’s. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’

      ‘Ladies.’ Oberon barely waited until they were out of hearing before exclaiming, ‘Until tomorrow? What was that all about?’

      ‘Jane has invited Miss Vallois and her brother to come driving with us,’ Robert said distantly.

      ‘And she agreed?’

      ‘Why would she not? By your own words, I am thoughtful, considerate and steady as a rock.’

      ‘I was only trying to flatter you.’

      ‘By making me sound like the trusted family dog?’

      ‘Nothing of the sort. I simply wanted her to know that you and I are very different.’

      ‘I believe she worked that one out on her own,’ Robert drawled, but Oberon wasn’t listening. He was following Sophie’s progress across the room like a hungry lion following a sprightly gazelle.

      ‘By God, she’s exquisite,’ he murmured. ‘Those eyes. That hair. And that complexion! As pink as rose petals and as smooth as alabaster. Imagine her lying naked in your bed, Silver. Imagine the softness of her skin as you run your hand slowly over her throat, and then lower.’ He briefly closed his eyes and made a sound deep in his throat. Seconds later, his eyes snapped open. ‘I must know who she is. Where does she come from, and why is she here?’

      ‘I have no idea,’ Robert said. ‘Is it not enough that she is a good friend of Lord and Lady Longworth’s?’

      ‘No. The French are as stuffy as the English when it comes to matters of class. And a well-brought-up French girl would have no need of a London Season.’

      The same thought had occurred to Robert, but he had no intention of giving Oberon the satisfaction of agreeing with him. ‘If you don’t think she’s well born, why trouble yourself to make enquiries?’

      ‘Because I would hate to miss the opportunity of getting to know her if her birth is all it should be,’ Oberon said. ‘Look at her, man! When did you last see beauty like that? Observe the elegance of her carriage, the unconscious grace with which she carries herself. Who knows? She may well be the daughter of a French count.’

      ‘You could ask Lady Longworth.’

      ‘I could, but if the Longworths are using her extraordinary beauty as a means of capturing a wealthy husband, the truth may be revealed only after the vows are spoken. She may be an heiress—or an actress, which means I’m better off making my own enquiries.’

      ‘Which means what? You strap Miss Vallois to the rack and turn the screws until she tells you what you want to know?’

      Oberon laughed. ‘Really, Silver, my methods are far more civilised. You see, in every person’s life, there are secrets. And there are always people who know those secrets. It is simply a matter of finding the right people and asking them the right questions.’

      ‘And if they suffer from the antiquated notion of loyalty or friendship?’

      ‘Then they must be encouraged to share what they know.’ Oberon smiled, but to Robert’s way of thinking, it was a singularly unpleasant thing. ‘Next to torture, I’ve always found money to be the most effective way of eliciting the truth.’

      Oberon walked away and Robert made no attempt to stop him. The man was like a dog with a bone. Once he sank his teeth into something, he wouldn’t let go until there was nothing left to hold on to. Such was the case with Miss Vallois. Oberon had decided she was of interest to him and he would leave no stone unturned until he knew everything there was to know about her.

      A daunting prospect for anyone, let alone a young woman newly arrived in London and looking to make a successful marriage. For her