Society's Most Scandalous Rake. Isabelle Goddard

be ridiculous.’ The duchess fairly spat the words. ‘I merely suggested to her that she might like to join a select gathering and play a few rounds of loo.’

      ‘A select gathering—is that what you call it?’ He snorted derisively.

      ‘I take it that you finally decided to put in an appearance this evening for reasons other than to be unpleasant.’

      ‘It’s as well I did. It was clear that the girl did not want to stay and just as clear that you were intent on forcing her.’

      ‘What rubbish. How could I ever force her to do anything she did not wish? If you had not interrupted us in that nonsensical manner, she would be happily playing cards this very moment.’

      ‘Playing cards, I am sure, but happily I don’t believe.’

      ‘I say again, how could I make her play cards if she did not wish it?’ The duchess’s expression was scornful.

      ‘I imagine a few judicious glasses of champagne might help to do the trick, together with pressure from her hostess which she would find difficult to resist.’

      ‘You talk as though she were an innocent. It won’t have been the first time that she has supped champagne, I’m sure, and from what I hear she has been more than happy in the past to engage in games of chance—even, dare I say, to accrue considerable debts.’

      ‘How can that be?’

      For an instant Joshua appeared less composed and the duchess watched him with a gloating expression. ‘Why don’t you ask her? The two of you seem remarkably thick with each other. And why are you so late? The concert is long finished.’

      ‘I am devastated to have missed it,’ he said with barely concealed irony, ‘and naturally I apologise. I was visiting—an artist friend—and was unexpectedly detained.’

      ‘That must have been important,’ came the brittle rejoinder, and she walked away to mingle with her guests in the inner sanctum. Leo Moncaster was waiting for her.

      ‘I can see why you wanted to handle the matter yourself.’ His smile was sardonic.

      ‘I was wrong. She was far more stubborn than I gave her credit for. But I think I would have succeeded in the end if Marchmain had not turned up at that moment and spoiled the game.’

      ‘And you still feel that she is of no interest to him?’

      She did not answer him directly, but said slowly and deliberately, ‘I need to get rid of her.’

      There was a slight pause before Moncaster said in a heartening voice, ‘Don’t be too discouraged, Charlotte. It would have been difficult to coax her to stay once she saw my face. There must be more subtle ways to catch our little bird.’

      ‘You have some ideas?’

      ‘I have some ideas. Shall we now work together?’

      Charlotte Severn’s nod was almost imperceptible but Lord Moncaster retired that night a contented man.

      Domino slept fitfully and woke unrefreshed to a new day. The events at Steine House still crowded her mind, filling it with jangled impressions only half-understood, but all of them contributing to her despondency. How was she to make sense of such a dreadful evening? The concert had evoked stifled yawns, but at least it had been innocuous. It was the Duchess of Severn herself who had seemed far from innocent. She had appeared to be so friendly, so keen to make Domino’s acquaintance that she should have felt flattered. Despite her dubious reputation, Charlotte Severn was enormously influential and her notice of a mere ambassador’s daughter would for most be a cause of pleasure and gratitude. But Domino had felt neither pleased nor grateful. Instead she had felt manipulated, even coerced. She had not wanted to abandon Carmela, but the Duchess had been insistent. She had not wanted to enter the inner room, yet had found herself propelled through its doors unable to protest. And once there her fears had multiplied. Seeing Leo Moncaster had been the final straw. His malevolent face still lowered in her dreams. Three years ago he had been her undoing and here he was once more, ready to do her harm if he possibly could.

      Rescue had come, but at what cost? Just when she’d decided that on no account must she have further dealings with Joshua Marchmain, he had made her beholden. How shameful to be dependent on a rake for rescue! He had said not a word as he’d walked her towards her cousin and sanctuary, but he must have thought her a silly and naïve girl, out of her depth and drowning. It was evident that he had been angry with the duchess—at one point Domino had felt literally pulled between the two of them—and she might have found comfort in that, but for the last glimpse she’d had of the pair.

      They had stood as though closeted, their heads so close that his cheek was almost grazing the woman’s hair. Any animosity had vanished. They had been talking easily together and she had a sinking feeling that she had been the main subject of their conversation. Her face burned; they would decide that she was a foolish young girl who had become hysterical when invited to partake in a game of chance. Then a worse thought struck, making her face burn even brighter. What if she really had been that foolish, foolish enough to imagine the whole thing and misinterpret the duchess’s conduct? This high-born lady had gone out of her way to be friendly and her seeming coercion might simply be a desire to encourage a reluctant young guest to enjoy herself. The duchess would not know her unfortunate history with Lord Moncaster; she would be ignorant of the dread he evoked. And how had Domino responded to Charlotte’s overtures? Blind, inexplicable panic and a dreadful lapse of good manners. She and Carmela had left the party without a word of thanks or indeed a word of farewell. It was appalling.

      She told herself that she must not dwell on such harrowing thoughts, but dwell on them she did. The evening’s events continued to revolve in her mind until they began to assume hideous proportions. She wished that her mother was by her side to guide her. She knew that she could have told Mama everything—well, nearly everything, she amended inwardly. Her feelings towards Joshua would have remained under wraps. She did not even understand them herself. How could she feel this strong attraction to him when Richard had been the only man she had ever loved?

      Remember him, remember him, she told herself fiercely. Richard, the new Lord Veryan, and she a whirling figure in pale blue, dancing with him at Almack’s for the very first time. How wonderful that had been. She hugged the memory, warmed by its still-powerful glow, chasing Joshua and her confusion away. But then another image emerged: Richard dancing that very same night with Christabel, the woman he contended he despised, the woman who had so cruelly jilted him, but the woman he still loved. Domino had known even then, deep in her innermost self, that his feelings for the flame-haired beauty had not died and that he was deceiving himself in thinking he was free of her power. But how resolute she herself had been in refusing to see the truth of the situation, wishing, hoping that he would turn his head and see the girl who was so often by his side through those long summer months, the girl who idolised him. But all he saw was a scrubby schoolgirl, without guile or wisdom, too spontaneous for her own good. Was that what Joshua saw? Was this another situation in which she was blind to the truth?

      For much of the day she stayed cloistered in her room, venturing downstairs only at mealtimes, though in truth she had little appetite. At the table Carmela made no mention of yesterday’s tribulations and Domino could only assume that her cousin had vowed herself to silence. Señor de Silva seemed to have taken the same vow. He had arrived from London in the early hours of the morning and Domino had expected to find him eager to hear details of their visit to Steine House. But not one question did he ask. Perhaps Carmela had alerted him to the wretchedness of the evening. Domino had committed a serious impropriety in disappearing for some considerable time without a chaperon, but neither her father nor her cousin appeared to blame her.

      Indeed, they both treated her with unaccustomed gentleness and, during the days that followed, were careful never to comment on her fondness for her room and her refusal to venture out for even a short walk.

      It was Alfredo who finally broke the impasse on a morning that sparkled with light.

      ‘The weather is so fine, querida,’