Those Scandalous Ravenhursts Volume 3. Louise Allen

She broke off, her pale blue eyes opened wide in alarm. ‘Mr Hurst!’

      ‘Lady Wallace.’ Maude turned to find he was standing just behind them, looking quite unmoved at being confronted by two ladies, one of whom was goggling at him as though he was a pantomime demon emerging from a trapdoor, the other, Maude was only too aware, who was blushing like a peony. ‘Lady Maude.’

      ‘Sir.’ It was as much as she could manage to articulate. Quite spectacular performance? In bed? She had desired him all year, she still tingled all over when she thought of his kiss, but somehow she had never let herself imagine in detail what it would be like to be taken to bed by Eden Hurst. She knew, in theory, what happened, but it had all seemed a rather hazy concept. Rather daunting, if truth be told, and something she put off quizzing Jessica about. Now, so close to the long frame she knew was hard, muscled…

      ‘Maude?’ Lady Wallace nudged her foot with one pointed shoe. She appeared to be more than a little flustered to find herself actually in conversation with such a notorious character. ‘I was just saying to Mr Hurst how much I enjoyed the new production of How to Tease and How to Please. You have seen it, have you not?’

      ‘Yes, of course. So amusing, and Mrs Furlow was in fine voice. Papa invited Mr Hurst to our box during the interval.’ Best to establish early on that they had met in innocuous circumstances.

      ‘Oh, so that is what you meant when you mentioned the theatre at our meeting the other day.’ Lady Wallace smiled nervously at Eden, who was looking politely mystified. ‘Excellent.’ She rallied and tapped him firmly on the arm with her fan. ‘You can do so much good, young man.’

      ‘I haven’t asked Mr Hurst yet, Lady Wallace,’ Maude said, smiling through gritted teeth.

      ‘I’ve let the cat out of the bag, haven’t I? I had better take myself off and let you work on him.’ She gave a little gasp at her own choice of words and scurried off in a flurry of feathers like an affronted hen.

      ‘So, Lady Maude, you have something to ask me, have you?’ He was smiling in that disconcerting way he had, which always gave her the sensation that there was a lot more than mere amusement going on inside his head. ‘Am I going to regret accepting Lady Standon’s invitation when I hear what I am to do for you?’

      ‘What I would chiefly like you to do for me, at this very minute, is to procure me something to drink,’ Maude declared, ‘and find me somewhere to sit down. This is the most incredible crush.’

      ‘The mark of success, surely?’ Eden steered her through the crowd to an empty alcove, reaching it just ahead of another couple. Maude recognised Lord Witchell and his latest flirt, Mrs Bailey. There was an interesting moment while the two men eyed one another, then Lord Witchell bowed sharply and walked off. It did not escape her that, far from seeming put out, Mrs Bailey directed a lingering look back over one white shoulder at Eden. A look that said, as clearly as words, that she knew him. Very well indeed.

      ‘I will not be a minute.’ Maude fanned herself and studied the room while she recovered her composure somewhat. She refused to contemplate whether Mrs Bailey knew Eden in the Biblical sense or not. It was more to the point to worry about whether he had heard what, or who, Lady Wallace had been talking about.

      ‘Lady Maude.’ He was back, a bottle of champagne in one hand, glasses in the other. ‘I thought it likely I would need fortifying.’ He seemed either unaware, or uncaring, that it was more than a little fast for an unmarried lady to be drinking champagne like this, especially with him. Maude could only be grateful for the wine—the combination of embarrassment, heat and the close proximity of Eden Hurst were a dizzying combination.

      ‘That is not very gallant, Mr Hurst,’ she said lightly. ‘It sounds as though you would be unwilling to help me.’

      ‘A few days’ acquaintance with you, Maude, has taught me caution,’ he observed, pouring the wine and handing her a glass. He lifted his in a salute. ‘Here’s to our partnership.’

      With any other gentleman Maude would be flirting lightly, and unexceptionably, by now. Fluttering her eye-lashes at being toasted, teasing him charmingly as a reward for fetching her refreshment. But she could not, without jeopardising her business partnership with Eden, flirt with him. It was too soon.

      She contented herself with raising her own glass slightly and smiling at him before sipping. ‘Lady Wallace, Lady Standon and I are on the committee of a charity founded by Lady Dereham to find employment for soldiers disabled by the war.’

      She glanced at him, hoping for a nod of encouragement at least, but he was regarding her steadily, his eyes serious. Why she had the impression that he was thinking about something entirely other than the charity, she had no idea. ‘We have bought several inns that are run and staffed by our men, placed others in trades or service, but we are always looking for new opportunities. It occurred to me that you might have some vacancies at the Unicorn.’

      The dark brown eyes focused on her; he was back from wherever his mind had been wandering. ‘I don’t suppose you have an ingénue amongst them?’

      ‘No. Do not be frivolous, if you please, Mr Hurst; this is serious. Surely you can use carpenters and scene painters, doormen and so forth?’

      ‘I am rebuked, Maude. I presume I am still not forgiven for that particular decision?’

      ‘Not unless you have changed your mind.’ She should back down on the subject of Miss Golding, she knew. It was unbecoming to argue with a gentleman and, besides, there was nothing in their agreement to allow her rights of veto over Eden’s employment decisions. But the cold practicality of his action still chilled her.

      ‘No, I have not. But I expect I can employ one or two men, if they can pull their weight. I am not carrying passengers.’

      Maude nodded. ‘They will. Our concern is to restore their independence and self-respect by placing them where they can do a fair day’s work, not rely on charity. It is finding those positions that is the challenge.’

      ‘Good, I would support that. On one condition.’ He had captured her fan, a piece of spangled nonsense that looked ridiculous in his large hand, and was gently wafting it for her.

      ‘What is it?’ she asked, wary of both his easy acceptance of her proposal and of what his condition might be. He was sitting back at his ease on the spindly gilt chair, legs crossed, expression relaxed. Why then did he give her the impression of being poised to spring?

      ‘That you call me Eden.’

      ‘I cannot!’ Maude glanced around, concerned he might have been overheard. The sight of one of the ladies on Bel’s committee ruthlessly cornering gentlemen and lecturing them until they opened their pocket books for the charity was so familiar that no one, so far, showed that they thought the tête à tête in any way out of the ordinary, even if they had realised with whom she was conversing, but for her to address a gentleman by his first name was simply not done.

      ‘Not where we may be overheard, of course. But when we are… negotiating?’ He furled her fan and handed it back while he refilled their glasses.

      ‘Negotiating?’ There was a caress in the way he said the word, as though they were coming to terms about something far more intimate. Maude swallowed wine without noticing, then started as Eden took the fan again, his fin gertips brushing the lemon kid glove that sheathed her hand so tightly.

      ‘But yes. We have, after all, a business relationship, do we not?’

      ‘Of course.’ She smiled brightly, refusing to let him see how he was disturbing her. But of course, how could he guess how deep her feelings ran? ‘If we are negotiating, then I must state my terms. You may call me Maude and I will call you Eden, in private, if you both take some of the men and join our committee.’

      ‘Very well. You do not ask me to take Harriet Golding back?’

      ‘I assumed that to ask you to help her would be a lost cause.’ Vaguely she was aware that the noise level in