From London With Love: Disgrace and Desire / The Captain and the Wallflower. Lyn Stone

yes.’ She gave her head a tiny shake as his words put her frivolous thoughts to flight. She must be serious now. ‘Of course—you wrote to me. I am sorry; I did not recognise your name at first. You were with him when he died.’ Her pleasure drained away. Instead of the laughter and chatter of a London drawing room she imagined the battlefield as Tony had described it to her, the pounding thunder of artillery, the shouts and screams of the soldiers. So much pain and violence.

      ‘My lady? I beg your pardon, I did not mean to arouse unpleasant memories.’

      ‘It would be unpardonable for any of us to forget, sir.’ She fixed her eyes upon him. ‘Why did you not tell me this last night?’

      The major hesitated, then gave a rueful grin, dispelling his rather disapproving look and making him look suddenly much younger.

      ‘Last night I was taken by surprise. Our encounter was…unusual. I did not want to ruin the moment.’

      So she had not dreamed it! He had felt it, too. Eloise found herself unable to look away as she recalled her dance with a stranger. Yes, it had been special, and slightly alarming. She had never felt such an attraction before. But she must be on her guard, she could not afford to lose her head. The major was speaking again and she twisted her hands together, trying to concentrate.

      ‘Your husband gave me a commission, to deliver to you certain items. I would like your permission to call, if I may?’

      ‘What? Oh, yes, yes, of course, Major.’

      ‘Thank you. Shall we say tomorrow morning, at ten, or is that too early?’ She gazed up at him, fascinated by the laughter lines around his mouth, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He was smiling at her now and she thought how wonderful it would be to stand with him thus all evening, letting his voice drift over her like a soft summer breeze…‘So, madam, shall we say ten?’

      She blinked. ‘Um…yes. I mean, ten o’clock tomorrow morning. You have my direction—Dover Street.’ She swallowed. What was happening to her? She was not at all sure that she liked being so out of control. He was very striking, to be sure, but she had met many gentlemen equally good looking, so she did not think it could be his lean, handsome face that caused her emotions to riot. She needed to put a little distance between them so that she could consider these new and alarming sensations dispassionately.

      Eloise dragged her mind back to what she had been doing before Mrs Renwick had brought the major to meet her. Oh, yes. She had come in search of Lord Berrow. It was important; she must put duty before pleasure.

      ‘Now the formalities are over,’ Major Clifton was saying, ‘may I—?’

      She interrupted him as she spotted her quarry.

      ‘I beg your pardon, but I cannot talk now.’

      ‘Of course.’ He stood back. ‘Perhaps later…?’

      ‘Yes, perhaps.’ She summoned up her dazzling society smile but directed it at his neckcloth, afraid that if she met his eyes again her resolve would weaken. ‘Excuse me.’

      She forced herself to walk away from him, hoping that his magnetism would fade if she put some space between them. Resolutely she fixed her eyes on the jovial-looking gentleman in a grey wig making his way towards the music room.

      ‘Good evening, Lord Berrow.’

      The Earl turned his pale, slightly protuberant eyes towards her.

      ‘Lady Allyngham!’ he smiled and took her hand. ‘My dear, you are looking positively radiant!’ He hesitated. ‘But you have been in mourning. My lady wife sent you our condolences, did she not?’

      She thought of the neat little letter she had received after Tony’s death, so obviously composed and written by a clerk.

      ‘You did, my lord, thank you. I was touched by your concern.’

      He harrumphed and nodded.

      ‘Yes, well, least we could do, m’dear! Sad business. We lost so many fine men at Waterloo, did we not? But that’s all in the past now, and here you are, looking more beautiful than ever!’

      ‘I have been hoping to meet up with you, my lord.’

      ‘Have you now?’ He beamed at her. ‘Been very busy—government business.’ He puffed out his chest, swelling with self-importance. ‘Member of the Cabinet, you know.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ said Eloise. ‘I wanted to talk to you—that is, my lawyer has written several times now, about the land at Ainsley Wood.’

      ‘Has he? Well, no need to worry ourselves about that, m’dear. My steward is an excellent man. He will deal with everything.’

      ‘Actually, he will not,’ she replied, determined not to be put off. ‘He writes that he has no authority to sell…’

      Lord Berrow waved his hand.

      ‘Yes, yes, we can discuss that later.’ He took her arm. ‘Come and sit with me, my dear, and we can listen to the soprano our hostess has brought in. She’s not quite Catalini, but I understand she is very good.’

      Eloise realised it would be useless to press her case further at that moment. With a smile she allowed the Earl to guide her to the gilded chairs set out for the guests. Having found Lord Berrow, she was determined she would not leave him now until she had explained to him why she needed to purchase Ainsley Wood.

      Jack leaned against the wall and watched Lady Allyngham. The tug of attraction was just as strong as it had been the night before. She felt it too, he was sure, but she had not tried to flirt with him. Quite the contrary, she had seemed eager to get away. He observed her now as she took Lord Berrow’s arm, smiling, turning her head to listen to the man as if he were the most interesting person she had ever met. No wonder all the gentlemen were enraptured. Alex Mortimer was on the far side of the room. He, too, was watching Lady Allyngham as she walked off with the Earl and did not seem the least perturbed. If he really was her lover then he must feel very sure of himself to allow her such freedom. Jack frowned. It demeaned Allyngham’s memory to have his widow flaunting herself in town in this way. But she had been discomposed when Jack had mentioned her husband, so perhaps she did have a conscience after all. He gave himself a mental shake. Enough of this: it was no business of his how Tony’s widow behaved.

      Suddenly the noise and the chatter was grating on his nerves and he decided to leave. Once he had called at Dover Street tomorrow morning his mission would be complete and he need not see Eloise Allyngham again.

       Chapter Two

      Eloise sipped at her morning chocolate. Last night had not gone quite as planned. Lord Berrow had resolutely refused to discuss selling the land at Ainsley Wood. Despite all her efforts to charm the Earl the best she had achieved was his promise that he would talk to her when he was not quite so busy. She had had to be content with that, and when she left the Earl she had fallen into the clutches of Sir Ronald Deforge. She felt a certain sympathy for Sir Ronald. She knew him to be a widower and she thought perhaps he was lonely, but Sir Ronald with his pomaded hair and oily manner was all smug complacency, and less than twenty minutes in his company had her yawning behind her fan. Thankfully Alex rescued her and carried her off to supper before she had grown too desperate. And she had suffered another disappointment: Major Clifton had left early. Not that that mattered, she told herself, for he was calling upon her at ten o’clock.

      It was her habit to breakfast early, no matter how late she had been out. While she nibbled at her freshly baked bread she looked through the morning’s post, putting aside the numerous invitations and letters to be answered and reading carefully the daily report from her steward at Allyngham. This morning there was one note at the bottom of the pile that caught her attention. She did not recognise the writing, and there was no hint of the sender. She put down her coffee cup and broke the seal.

      The