A Noble Man. Anne Ashley

too am in no hurry to relinquish my single state either, and when I do it will never be to a member of the Ton.”

      He thought for a moment that she couldn’t possibly be serious, that she might well be indulging in some wicked jest. Then he recalled being informed earlier in the evening that Lord Vale’s suit had not prospered. The gentleman himself was not present tonight to confirm this or not, though whether his absence stemmed from pique at having been rejected, or having a prior engagement, was anyone’s guess.

      “You see, Lord Nicholas, men of wealth and rank hold no appeal for me.” Sophia decided that it could only aid her cause to spread this about. “I am determined to marry a worthy man, no matter how lowly his station in life.”

      “A footman, rather than a marquis; a groom rather than a duke,” he suggested, half-joking. “I rather think your father will have a thing or two to say about that, Lady Sophia.”

      “Oh, he already has, believe me,” she didn’t hesitate to disclose, “but his threat to disinherit me is certainly no deterrent.”

      Still doubtful whether to believe her or not, he returned her to her pretty friend’s side once the dance came to an end, and promptly moved away in order to sample some of the excellent refreshments being served that evening. He had only just relieved a footman of a glass of champagne when he received a tap on the shoulder, and heard an imperious voice enquire, “Well, Risely, is what I’ve learned true or not?”

      He turned to discover that most feared patroness of Almack’s regarding him with haughtily raised brows. Had it been anyone else he might have been tempted not to answer, but one ignored Sally Jersey at one’s peril. “Couldn’t say for certain, ma’am, one way or t’other. Shouldn’t imagine so, though, would you? The Earl of Yardley seems dashed too fond of his daughter to disinherit her.”

      She dismissed this with a wave of one slender hand. “I’m not talking about that piece of utter nonsense. I really don’t know how these foolish rumours get started. No, it was to Sharnbrook I was referring. I ran into your sister the other day, paying one of her rare visits to town, and she mentioned that nothing had been heard from your brother in months.”

      “Oh, aye, that’s right enough,” he confirmed, betraying what some might consider a callous lack of concern. “We received a letter from him six months ago, after he had learned of our father’s death, stating his intention of returning to this country before the end of the year. Can only imagine that something must have detained him out there in Jamaica.”

      “Well, you may tell him from me, when he does return, that he’s not to hide himself away in that magnificent ancestral home of his. We hostesses need him here in London. Such a matrimonial prize! Why, all the young ladies will be eager to capture his interest.”

      “Oh, no—not quite all,” he murmured, catching sight of a raven-haired beauty being led once again on to the dance floor.

      Chapter Two

      Lord Nicholas Risely was among the first guests to leave the ball. He certainly managed to raise a few startled brows when he took his gracious leave of the host and hostess, for he had gained the reputation, since entering society two years before, of being a very sociable young man whose energy seemed boundless. Rarely did he seek the comfort of his bed much before three in the morning, once the social rounds had begun. Tonight, however, he seemed to have lost his desire for company, enjoyable though the Yardley ball had been.

      Without waiting for a servant to find him a hackney carriage, he stepped outside into the cool night air and, heedless of any possible footpad lurking in this fashionable part of the town, walked briskly in the direction of his small but comfortable London home.

      Although he had managed to appear sublimely unconcerned at the time, his short conversation with Lady Jersey had renewed those feelings of disquiet over his brother’s safety which had plagued him increasingly during these past weeks. In the last letter sent from Jamaica, Benedict had clearly stated his intention of returning to the land of his birth some time during the autumn. That was almost six months ago, and nothing had been heard from him since.

      It was quite possible, of course, that he had been forced to change his plans and had delayed his departure. It was equally possible that a letter informing his family of his revised plans had gone astray. Nevertheless Nicholas could not wholly dismiss the possibility, no matter how hard he tried, that some accident had befallen the Seventh Duke of Sharnbrook.

      Long sea voyages were dangerous undertakings at the best of times, and more so during these past troubled years. Britain’s splendid navy might be master of the seas, but those gallant sailors could not guard every stretch of water, and an attack from a French vessel was an ever-present danger. More disturbing still was the memory of those vicious gales which had wreaked havoc along the coast during the winter months, whipping the seas into a frenzy and causing more than one vessel to come to grief. The Atlantic was a vast ocean; any sailing ship foundering out there miles from land might not be reported missing for some considerable time.

      He tried not to dwell on this dreadful possibility as he arrived back at his house. Not only had he a sincere regard for the brother he had not seen for more than half a decade, but he had no desire whatsoever to step into Benedict’s shoes as head of the family. He was more than content with his carefree bachelor existence, and although he didn’t consider himself to be in the least light-minded, he recoiled at the mere thought of having to accept responsibility for the running of the family’s vast estate in Hampshire, not to mention the other sizeable properties dotted about the land.

      Extracting the key from his pocket, he let himself inside the house. As he was never very sure of precisely when he would be returning home, he never encouraged his worthy factotum to wait up for him, and was faintly surprised to discover his butler-cum-valet dozing in the comfortable leather-bound chair in the hall.

      “What’s all this, Figgins? Why aren’t you abed, man?” he demanded, as the servant awoke with a start at the closing of the door.

      Having been in service most of his life, Figgins was quite accustomed to the ways of the nobility, and was not in the least offended by his young master’s rather impatient tone.

      Although he had always considered himself to be a very superior valet, he had not been averse, after his previous master had passed away, to accepting a position as general factotum in this small but fashionable household. He had worked for Lord Nicholas for the past two years, and could say with a clear conscience that not once had he ever committed the least solecism—never until tonight.

      Rising to his feet, he cast a faintly concerned look in the direction of the parlour. “I felt it my duty, sir, in the—er—circumstances, to await your return in order to apprise you.”

      “Apprise me of what, may I ask?” Nicholas prompted when his very correct manservant cast a further glance in the direction of the parlour’s closed door.

      “Of the fact, sir, that there is someone else awaiting your return.”

      Nicholas, having by this time divested himself of his outdoor garments, gave his servant his full attention. It was by no means unusual for him to return home in the early hours to discover one of his many friends sound asleep on the couch in the parlour, so he was at a loss to understand why Figgins should be making such an issue of the fact.

      “Well, who is it? Harry Harmond?”

      “No, sir. It is someone I’ve certainly never seen before.” Figgins, who rarely displayed the least emotion, permitted himself a thin smile of satisfaction. “I have always prided myself on being an excellent judge of character, able to pinpoint very accurately a person’s station in life. And I certainly know an encroaching individual when I see one.” His smile disappeared. “But I am forced to admit that the person who called shortly after you had left the house, and who is now comfortably ensconced in the parlour, has me well and truly puzzled. His appearance leaves—er—much to be desired, as you might say, but his speech and manners are those of an undoubted gentleman. I have therefore formed the opinion,