The Wicked Baron. Sarah Mallory

      ‘It is. My aunt and uncle have been kind enough to sponsor me.’ Carlotta sighed. ‘They are very good, but it is all so new and there is so much to remember: I am in constant dread that I shall embarrass them!’

      Miss Price was quick to disclaim, ‘No, no, that could not be—you always look so calm and at ease.’

      ‘Thank you, but I am in a perpetual quake, I assure you, Miss Price.’

      ‘Do, please, call me Julia.’

      ‘Very well, if you will call me Carlotta.’

      ‘That is a very pretty name.’

      ‘Thank you. It is—’ Carlotta became aware of someone approaching and broke off, turning to see Viscount Fairbridge at her side, his pale blue eyes fixed upon Julia. He bowed.

      ‘Miss Price, you p-promised me the next dance, I think…that is, if I am not interrupting…’

      Carlotta smiled at him. ‘Pray, my lord, do take your partner.’

      ‘You shall not object if I leave you?’ asked Julia, looking anxious.

      ‘Not at all. Off you go and enjoy yourself.’

      Carlotta stepped back, smiling, as Julia put her fingers on Lord Fairbridge’s sleeve for him to lead her away. Too late did she see Lord Darvell standing behind the viscount’s lanky form. They were only feet apart. He checked as he saw her, a slight frown in his eyes. He was already turning away when their host’s jovial voice boomed out.

      ‘Now, now, how fortunate is this, my lord!’ Mr Price put his hand on Darvell’s arm. ‘The next set is forming and here is Miss Rivington without a partner.’

      Mortification swept over Carlotta. A glance at Lord Darvell showed her that he felt very much as she did, and for a brief moment she wondered if he would walk off, but Mr Price was clapping him on the shoulder, crying, ‘Well, go to it, man!’

      Carlotta opened her mouth to protest, but she could not speak. Lord Darvell stepped forward, stony-faced. He held out his hand.

      ‘Will you do me the honour, Miss Rivington?’

      There was no escape. To refuse would be to embarrass them all. Tentatively she put her fingers on his sleeve.

      ‘You are too good, my lord.’

      Damnation. Luke swore under his breath. However much he tried to avoid Carlotta, it seemed she forced herself upon his notice. No, he must be honest with himself, it was not her fault. He remembered his efforts at Malberry Court, when he had realised that he was in danger of falling in love with the bewitching little sprite in her shirt and breeches. He had done his best then to keep away from her, finishing his business with the clerk of works late one afternoon and planning to set off for Darvell Manor the following morning without returning to the Court. But when he left Kemble’s lodge he found the heavy storm clouds had brought an early dusk and lightning was already splitting the sky. He saw the faint glow flickering from the windows of the house and rushed in, expecting to find flames licking at the newly painted walls. Instead he had found Carlotta.

      ‘What the devil are you doing in here?’

      His voice, edged with irritation, vibrated against the empty walls of the drawing room.

      ‘I might ask you the same, sir, when you have not been near the house for days.’

      Heaven and earth, the chit was challenging him!

      ‘I have been at the lodge with Kemble, discussing plans for moving in the furniture. I saw the light in the windows as I was about to leave and came up to see what was amiss.’

      ‘I am sorry, then, if you thought it was intruders.’

      ‘I was more concerned that the lightning had started a fire. Why are you not at home?’ he barked the question at her, frowning.

      ‘I wanted to have one last look at my father’s work. I beg your pardon; I never meant to disturb anyone. I will go now.’

      ‘Oh, no, you will not.’

      She blinked.

      He took off his hat and shook it, sending off tiny droplets of water that sparkled in the candlelight. ‘I mean the storm is too violent. It is not safe.’

      ‘Oh.’

      That one little word, spoken so softly, was his undoing. His heart went out to her; she looked so vulnerable, holding aloft the candlestick with one shaking hand. He said gently, ‘You need not worry, you are perfectly safe here.’ He stepped forward and took the candlestick from her. ‘Let us look at your father’s work together.’

      They wandered through the empty rooms until they found themselves in the salon, which occupied one end of the house. There was only one painted panel, set between the two marble fireplaces. The other three walls were taken up with long windows, designed to allow in maximum light, although now they only gleamed blackly as the rain spattered against the glass. Luke crossed the room, raising the candles higher as he studied the mural.

      ‘Your father is a great artist, Carlotta. This is really very good.’

      ‘Thank you. May I show you something?’ She took his arm and led him to the far corner of the panel. ‘There,’ she pointed. ‘Look closely at the decoration on the lady’s sandal.’

      He peered closer. ‘A tiny snail.’

      ‘Yes, a lumaca’. She laughed. ‘It sounds so much prettier in Italian. It is Papa’s signature. He does not tell many people, but it is very important to him. When he was in Rome he would often paint copies of the great masters for the foreign visitors to take home and put in their grand houses. He insisted that as long as he signed them then there was no harm in it; he was not trying to trick anyone.’

      ‘I am honoured you should share it with me.’

      He looked down at her and Carlotta smiled back at him briefly before she looked away, suddenly shy and awkward. As if to distract him, she pointed up at the chandeliers.

      ‘When all those candles are alight this room will glow. Can you imagine how elegant it will look, with all the ladies in their finest gowns?’ She sighed. ‘I wish I could see it.’

      ‘Perhaps you will.’

      She laughed. ‘Perhaps! I will creep up to the windows and press my nose against the glass one night.’

      The thought made him angry. ‘That is not what I meant,’ he growled. ‘You should be in here, dancing with all the other young ladies.’

      ‘Do not frown, sir. I do not want you to pity me.’

      ‘No, of course not, but I am determined you shall dance here.’ He put down the candlestick and opened his arms to her. ‘Come.’

      ‘You are nonsensical!’ She laughed, but did not resist as he took her hand and began to lead her around the room, humming a tune.

      ‘Do you waltz, Miss Durini?’

      ‘No, sir. I have never learned.’

      ‘Well, the gentleman holds the lady like this.’ He drew her towards him, pushed her cloak off her shoulders until it hung like a train behind her and slid one hand beneath it to rest on her back. Immediately her body tensed. A tremor ran through him as her breasts pressed again him, separated from his skin by only a few thin layers of silk and linen.

      ‘I have been told the waltz is considered by some to be improper,’ she remarked. ‘It certainly feels very daring, to be standing so close.’

      She looked up at him, smiling shyly, and suddenly he could not breathe.

      ‘Well, sir, what next?’

      ‘This.’

      He placed his fingers beneath her chin, tilted up her face and kissed her, very gently. She gave a faint sigh when he