.

Our clientele prefer to remain at home with their families, you see. My little cocottes work hard all week. One must allow them the release of a bit of naughty mischief on Sundays.” She led him up the red-carpeted grand staircase to the first chamber on the left and knocked on the door.

      “Come,” a deep male voice said as she opened the door. “Thank you, Madame Z. You may leave us. Come in Darlington. Have we met before? I can’t recall, for I have an atrocious memory. Shocking, but there it is.”

      Desmond Bannington had dark hair streaked with hints of the sun and blue eyes the color of the sea. His lordship lounged on a large bed in the middle of the room. He wore nothing save loose black silk pantaloons, but the women in his bed wore nothing at all. His head reclined on the breasts of a young girl whose fingers played with his long curls. Another was trimming his nails while a third massaged his feet. Embarrassed, Darlington allowed his gaze to wander over his lordship’s opulent surroundings, his eyes fixing everywhere but on the bed.

      The chamber was large, its walls lined in red silk. The floors were covered with a carpet of Turkish design. The ceiling revealed a scene filled with curvaceous women engaged in sensual couplings, and over the bed itself, a mirror the length and width of the bed was prominent. Opposite the headboard there stood a large desk and chair. Beyond that, a huge stone fireplace faced the footboard, two comfortable chairs on either side, a round table between them. A settee facing the fireplace completed the sitting area.

      “What do you think of my home, Darlington?” asked Bannington, much amused by the scandalized expression on the face of his visitor. “I prefer to live here, you know. Meets all my needs most conveniently.”

      “Handsome surroundings, but as marquis—”

      “Marquis? Why do you address me thus? I am Lord Bannington. I have had no other name for these past twelve years.”

      “So I have been informed, my lord.”

      “Why have you come? Who sent you?”

      “I must insist upon speaking with you alone, your lordship.”

      “Pay no attention to my playmates. None of them understand the English tongue. What is it you want of me?”

      “My mission is too sensitive. Privacy is essential, your lordship.”

      A condescending grin met Darlington’s plea. “As bad as all that, eh?” He turned to his companions. “All right, my lovelies. Party’s over.” He kissed each one in turn. “Amelié. Babette. Colette. Be off with you, my delectable ABCs. I’ll send for you later,” he said, lightly patting each one on the derrière after each kissed him adieu.

      When the giggling trio put on their robes and danced out the door, Waverley said, “You shall join me for dinner, old chap. The food’s excellent, and I am starving.” He rang and at once a small brown man appeared as if from nowhere. He wore a turban, a yellow satin coat, black tights and shoes with turned-up toes.

      “Dinner for two, Rabu. Tell Madame Z we should like two bottles of her best wine and some French brandy.”

      “Yes, mastah!” As he bowed his head, he almost touched the tips of his shoes.

      “You seem shocked, Darlington. This is my valet Rabu. I lived in India for years, you see. The little devil adopted me there and I cannot rid myself of him no matter how hard I try. One must be gracious in defeat, mustn’t one?” He rose from his bed as he spoke, donned a dressing gown and slid his feet into slippers.

      “Le Chabanais is the finest bordello in Paris, you know, which is why I choose to live here. It is well known for its cuisine, thanks to Madame Z’s outstanding chef. Let us sit by the fire, sir. You can tell me your business after we finish our dinner.” Waverley sprawled in a seat opposite Darlington and took some snuff from an ornate box resting on the small table beside his chair.

      In spite of himself, Darlington enjoyed every bit of the French cuisine, the delicious food a rare treat for him. The first course was a delicate turtle soup. The second was a ragout of beef, which proved to be succulent. The meal ended with a chocolate soufflé that defied description. When Rabu cleared the last of the dirty dishes, he set the brandy on the table along with a bowl of nuts and some fruit.

      “Leave us,” said Bannington, dismissing his valet with a wave of his hand. He waited for Rabu to disappear through a side door. “We are alone now, sir. What brings you to Paris?”

      “I have been searching for you for almost a year, your lordship. I am an envoy from the home office, sent to find you.”

      “Really? What can the home office possibly want with an expatriate like me?”

      Ignoring this for the moment, Darlington said, a hint of frustration in his tone, “I made my way to India to seek you, but you had already left that country.”

      “Ah, India. I lived in Calcutta for ten years. It is where I made my fortune, more to luck than to business acumen, I might add.”

      “You led me a merry chase all over Europe, my lord. My search led me to Greece, Italy, and Spain, all to no avail.”

      His host’s brow furrowed. “Come to the point, Darlington. Why were you sent to seek me out?”

      “Prince George, our Regent, most urgently requests your return to England, my lord.”

      Waverley was amused by the young man’s pompous turn of phrase, but he ignored it. “The Regent? How is this?”

      “The Third Marquis of Waverley, your father, passed away a year ago. His Majesty is anxious for you to return to take his place.”

      Bannington’s eyes widened. “Then I am the Fourth Marquis of Waverley?” He laughed, a sound tinged with resentment.

      “Sir?”

      “If my father knew I was being summoned home to England to take his place, he would rise from his grave to protest, for there was no love lost between us. This is the first communication I’ve had from him since he disowned me twelve years ago. Inform Prince George that I renounce my right to the marquisate. I have no reason to return, for I have fashioned a life in Paris that suits me well. I have many friends here, and none in England. Besides, there is no longer anyone alive at Waverley Castle now that my father is dead.” Now that my father is dead, there is no longer any opportunity for reconciliation, though God knows I tried more than once during my long exile.

      “You mistake, my lord. Your grandmother is alive. Her ladyship lives at Waverley Castle.”

      Thunderstruck by this news, Bannington turned pale. “My grandmother is still alive? You can’t be serious. I thought she died years ago.”

      “No, my lord. Your grandmother is eighty years old and very much alive.”

      “Is she being well cared for?”

      “I can’t answer that question, my lord. Six months ago, distant cousins took up residence at Waverley, to care for your grandmother.”

      “Their names?”

      “Mrs. Jennie Trasker and her son Harry.”

      “Never heard of them. How do you come by all this information, Darlington?”

      “My information comes from the intelligence division of the home office. It is entirely reliable, though not public knowledge, my lord. I must urge you to reconsider and accept the marquisate, for the sake of England if not for your grandmother. If you do not, Harry Trasker is next in line. My information is that he is ill equipped to take your father’s place.”

      Bannington stared into the embers in the fireplace as if they held the answer for him. Grandmother alive? Does she still love the lad I once was or did my unforgiving father forbid her to communicate with me? All these years I thought I had no family. Now I have a grandmother and two cousins. I must return, if only for her sake. A gamble, to be sure, but no worse than the risks I’ve been forced to take all my life. Waverley Castle. I loved it well once. Aloud he said, “If I decide to return, what then?”