Mistress to the Marquis. Margaret McPhee

is not usually one of your haunts.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘All those débutantes and fierce matrons intent on landing eligible husbands for their daughters. Is Devlin finally on the hunt for a bride?’

      ‘I am not going with Devlin, but with Linwood.’ Viscount Linwood, who almost six months ago had married Alice’s best friend and London’s most celebrated actress, Venetia Fox.

      And he felt the withdrawal of her body and saw in her face that she realised the truth even before he said the words he did not want to say, ‘We need to talk, Alice. There is something I have to tell you.’

       Chapter Three

      Razeby fixed his drawers and breeches into place before sitting up in the bed. Leaning his spine against the massive carved-oak headboard, he stretched his long still-booted legs out before him over the counterpane.

      Alice felt the rush of cold air fill the space where he had been. She shivered at its icy touch as she pulled the sheet to cover her nakedness and sat up next to him, leaning back to rest against the headboard in the same manner.

      And even though he moved his hand to cover hers, threading their fingers together, her stomach dipped and a cold draught moved across her heart. She waited, knowing what Razeby was going to say and willing with all her heart and mind and soul that it would turn out to be something different, that later she would laugh over this foolish pound of her heart and tight fear in her throat.

      ‘You best get on and tell me then.’ She smiled as if dread were not trickling like ice through her veins.

      ‘I have a duty, Alice, to my title, to my estates and the people upon them. A duty to safeguard them for future generations. And part of that duty is to marry and produce an heir. I was raised for that purpose. I must produce a son who will do the same. I must marry.’

      ‘Of course you must.’ She had always known it, they both had. But he would marry at some distant time in the future, not now, not when what they had together was still so fresh and vital. ‘But you’re young enough yet. Surely you don’t need to step upon that path right now?’

      ‘I’ll be thirty in six months’ time.’ He glanced away and raked a hand through his hair.

      ‘What’s the significance of thirty? Is there some kind of stipulation that you have to be married and breeding an heir by then?’

      A shadow moved in his eyes as he glanced away. ‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘Atholl will be coming home on a stretcher. It could too easily have been a coffin.’

      ‘Your cousin who got shot in battle.’

      ‘As it stands he is my heir, Alice.’

      ‘I thought he was on the mend.’

      ‘He is. Now. He very nearly was not. What happened to Atholl… it has forced me to reconsider things. I have deferred my duty for too long. I can defer it no longer. I have to find a bride for Razeby.’

      Their fingers still lay entwined together. Neither of them had moved, both just sat leaning back against the headboard of their bed, as if this was just an ordinary conversation, one of the thousands they had had before, when it was anything other. She sat motionless, feigning relaxation, pretending that she was not shocked and reeling from his words.

      ‘So is this you giving me my congé?’ She smiled with the incredulity of it, half-expecting him to deny it, to tell her they could still go on as before. On the ivory of the bedcover she could see where the dust of his riding boots had smudged dark.

      But he made no denial. ‘I am sorry, Alice.’

      She slipped her fingers from his. Looked round at him, but he stared straight ahead, as if seeing into the distance, and did not meet her eyes.

      Not five minutes ago they had been making love, their breaths and bodies and hearts merged as one in that ultimate act of intimacy. Now he was sitting there dismissing her. It felt like she had just been punched in the stomach.

      She glanced down at the diamond bracelet that glittered as beautiful as a night sky full of stars. ‘That’s why you bought me the bracelet!’ She laughed a mirthless laugh. ‘As a pay off.’

      The silence hissed.

      Her fingers unfastened the latch and slipped it from her wrist. The diamonds sparkled and cast shimmering lights against the shadowed walls as she let it fall on to the pale counterpane.

      She could not think straight. Her thoughts swayed and staggered as she struggled to understand. ‘You were going to tell me the other day, weren’t you? That’s why you came round unexpectedly.’

      Again he did not deny it.

      She gave an ironic laugh and shook her head.

      His eyes were dark and serious.

      The tide of emotion threatened to engulf her. She turned her face away, barely able to conceal her anger and incredulity, and the splintering unbelievable hurt. How could she have been so blind? Six months of thinking that everything was happy and good and wonderful. And believing that he had felt the same. She could barely take it in that he was telling her it was over.

      ‘You can stay here as long it takes to find other lodgings. There is no rush to leave.’

      ‘How kind of you.’

      He ignored the irony. ‘I will, of course, make a settlement of money on you.’

      ‘I don’t want your money, Razeby.’

      ‘It is part of our contract.’

      ‘Oh, so it is.’ She thought of the piece of paper with its fancy black writing, secure and tied neat within its green ribbon. ‘How could I have forgotten?’

      The silence seemed to pulsate between them. There were so many thoughts running through her head, so many words crowding for release upon her tongue. She closed her mouth firmly to prevent their escape.

      Climbing from the bed, she grabbed an old dressing gown from where it hung over the back of a chair, pulling it on and tying the belt around her waist as she walked to stand by the window and stare down on to the lamp-lit street below. In the continuing silence she watched the occasional group walking along the pavements. Theatre goers who had gone elsewhere after a late show. Women who, despite the quality of their dress, were ladies of the night, plying their trade; Alice could pick them out with an expert eye—like could always recognise like. A carriage passed and then a gentleman on a horse.

      She heard him move and glanced round to see him get to his feet, all six feet of him, with his tight dark breeches and his naked chest, and that ruggedly handsome face. And, despite what he had just told her, her traitorous body reacted with the usual rush of desire for him.

      ‘Arrangements like ours are not meant to last,

      Alice.’

      ‘They’re not,’ she agreed.

      ‘I have to do my duty, Alice.’ His mouth, which had always been so warm and smiling, was unhappy and determined, the expression in his eyes unreadable.

      Her heart was beating harder than a horse at full gallop. ‘Maybe you should have considered your duty six months ago.’ When he had pursued her while the play in which she and Venetia had starred together took London by storm. When he had wooed her and swept her off her feet and made her his mistress within weeks of their meeting.

      ‘Maybe I should have,’ he said.

      His quiet admission stripped her raw.

      They stared at one another. He was grim-faced, serious in a way she had never seen him before.

      ‘For what it is worth, I really am sorry, Alice.’

      ‘So you said.’

      He swallowed. ‘Thank you for everything.’ His eyes clung to hers. He took a step towards her, reached a hand as if