The Earl's Irresistible Challenge. Lara Temple

happen if that Catte Street doxy discovers she is being duped by this young woman during her occultism session? Not a pretty scene. Might sit heavily on what remains of your conscience.’

      ‘Be damned to you, Chase.’

      ‘Undoubtedly.’

      ‘All the more reason to bundle her off home.’

      ‘Perhaps.’

      ‘It is a waste of time.’

      ‘Well, you have time to waste if you aren’t needed in St Petersburg until next month. Unless you wish to go early and enjoy the Russian winter to the hilt? Bonaparte tried that, not very successfully.’

      ‘No, I damn well don’t. I was hoping you would have some useful thoughts on defusing this loose cannon.’

      ‘I do. Go oversee your budding occultist and keep the Sinclair name off the dunghill where is appears to enjoy residing all too often. Meanwhile I will go to the Hall and see Sam before I must leave London again.’ He stood, straightening his waistcoat and looking around with a sigh. ‘Do you know, I am of two minds about your having allowed the Mausoleum to descend into such bare silence. It doesn’t do your hedonistic reputation credit, you know. You could hire an acting troupe to stage an orgy or two and leave the windows open on to the square.’

      ‘No, thank you. Besides, the lack of information about what occurs here only encourages the creative minds of the ton. God forbid I should confuse them with something as mundane as reality.’

      ‘That is true, especially since you provide them more than enough material with your activities in foreign lands. Speaking of providing material, will you join me at the club tonight?’

      ‘I cannot, it is Wednesday. Almack’s calls.’

      For a moment Chase stared at him in shock before bursting into laughter.

      ‘Good God, for a moment I thought you were serious. Don’t scare me like that. If you ever turn respectable, the world might develop expectations of me as well and if there is one thing I find more abhorrent than Almack’s, it is expectations.’

       Chapter Four

      ‘What the devil?’

      Olivia dropped the tablecloth she was holding and ran for the study door. It was probably not a smart thing to do. The sound of a man cursing in what should be an empty house would usually be taken as a good sign to run in the opposite direction. But Olivia recognised the voice and, perhaps foolishly, she wasn’t in the least afraid. Alert, but not afraid.

      She stopped in the doorway. Lord Sinclair was standing, hands on hips, inspecting her Wall of Conjecture.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, tucking a straggling curl behind her ear. It was absurd to wish she was wearing something more presentable than a simple muslin round dress. He was in riding clothes but he possessed the same casual elegance in his buckskins and dark blue riding coat as he had on both previous occasions. Again she was struck by the sheer power of his face and frame. He looked utterly out of place in her parlour. In her world.

      ‘What the...what are all these?’ he demanded and she moved a little more deeply into the room despite her discomfort.

      ‘Those are lists.’

      ‘I can see that. I’ve just never seen so many on a wall. How do you manage to make them stay there?’

      ‘I had felt pasted on the wall over a layer of corkwood and I use sewing pins to secure them. When I tried laying them out on the floor they kept scattering. How did you enter?’

      ‘And the strings? It looks like a mad spider is attempting to build its web here.’

      ‘That is how I remember what connects with what. It helps me think.’

      ‘If your mind looks anything like this wall, heaven help you.’

      ‘Did you come here to insult me or was there some other purpose to breaking into my house?’

      ‘I didn’t break, I entered through the area door. You really should have a locksmith install something more reliable than those ancient locks, you know. Your guest is arriving at five o’clock, you said?’ He proceeded along the wall and she resisted the urge to tear down her lists before he could read them. She would only look ridiculous and, besides, she wanted him to see them. If he had been intrigued enough to come today, perhaps this would snare him further.

      ‘Yes. I was preparing the room for her. Are you here to stop me?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Why are you here, then?’

      ‘Curiosity. I’ve never attended an occultist’s meeting. I am expanding my horizons.’

      He reached the part of the wall dedicated to his father and she tensed, waiting. It was emptier than Henry Payton’s side, but even the meagre amount of information about his death Mercer uncovered for her was likely to anger him. But he said nothing and after a moment he moved towards the desk.

      ‘More lists? Famous occultists... Who is Madame Bulgari?’

      ‘I am. Gypsy Sue helped me think of the name, she said people are impressed by foreign airs, but the rest I gathered from books.’

      He took a book from the desk, his brows rising as he flipped through the pages. ‘Communication with the Other Side. Wasn’t Baron Lyttelton a Member of Parliament?’

      ‘I have no idea. Please don’t lose my place.’

      ‘Pericles? Christina, Queen of Sweden? A select grouping.’ He tossed the book down and took another. ‘And what is this tome about? The Forbidden Secrets of Occultism by Madame Volgatskaya? That sounds a little more entertaining, though Madame Vulgar would be more appropriate by all the gilt on this binding. I am beginning to think Madame Bulgari an excellent choice of moniker.’

      She plucked the book from his hands. ‘If you came to poke fun at me, you may leave. I have work to do.’

      ‘Work?’

      She didn’t wait to see if he would follow. He might be as flippant as he liked, but she knew the pitfalls of curiosity too well not to recognise a fellow sufferer of that malady.

      Back in the parlour she drew closed the thick velvet curtains, casting the room into a gloom that would be near absolute by late afternoon when Marcia Pendle arrived. The candles and incense were prepared and she lit the fire so it would calm by the time the magic began. She needed just a hint of light and enough heat to spread the scents Gypsy Sue recommended. She marked the item on her list and continued: tinderboxes, brandy...

      ‘I don’t know which room is more disturbing, this parlour or your spider’s lair of a study. The study by a narrow margin, I think,’ he commented behind her.

      ‘Why is that?’

      ‘Because this is clearly for show, that room is in earnest.’

      She shrugged. Votive candles. Bergamot oil. Present.

      ‘Did the otherworldly Mrs Volgatskaya inspire this decor? What are these scarves for? Do you perform a dance?’

      ‘No, I bind unwary visitors and sacrifice them to the dark lords.’

      ‘No, thank you. I’ve never had to resort to binding anyone to get what I want, certainly not women.’

      She looked up from her list, her mouth curving into a smile despite her attempts to keep it prim.

      ‘You are rather vain, aren’t you, Lord Sinclair?’

      He slid a scarf through his hands, his fingers skimming the shimmering fabric absently and his smile answering hers.

      ‘Am I? I wouldn’t