The Mysterious Lord Millcroft. Virginia Heath

out of mind. To him you no longer exist. You ceased to exist the day he inherited his title. Besides, he left town yesterday and is not expected back until September. I pride myself in foreseeing every potential complication, Leatham. You know that. Many of the house staff have been replaced with some of your own men as I knew you’d want them close by. I’ve even made Gray your valet.’

      ‘Why can’t Gray be Lord Millcroft?’ As a real lord, albeit a disgraced and impoverished one, his second-in-command was much better qualified.’

      ‘Gray doesn’t have your years of experience or your level head. This job requires both. It is too important to palm off on a subordinate.’ Lord Fennimore wound the wire frames of his reading spectacles around his ears and picked up a piece of paper, his usual signal that the meeting was done. ‘Get yourself to Grosvenor Square and begin your preparations, Leatham. And shave off that damn beard. That’s an order.’

      Sensing his discomfort, Flint patted him on the back. ‘This is no different from pretending to be a groom or a docker or a bare-knuckle fighter. You have always been a chameleon, Seb. Once you’re wearing the clothes, the character will come to you as it always does. Remember that time you posed as a French Chef de Bataillon? Your accent and manner were so flawless, your new regiment were too scared to question why their previous commanding officer had suddenly disappeared. You did that for three weeks undiscovered! If you can pose as a foreign officer undetected, then an English toff will be child’s play. Nobody expects you to be the life and soul. They expect you to be rich and heartless. Your customary silence will be interpreted as haughty disdain. Trust me, you’ll be admired for it. Simply stand straight, look down your nose at everyone and be free with your money.’

      ‘It couldn’t hurt to make the odd disparaging remark about taxation and the royal family either.’ This came from Hadleigh. ‘Those scoundrels will lap that up.’

      Seb felt sick. Trapped and, for the first time in years, completely out of his depth.

      ‘Why are you all gossiping like old women? We have a job to do.’ Fennimore’s eyes narrowed. ‘Make haste, gentlemen! Your country needs you.’

      * * *

      The Duke of Westbridge’s name was pencilled in for the second waltz. The final dance of the evening. Clarissa had made sure of that the moment she had stepped into the ballroom, wearing another of her daring new gowns. Gowns which no fresh-faced debutante would dare wear. Age did have its advantages, and, imbued with her renewed sense of purpose, she was jolly well going to utilise it. The red was bold—purposefully so, because Lady Olivia wore pastels—and enviably stylish and form-fitting. The single red rose woven into her curls was a mischievous touch, because Lady Olivia staunchly wore the family tiara to every event, letting everyone know she came along with plenty of money. The deep-red petals popping against Clarissa’s blonde hair gave her an air of casual confidence, which was far more alluring than the call of money—and she thumbed her nose at her Duke and his now staunchly pink weekly bouquets.

      Her lack of jewellery continued below her chin. Instead of hiding her skin under chunky necklaces, she now showed more of it. The plain gown was cut low at the front, lower still at the back, and the small capped sleeves hung tantalisingly off her shoulders. Every male head had turned as she had sailed through the door, including her Duke’s, yet she had still had to go to him to receive any sort of greeting. That slight grated, but she ignored it because he had wrapped her arm around his possessively and spent several minutes telling her about his week as they stood in full view next to the refreshment table. Even more pleasing, he insisted she accompany him while he went to talk to his cronies, leaving the furious Lady Olivia silently seething on the other side of the dance floor.

      As the men excluded her to discuss gentlemanly things, Clarissa happily drifted to the edge of the group to stand with some of their ladies. Lady Penelope, Viscountess Penhurst, was her oldest and dearest friend. They had come out together, then become inseparable. That was before Penny had married and become far too busy with her new life in the country to engage overmuch with society. Clarissa saw her in town maybe two or three times a year now, but regularly visited her in Sussex. They always picked up exactly where they left off. As a married lady, Penny also acted as her friend’s chaperon whenever possible, something which gave Clarissa significantly more freedom than she enjoyed with her over-protective parents at home. Freedom she needed to secure her Duke.

      ‘I cannot believe Westbridge has still not offered for you,’ Penny said quietly behind her fan. ‘The way he has been dragging his feet and flirting with that Spencer chit makes my blood boil.’

      It made Clarissa’s boil, too. Though the anger felt considerably better than the sadness which she had initially experienced at his indecisiveness. Where the sadness had made her run and hide, the anger spurred her to fight fire with fire. For six weeks, she had waged war against the simpering younger usurper who threatened to ruin her one chance at happiness, outcharming, outflirting and outshining the young woman at every event they attended.

      The Duke of Westbridge couldn’t ignore her. Clarissa had made sure of that. She was always in his line of sight. Front and centre in his mind. ‘When I have him all to myself in a few weeks, I intend to change that.’ Out of the bonds of loyalty, Lady Olivia had not received an invitation to Penelope’s forthcoming house party, which gave Clarissa five days to force the issue before the Duke retired to the country for the summer. If the initial gentle hints did not work, she fully intended to issue him with an ultimatum. A stark one. If he failed to put a ring on her finger before he left, then Clarissa was determined to walk away and find another protector to hide her failings behind. An older gentleman or a less impressive younger peer who would be easily impressed by her connections. Unaccomplished Incomparables couldn’t be choosy. Any husband was better than none and once they were married he’d be stuck with her and duty-bound to keep her secrets.

      Obviously, she sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Without the constant physical reminder of the younger Incomparable, she planned to reacquaint the Duke with all the reasons why he was first attracted to her—but enough was enough. A stand had to be made for the sake of her own sanity and for her tenuous reputation. If Westbridge didn’t want her, then she would have to swiftly find a suitable peer who did. By hook or by crook, she fully intended to be a married woman by Christmas. In the New Year she was twenty-four and the sad shelf of spinsterhood loomed on the horizon. Besides, all this additional effort was wearing her out and her poor nerves were so frayed by the constant and growing fear of her secret being discovered, she was coming to doubt they would ever return to normal.

      ‘About that...’ Penelope couldn’t meet her eye. ‘Penhurst has insisted she come. I had to send Lady Olivia an invitation this morning. I’ve already received her acceptance.’

      The floor suddenly whipped from beneath her feet, all Clarissa could do was gape. ‘But you promised, Penny!’

      ‘I know I did and I feel awful, but Westbridge specifically asked my husband to include her and, as his friend, my husband refused to hear my arguments. You know Penhurst can be a beastly tyrant when riled.’

      As Clarissa had seen the occasional bruises on her gentle friend’s arms which were testament to that fact, she took pity on her. She’d never liked Penhurst, not from the outset, and had cautioned her friend not to accept his proposal all those years ago. As her dear papa had always said, a man who has to resort to raising his hand to a woman was no man and Penny’s dictatorial viscount was everything Clarissa despised. A pompous, selfish, nasty bully. On more than one occasion, she had prayed for her friend’s early widowhood and would continue to do so until Penhurst was mouldering in the ground. ‘It doesn’t matter, Penny.’ But it did. She would have to rethink all her plans now. ‘I know you tried your best and it’s nothing catastrophic that cannot be fixed.’ The simpering Lady Olivia might miraculously find her own gentleman in the interim and leave Clarissa’s in peace.

      ‘I will still help you.’ Her loyal friend threaded one arm tightly through hers. ‘I will occupy all Lady Olivia’s time and keep her from underfoot. Between the pair of us, we will make Westbridge see sense.’ Penny shot daggers at the pouting Olivia. ‘Very soon you will be married to the man of your