The Regency Bestsellers Collection. Bronwyn Scott

      Alexandra had never dreamed of having this many people to call her own. She had not only Chase, Rosamund, and Daisy—John, Elinor, and little Charles were her family now, too. As godmother to Richmond, she would always be connected to Emma and Ash. Nicola and Penny couldn’t be rid of her if they tried.

      And then there was Marigold the goat, who had more than justified her attendance at the event by “accidentally” consuming a hamper’s worth of Penny’s sandwiches. And half of the hamper itself.

      “Even if it is just a smudge in the sky, at least it has a grandiose name,” Nicola said. “Though I must admit, it doesn’t quite trip off the tongue. ‘Mountbatten-Reynaud comet’ is rather a mouthful.”

      “‘Rather a mouthful,’” Chase repeated, musing. “People are always saying that like it’s a bad thing. What’s so terrible about mouthfuls? I like mouthfuls.”

      “I enjoy a good mouthful myself,” Ash declared. “Emma does, as well. Don’t you, darling?”

      Alexandra and Emma exchanged a look. It was lovely that their husbands were becoming a grudging sort of friends, but the two men were difficult enough to manage separately. Together, they could be exponentially incorrigible.

      “You can blame my husband for the name.” Alex had insisted they share the naming of it. After all, he’d been with her that night in the garden, and then when they confirmed the discovery. “I wanted to call it Reynaud’s comet, since I’m a Reynaud now, too.”

      “Yes, but you weren’t when you discovered it,” Chase pointed out. “We discussed this. You can insist on sharing the credit, but you are not allowed to hide your accomplishment behind my name.”

      The irony of a husband dictating how his wife expressed her independence seemed utterly lost on him. Nevertheless, Alex let it pass without comment. There would be a more important naming conversation in the coming months, and she had to choose her battles.

      She put her hand on her belly, and the tiny smudge growing within her. She’d kept her suspicions to herself thus far. She hadn’t wanted to tell Chase until she could be absolutely certain. What if she raised his hopes—and her own—only to be disappointed?

      Now she found herself reconsidering. Any hopes or disappointments belonged to Chase, too.

      Perhaps she’d tell him tonight.

      Emma handed off the baby to Ash. “I want another turn at the telescope. It’s not every day one has a chance to view her friend’s very own comet.”

      “No, indeed,” Alex said. “Take a good look now. According to Mrs. Somerville’s calculations, after this summer it won’t be visible again for a hundred and forty-seven years.”

      “You had better leave a detailed note for the great-great-grandchildren,” Ash said.

      “That would require them to have children first,” Emma pointed out.

      “Excellent observation. We’ll get on that right away.” Chase clapped his hands together. “On that note, good night and good-bye. All of you.”

      Her husband was such a terrible rogue.

      Perhaps Alex wouldn’t tell him tonight after all.

       Acknowledgments

      To Bren, Tessa, Elle, Steve, Ruth, Kelly, Rose, Mr. Dare, and the Darelings:

      There’s no way I could have finished this book without each and every one of you. Thank you, from the bottom of my sleep-deprived, over-caffeinated, eternally grateful heart.

       Society’s Beauties

       Mistress at Midnight

       Scars of Betrayal

       Sophia James

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       Mistress at Midnight

      Sophia James

       This one’s for you, Nina. I really appreciate your support

       Chapter One

       June 1855—England

      Stephen Hawkhurst, Lord of Atherton, felt the wind rise up from the bottom of Taylor’s Gap, salt on its edge. He frowned as he breathed in, a smooth wooden railing all that held him between this world and the next one.

      So very easy to end it, to simply let go and fall into oblivion. Pushing harder, he felt the barrier give and a few stones, dislodged by the movement, hurled down the incline to disappear into nothingness.

      ‘If you jump, you would need to land exactly between that rock and the cliff,’ a voice said, one small gloved hand pointing downwards. ‘If you veer to the left, you will be caught on those bushes, you see, and such a fall could leave you merely crippled. To the right is a better option as the shale would be more forgiving before it threw you over the edge into the sea. However, if you excel at the art of swimming…?’ She stopped, the implication understood.

      Stiffening, Hawk turned to see a woman standing near, a black veil hiding every feature of her face. Her clothes were heavy and practical. A lady of commerce, perhaps? Or the daughter of a merchant? God, what luck was there in that? Miles from anywhere and The voice of reason close by.

      ‘I may, of course, merely be taking in the view.’ The irritation in his words was unbecoming and he was a man who was seldom rude to women. But this one was far from cowed.

      ‘One would generally look to the horizon if that was the case, sir. The sun is setting, you see, and it would be this vista your eyes would be drawn towards.’

      ‘Then perhaps I am tired?’

      ‘Fatigue would show itself in a leaning gait and great exertion would be seen in dust upon your boots.’ Her head tipped down to look. Stephen imagined her satisfaction when she saw his shiny new black Hessians. He wished she would turn and leave, but she stood silent and waiting, breath even and unhurried.

      Surveying the nearby paths, he realised that she was alone. Unusual for a lady not to be chaperoned. He wondered how she had got here and where she would go to next.

      There was a hole in the thumb of her right-hand glove and an unbuffed nail was bitten to the quick. The hat she wore hid her hair completely, though an errant curl of vibrant red had escaped from its clutches and lay across the darkness of her clothes like rubies in a coal seam. Beneath the notes of a heavier perfume he smelt the light freshness of violets.

      ‘I came here often as a young girl with my mother and she would stand just where I am and speak of what was over the seas in all the directions that I might name.’ This was said suddenly after a good few moments of silence. He liked how she did not feel the need to fill in every space with chatter. ‘France lies that way, and Denmark, there. A thousand miles to the north-east a boat could founder against the rocky coast of the Kingdom of Norway.’

      She had a slight accent, though the cadence held the timbre of something that Hawk did not recognise. The thought amused him for he was a master of discerning that which people wished not to divulge. He had made his life from it, after all.

      ‘Where