Regency Seduction. Lucy Ashford

Harry Nugent’s had clustered around him in the smoke-filled bar, blocking his exit.

      Alec made a half-hearted effort to answer their eager questions, but he was tired of battle talk. He wanted to point out to these young blades that war was a damnable business, then get the hell out of here. But then Harry himself appeared and accosted Alec with delight.

      ‘So you decided to come after all, Alec! Weren’t the girls just wonderful?’

      ‘They were about as I expected, yes,’ said Alec steadily. This wasn’t the place or time to explain to Harry that actually he thought they looked greedy and desperate. Though not quite all. His eyes had been tugged reluctantly back to the stage by just one of the goddesses—Athena—the slender one who tossed her long fair hair and looked almost angry, as though she hated being there amongst those plump, painted courtesans …

       For God’s sake, man. She has to be a courtesan, too!

      ‘Must go, Harry,’ Alec said. But Harry was babbling in his ear, to make himself heard above the general din.

      ‘You’re not leaving yet, are you, Alec? You must stay for the dancing upstairs.’ Harry was pointing eagerly to one of the many winding staircases that threaded through this tall, ancient building. ‘You could have your pick, if they knew who you were!’

      ‘Really not my style.’ Alec clapped the curly-haired young man lightly on the shoulder. ‘I only came because I thought my brother might be here—and he’s not. Enjoy the rest of your birthday and don’t let yourself be fleeced too badly, will you?’ Alec started towards the exit.

      ‘But, Alec, your brother is here!’

      Alec ground to a halt. ‘What?’

      ‘He was too late for the show, but he went straight upstairs to the Inner Temple to take a look at the girls on offer there … Alec? Alec, if you’re going up there, too, don’t forget you’ll have to get a ticket first!’

      Alec, already making for the stairs, swung back. ‘I’m not going to be paying for my pleasure, believe me.’

      ‘But you need a ticket to get in! Look, you can buy one over there!’

      Damn. Alec could see the queue snaking along one of the passageways. But—Stephen was here. And this was a matter—a family matter—that could not be put off any longer.

      ‘And so, you see, sir,’ Rosalie was saying earnestly, ‘that the education of young women is absolutely vital to the future of social enlightenment, wouldn’t you agree? By education, I mean, of course, not just needlework and a little French, but a full grounding in mathematics, the sciences …’

      The young buck who’d waited so eagerly for a dance and possibly more with the extremely striking new blonde goddess was beginning to look distinctly alarmed. He muttered hastily, ‘Just remembered. There’s this fellow I’ve got to see …’

      With narrowed eyes Rosalie watched the man hurry off across the crowded room towards the door. Five customers had so far bought tickets from the footman at the door to dance with her. Five customers had beaten a rapid retreat as soon as they decently could, thanks to her unexpected—and unwelcome—topics of conversation. Rosalie held up five fingers to Sal and mouthed, ‘Enough?’

      Sal, busy coping with the attentions of a drunken admirer in a loud plum coat, nodded and whispered back, ‘Certainly is—thanks!’

      Rosalie heaved a sigh of relief. She’d got Sal out of trouble and had managed to scare all her admirers to death within moments. Now all she had to do was wait for Dr Barnard to appear, then she could change out of this ridiculous outfit, slip down to his office, check his green book and get out of here. Mrs Barnard shouldn’t be a problem; the old harridan was still playing the pianoforte with clunking determination, while couples waltzed and groped their way around the floor. Though Rosalie decided to move out of her line of sight, into an alcove away from the light of the candles, just to be on the safe side.

      But someone was blocking her way. ‘Oh!’ Her hand flew to her throat.

      For a fleeting moment, some faint physical resemblance made her think of the Captain. But even as her pulse started to race, she realised this man was older and not as tall, with a fleshier face and just a hint of a weak chin. And his clothes were—expensive. His coat was of bottle-green kerseymere, his cuffs were edged with lace and a diamond-studded silver pin nestled in the folds of his cravat. The rather strong scent of citrus cologne clung to him.

      ‘My dear girl,’ he said, ‘I do apologise if I startled you—that wasn’t my intention in the least. I wonder, would you do me the very great honour of dancing with me?’

      ‘As a matter of fact,’ she said quickly, ‘I was just about to leave.’

      A shadow of something—was it anxiety?—crossed his face. ‘And I respect your wishes wholeheartedly, but might I mention that there could be a slight problem?’

      ‘A problem?’

      ‘Indeed. You see, I was talking to your Dr Barnard on the stairs only a moment ago. He’s just returned to his office for more tickets for his doormen. But he’ll be arriving here any minute; since I’ve paid him personally for a dance with you, he would be a little angry, I fear, to discover that you’d slipped away.’

      Rosalie’s heart sank. So it still wasn’t safe to get into Dr Barnard’s office—bother. She swallowed. ‘Yes. I see …’

      ‘I’ll tell you what,’ offered the man. ‘Instead of dancing, I’ll fetch you a glass of wine, shall I?’

      ‘I would prefer lemonade,’ she interrupted quickly. ‘And I really cannot stay long.’

      ‘I am honoured to be given even a few minutes of your time,’ he said softly. ‘You can’t believe how eager I am for this chance to get to know you.’

      Alec frowned as the footman took his ticket and waved him into the Inner Temple. The candle-lit room was filled with gaudy splashes of colour, thanks to the cheap gowns of the women and the scarlet and mauve wall-hangings. In one corner an older woman with red-dyed hair played the piano with more determination than skill and a dozen or more couples moved around the floor in a manner that clearly hinted at more intimate encounters. The odours of stale perfume and tobacco assailed his senses.

      And there—Alec’s square jaw tightened—there was his brother, Stephen, dressed to the nines as usual and talking to someone Alec couldn’t quite see since Stephen’s back blocked his view.

      Alec walked with deceptive nonchalance across the room. People moved out of his way, as they tended to.

      ‘Stephen,’ he said softly at his brother’s shoulder.

      His brother swung round, the blood leaving his face. ‘You,’ he muttered. ‘Always you. What in hell are you doing here?’

      ‘I’ve come to speak with you, Stephen.’ Alec gazed thoughtfully at his brother. ‘Since you’re too scared to let me into your house, I thought we could have a pleasant little chat right here.’

      ‘This is hardly the place or time to discuss private business!’

      ‘Believe me—’ and Alec’s voice was suddenly harsher ‘—I take no pleasure at all in having to step anywhere near the dungheap of your private business. But you give me little option.’

      Stephen’s eyes darted round. Quite a few people were watching; some couples had actually stopped dancing to stare. Stephen turned to the person at his side. ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘I do apologise for this gross intrusion.’

      And for the first time, Alec realised who Stephen had been talking to.

      He cursed under his breath. He hadn’t wanted her to be here. Blue eyes, as he’d thought: turquoise blue. He absorbed the slender delicacy of her figure, the perfect outline of her profile, the way her silver-blonde hair trailed