Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge

was hopeful. ‘The orchestra here is very skilled.’ Feeling the fingers beneath hers tense in alarm, Bea leapt in unbidden.

      ‘Lord Wellingham is recuperating from a tumble he had from a horse,’ she heard her voice saying. My God, she never lied like this, but the force of protection was stronger than the need for truth and she was glad when Taris nodded.

      The irritated glance from Lady Arabella was directed straight at her as she continued. ‘I have always been extremely afraid of horses for the exact same reason. Why, when I was a child, many years ago, of course, I remember my mother saying to me that it was most important to stay in a place where a steed may see you and…’

      Lady Arabella listened to the pointless monologue for all of five minutes before breaking in when Bea deliberately took an overlong breath.

      ‘I think that we really must go and find some supper now, Mrs Bassingstoke. I do hope that you will excuse us.’

      Smiling sweetly, Bea watched as the young girls left. Vacuous chatter was such an effective tool to use!

      ‘You are as formidable here as you are in your own salon, Bea. Do I now have to limp all night?’

      ‘I am sorry, I should not have—’

      He stopped her simply by holding up his hand.

      ‘How close is the person nearest to us?’

      ‘A few yards away.’

      ‘If we were alone, I would kiss you.’

      ‘And I would kiss you back.’ Two could play at this game and she saw the pulse in his throat quicken.

      ‘Hard?’ His word was hoarse and an explosion of lust blossomed deep in her stomach. ‘So hard that I would have to beg you to stop…’

      ‘Beg her to stop what?’ Asher Wellingham came to stand next to them and Bea bit back horror. How much had he heard?

      ‘Beg her to stop worrying about the repercussions of Lucinda’s gossip.’ She had to give it to Taris Wellingham, he thought quickly on his feet.

      Asher swore quietly. ‘Our sister has no idea of the hurt she can cause and one day—’

      ‘I am certain that your brother is overstating my concern, your Grace.’

      ‘And understating my own,’ Taris added, a wicked smile on his face.

      The double entendre was deliberate and Bea was glad that she had dropped her arm in the surprise of having the Duke overhear them.

      Because at that moment in a ballroom overflowing with people and under a ceiling alight with hundreds of candles she was bathed in a feeling she had never felt before.

      Exhilarated.

      Powerful.

      Exalted.

      Not herself. Not plain and ordinary Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke, but a woman who might attract a man such as Taris Wellingham. And keep him!

      Now, clothed in gold she felt like a beautiful butterfly released from a drab and never-ending cocoon, a woman who could spar with words and be admired for it instead of hit, and one whose opinions were listened to instead of being shouted down.

      When Emerald came and claimed her company she could only watch as Taris Wellingham walked with his brother towards the supper room, the pressing crowd swallowing them up before they were even ten yards away.

      All Taris wanted to do was to go home and make love to Beatrice. But he had promised himself distance and honour and all of the noble attributes of a man who might care about the future of a woman who intrigued him.

      The sound of gossip made him maudlin, and he longed to be in the country again. He had stayed in London this time longer than he had for all of the past eight years. Seven days tomorrow and still he had not instructed his valet to pack.

      Asher guided him towards the top of the room, where the smell of supper was stronger. ‘Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke is the most original woman here, apart from Emerald, and even then I should say they are about equal in novelty.’ His voice was measured as he carried on. ‘And the fact that you have been reduced to begging for a kiss in a crowded ballroom suggests a relationship different from the one you have implied…’

      ‘You are an inveterate spy, Ashe.’

      ‘With good reason to be so. My sources say that the Henshaw carriage was dispatched at five this morning to pick you up when you failed to return home.’

      ‘Jack told you that?’

      ‘He didn’t have to. The Henshaw driver is my valet’s brother.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘Emerald too has been pestering me to ask you what your intentions are as far as Mrs Bassingstoke is concerned.’

      ‘She knows about the conveyance?’

      ‘No. It was the waltz the other night I think that piqued her curiosity.’

      ‘Such a simple mistake,’ Taris returned, irony in his words.

      ‘Of course, if others find out about your midnight rambles…’

      ‘They won’t. There will be no more risks.’

      ‘This from a man who made love with words not less than two moments ago?’

      ‘Your penchant for nuance is legendary, Asher, as is your proclivity to exaggerate.’

      ‘You would say it is all a lie, then?’

      Taris was careful in his reply. ‘I would say that I am nearing thirty-two, Ashe, and have no need to answer to anyone but myself.’

      His brother laughed. ‘Ahh, that is what they all say, Taris, before they fall.’

      ‘Implying…?’

      ‘It would take a braver fellow than myself to explain it to you.’

      ‘Then don’t.’

      Silence ruled for a moment until Asher spoke again.

      ‘Your lady has been conversing with the Duchess of Castleton for a significant time, and if Anna Bellhaven deigns to give anyone an audience for more than a minute it is generally a highly regarded stamp of approval.’

      ‘The plan is a success, then?’

      ‘Exactly.’

      ‘In that case I shall leave for Kent in the next day or two.’

      ‘Perhaps you might take her with you?’

      ‘The Duchess of Castleton? Why on earth would I wish to do that?’ His deliberate misconception had his brother slapping him across the shoulder.

      ‘One day soon, Taris, you will wake up with a ring on your finger and a brood of children and the knowledge that you are in the only place that you want to be.’

      ‘Mrs Bassingstoke is a barren widow. Hard to raise a brood given that fact.’

      The peal of deep laughter was distinctly unsettling and he just wished that Bea might return to stand beside him and make everything simple.

      Beatrice watched Taris Wellingham from her place beside the Duchess of Castleton and the Duchess of Carisbrook.

      His left hand splayed across the smooth marble on the pillar and his right held the cane. Tonight he did not wear his glasses and a lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, highlighting the amber in his eyes.

      Rakish. Dashing. A man who had absolutely no idea of how appealing he looked! But it wasn’t only his body that she found attractive. No, she loved the depth and breadth of his mind, with his wide-ranging opinions on anything and everything.

      She wondered what his library looked like. What books he read? What had formed his ideas when he was young? She also wondered how a man raised