Regency Desire. Margaret McPhee

understand that it is “over” between you and Alice, but have you considered that when it comes to finding a wife there is always next Season?’ asked Linwood.

      Razeby smiled and met Linwood’s eyes. ‘No, my friend, there is not,’ he said quietly. It was as close to telling him the truth as he could come.

      Linwood’s eyes searched his as if seeking to glean the answer that was there. But Razeby held his gaze, steadfastly refusing to give away anything more, until at last Linwood, with a tiny incline of his head, acknowledged defeat and dropped the challenge.

      Linwood topped up their brandy glasses. ‘Well, in that case, Razeby, you had better spend this evening in the company of an old friend at the theatre.’

      Alice stepped out on to the stage that night. It was another full house. The part came naturally to her. She closed off her mind to all of real life and just let herself be this other woman. She acted. And it was almost as exhilarating as teasing Razeby across a room, but nowhere near as dangerous.

      His box was empty, just as it was empty every night. But her eye caught a glimpse of figures in Venetia’s box. Alice slipped her gaze to her friend and saw not only Venetia and Linwood. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Razeby sitting there with them. She turned her eyes away, careful not to allow herself to be distracted.

      It meant nothing, she told herself, but her heart quickened all the same. He had just come for an evening at the theatre. But following on from Dryden’s and White’s and the benefit ball, she knew that was not the case, that really his presence here did mean something. Alice just did not want to think precisely what.

      He would not be in the Green Room. He would not dare. She knew it, yet the first thing she did when she walked in there was to look for him.

      But Razeby dared.

      ‘Miss Sweetly.’ He bowed.

      ‘Lord Razeby.’ She curtsied. Her heart leapt at the sight at the sight of him, her nerves shimmered in delight. She could not stop herself from smiling.

      All attention in the room was upon them for all it feigned otherwise. Every conversation was conducted with half an ear on theirs.

      She could not avoid him. Could do nothing other than treat him as if he were any other man.

      ‘I trust you enjoyed the play, my lord.’

      ‘More than I could have imagined,’ he replied.

      ‘Then perhaps your imagination is a little lacking.’

      ‘On the contrary, Miss Sweetly, my imagination is most excellent. I have often been complimented upon it.’ She saw the message in his eyes.

      She was the one who had complimented him on it… when they were making love.

      Something exciting and bold and deliciously dangerous whispered between them.

      ‘Your acting talent has blossomed and taken on a new and vibrant dimension.’ He smiled.

      ‘Mmm,’ she said, sharing the smile. ‘I think I’ve heard that somewhere else. And there’s you laying claim to a most excellent imagination.’

      ‘You wish for originality in the compliments to be paid you?’ He raised an eyebrow.

      ‘I’d settle for truth,’ she returned.

      He leaned closer, lowered his voice slightly. ‘Then the truth is, Miss Sweetly, that you were wonderful.’

      The same words he used in this same Green Room a lifetime ago. The same words he had whispered in their bedchamber every time he had come to take her home after those occasional stage appearances. The world seemed to shift and detach around them.

      ‘And you’re as much a flatterer as ever,’ she said softly, her eyes tracing his.

      ‘Never that, Alice,’ more softly still. He was smiling that smile of old, making everything seem so right.

      Their eyes held, stretching time, making the Green Room and its people disappear. She could feel the beat of her heart and sense his beat in time. Between them was that same connection there had always been.

      ‘Ah, Razeby.’ Hawick’s voice interrupted. ‘How goes the bride search?’

      The words crushed the moment, dragging them both back to the reality of what could not be.

      ‘Well enough, thank you,’ said Razeby. He smiled politely at Hawick, but there was nothing of a smile in his eyes when he looked at the duke.

      ‘You were supreme as ever, Miss Sweetly,’ said Hawick, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

      ‘You’re too kind, Your Grace,’ she replied, easily enough, but she was acting. And beneath that bright surface it felt like the dark hidden depths of a pool had been disturbed.

      ‘If you will excuse me. Your servant, Miss Sweetly.’ Razeby bowed and walked away.

      Such perilous, glittering allure. Alice knew she was playing with fire. But she could not turn away from the path she had chosen to walk, as if there had ever really been anything of choice in it. She could not turn away from Razeby, for the sake of her pride and her livelihood. And more than that she could not turn away from Razeby because, even knowing what she did, she wanted to see him. It was a disquieting realisation. And one which she sought to distract herself from with a shopping expedition in the company of her friends the next day.

      The four of them sauntered along Bond Street laden with parcels and boxes. Alice had allowed herself to be persuaded into buying too many fripperies, but she had to admit, it did make her feel good, even if the parcels were cumbersome to carry and her feet were aching from too much walking in shoes that were stylish and new, but less than comfortable.

      They had just left the milliners when Sara asked the question.

      ‘You did say you cleared out everything you could from Hart Street, didn’t you, Alice?’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Alice glanced across at her, a sudden panic drumming in her breast that Razeby might have revealed something of just how much she had walked away from.

      Ellen drew Sara a look of daggers.

      ‘I saw that look, Ellen Devizes,’ Alice chided.

      ‘Lord, Sara, but you have some size of mouth on you.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Sara looked hurt. ‘She’s fine about Razeby.’

      ‘Even so,’ countered Ellen.

      ‘What aren’t you telling me?’ Alice asked.

      There was a resounding silence.

      ‘Out with it,’ she said.

      ‘Razeby’s kept the house on,’ said Ellen at last.

      ‘That can’t be right,’ Alice murmured before she could stop herself.

      ‘It is,’ insisted Sara. ‘He’s been seen there.’

      ‘Why on earth would Razeby do that?’ Alice asked, her pace subconsciously slowing.

      Sara raised her brows, widened her eyes and gave her that look that brought a blush of embarrassment to Alice’s cheeks.

      It was Tilly who finally told her. ‘The rumour is it ain’t just a bride he’s looking for, Alice, but a new mistress. We thought you knew.’

      Alice felt the words hit her hard. She glanced away to hide her shock. ‘Rumours aren’t always true.’

      They all looked at her in a way that made her regret saying the words aloud.

      ‘Going in there late at night. Leaving early in the morning. A girl doesn’t have to be a bluestocking to work it out,’ said Sara.

      ‘You know what men are like.’ Tilly patted her arm as if to console her.

      ‘I