Wicked in the Regency Ballroom. Margaret McPhee

you,’ he said, then thumped the roof of the carriage with his cane and thrust his face out of the window, ‘Home, please, Jackson.’

      ‘But … but aren’t we going back to Almack’s? What of my mama—?’

      ‘Speed is of the essence. I’ll send a note to your mother explaining our decision.’

      ‘I would prefer to tell her myself, my lord.’

      The anxiety in her voice scraped at his conscience. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, Madeline. You’ll see her soon enough when we’re safely married. I’ll explain all once we reach Cavendish Square.’

      The carriage drove on in silence.

       Chapter Five

      Tregellas’s townhouse in Cavendish Square was not a house at all, not in the sense that Madeline knew. Mansion was the word she would have used in its stead. It was a large imposing building set back in a fine garden. The hallway alone was bigger than the parlour and dining room put together in the Langleys’ home. Floors beautifully laid with Italian marble, walls covered with exquisite neo-classical plasterwork—all nymphs and cherubs, wreaths and festoons—expensive oriental rugs, windows elaborately dressed with rich curtains, huge crystal chandeliers that shimmered in the light of a hundred candles. Madeline stared around her in awe.

      ‘This way, Miss Langley.’

      Lord Tregellas steered her down a passageway and into the most palatial, enormous drawing room she had ever seen. But it wasn’t the luxurious décor or the expensive furniture that drew Madeline’s eye. That was accomplished much more readily by the two gentlemen standing before the fireplace, one of whom she had just seen at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, dancing with her sister: Viscount Varington and Colonel Barclay. Realisation dawned. She peered round at Lord Tregellas with great wide eyes. ‘You used your friends to distract Mama and Angelina!’

      ‘I did not think that Mrs Langley would welcome my direct approach.’

      That was putting it mildly. Mama would have run squawking to Lord Farquharson as fast as her legs would carry her. Madeline’s brow wrinkled. But what, then, were the gentlemen doing here?

      The men stepped forward, the taller of the two electing to speak. ‘Miss Langley, honoured to make your acquaintance at last.’ When he looked into her face she saw that he had the same pale blue eyes as Lord Tregellas. ‘I am Varington, and this is our good friend, Barclay.’

      ‘Your servant, Miss Langley,’ said the Colonel.

      Then Madeline saw who was sitting quietly in the background. And the sight stilled the breath in her throat and brought a tremble to her legs. The elderly clergyman had dozed off in the comfort of the wing chair. The faint catch of a snore resonated in the silence of the room. ‘Lord Tregellas!’ Madeline swung round to find the Earl directly at her back. ‘You cannot … I did not think … Tonight?’

      ‘I took the liberty of procuring a special licence,’ Lord Tregellas said.

      A snuffling and then a yawn. ‘Lord Tregellas, please do forgive me. Must have nodded off. One of the vices of old age, I’m afraid. And this …’he rummaged in his pocket, produced a pair of small round spectacles, and perched them on the end of his nose ‘… must be the bride.’ He peered short-sightedly in Madeline’s direction. ‘Lovely girl.’

      Madeline blinked back at him, wondering if the clergyman could see at all.

      ‘Now …’ the clergyman placed an ancient liver-spotted hand on her shoulder ‘… I should check that this handsome devil hasn’t abducted you from beneath your mother’s nose.’ The clergyman chortled at the hilarity of his joke.

      Viscount Varington smothered a cough and grinned at Tregellas.

      Lord Tregellas showed not one sign of having heard anything untoward.

      ‘As if Lucien would have any need to do such a thing! Known him since he was a boy, and his brother there, too.’ The clergyman glanced across at the Viscount.

      Madeline followed his gaze. So Lord Varington and Lord Tregellas were brothers. That explained the similarity in their looks.

      ‘Knew their father, too, God rest his soul.’ The clergyman patted her shoulder. ‘Sterling fellows, all three. Why, I remember in the old days—’

      Lord Tregellas cleared his throat. ‘Reverend Dutton, Miss Langley is rather tired after her journey.’

      ‘Of course. Know the feeling myself.’ He peered in Lord Tregellas’s direction. ‘And you, sir, are no doubt impatient to make this lovely lady your wife. Now, where did I put it …?’ The clergyman patted at his pockets and gave Madeline a rather confused look. ‘Had it a minute ago.’

      She felt Lord Tregellas step close against her back, looking over her head, impatience growing sharper by the minute. Her scalp prickled with the proximity of his large and very male body.

      ‘Ah, here we are!’ A battered old book was waved before them and the clergyman cleared his throat. ‘Dearly beloved, ye have brought this child here to be baptized … Oops, wrong one,’ mumbled Reverend Dutton. ‘Getting ahead of myself there somewhat. You won’t need that one for a little while yet.’

      Madeline’s face flamed.

      Lord Tregellas stiffened behind her.

      ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of these witnesses, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.’ He stopped and beamed at Madeline. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’ Lord Tregellas moved round to stand at her right-hand side and the rest of the old clergyman’s words passed as a blur. This was a binding ceremony in the eyes of both God and the law. By the end of it she would be Lord Tregellas’s wife; his wife, no less. Not half an hour ago she had been sitting in Almack’s, existing minute by minute, doomed by a promise to marry Lord Farquharson, empty save for despair. Now the threat of Cyril Farquharson was gone, removed in one fell swoop by the man standing by her side.

      ‘Madeline.’

      His voice invaded her thoughts, pulling her back to the present, to the reality of her situation.

      ‘Madeline,’ he said again.

      She looked up into those stark eyes. Saw a tiny spark of anxiety in them. Knew he was waiting for her answer. He was a stranger, she had only spoken to him on three evenings, and this was one of them. And he was Earl Tregellas. Tregellas, for goodness’ sake. The Wicked Earl! How did she even know that what he had told her about Lord Farquharson was true? What she was doing was madness. Absolute insanity. She should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. Well, only a little, if truth be told. He had spoken of instincts and trusting them. Every instinct in Madeline’s body told her that Lord Tregellas would not hurt her. He had saved her twice from Farquharson. Now he was prepared to give her his name to save her yet again. If she refused him, she knew full well what awaited her—Cyril Farquharson. Just the thought of that man conjured real fear.

      His fingers touched to hers as if willing her to speak the words.

      And she did.

      More voices, more words, warmth of his hand on hers, touch of cold metal upon the third finger of her left hand. Then, with a brush of Lord Tregellas’s lips against her cheek, it was done. There would be no going back. She had just become Earl Tregellas’s wife, while all the while her mama sat unknowing, waiting for her in Almack’s.

      ‘Hell, I thought for a minute that she meant to refuse me in front of Reverend Dutton.’ Only Tregellas and his brother remained. Colonel Barclay had volunteered to see the clergyman safely home, and the critical letter had been dispatched to Mrs Langley via Lucien’s most trusted footman. Lucien filled two glasses, loosened his neckcloth, and sat down in the buttoned wing chair opposite his brother. Heavy burgundy-coloured curtains hung at the library window, blotting out the night beyond. The room was dark save for a single branch of candles upon