Scandal in the Regency Ballroom. Louise Allen

he did any more damage.

      ‘Miss Mallory, our dance, I believe?’ It was Lord Lansdowne.

      ‘Yes, of course.’ Bree flipped open her card. It was a country dance and immediately afterwards she had the cotillion with Max—all she could hope was that he had discouraged the Nonesuch Whips from a mass descent on the Mermaid.

      She curtsied and took her place. At her side Lord Lansdowne waited while the first couple set off down the double line. ‘Would you care to drive with me some time this week?’ he enquired.

      Another one! Really, this would be quite amusing if it were not so awkward. She could hardly abandon the business to its own devices until the Whips lost interest in the possibility of a whole stagecoach company to play with. Yet, on the other hand, if she was discovered to be the actual manager of the business, James would be mortified and the Dowager deeply disapproving. One look at the Lansdownes had left Bree very clear about who called the tune in that household. The old besom might well take it into her head to forbid the match.

      ‘Of course, my lord, I would be delighted.’ What else could one possibly say? The dance took them off down the line, into an intricate measure at the far end and left them separated by several couples. The necessity of keeping a smile plastered on her face for the length of the dance did nothing for Bree’s nerves, nor for her temper.

      Lord Lansdowne, obviously impervious to her simmering state, swept her an extravagant bow and deposited her neatly in front of Lord Penrith.

      ‘Thank you so much, my lord.’ Bree curtsied, smile intact.

      ‘It was a pleasure. I will call at the earliest opportunity.’ Lansdowne made a mocking bow towards Max. ‘I yield to you, Dysart.’

      ‘Miss Mallory. Our cotillion.’

      ‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ Bree tucked one hand firmly into Max’s elbow and headed for the doors on to the terrace. ‘I want to talk to you.’

      ‘Really, ma’am, you have me all of a flutter. Alone with you on the terrace twice in one evening—people will begin to talk.’

      ‘They’ll have to see us first,’ Bree retorted, marching down the steps into the maze of clipped yew that framed the formal pool.

      ‘Your friends the Whips! You said you’d distract them, but two of them have asked me to drive with them and your dratted cousin is exchanging cards with Piers, and the rest are hanging around him like wasps round a honeypot and how am I to run the business not knowing which gentleman is about to appear in the yard and start poking about? I can hardly wear breeches and a false beard until they lose interest, can I? And stop laughing at me!’

      Max had folded up on to an ornate bench and was clutching his sides in abandoned amusement. ‘Oh, please, try the false beard.…’

      ‘Wretch!’ Bree took a swipe at his elegant crop with her fan. ‘It is not funny.’

      ‘I can quite see that from your point of view it is not,’ Max agreed, getting his laughter under control with an effort. ‘But, Bree, this may be a blessing in disguise. At least now you are forewarned of the danger—after all, once your brother became betrothed to Lady Sophia your days of managing the yard were doomed. Sooner or later someone is going to find out, and then think of the kick-up there’d be.’

      He looked up at her standing in front of him, and smiled. Bree took her hands off her hips and tried not to glower. ‘A chaperon, a business manager—what are you going to tell me I need next? James is costing us a great deal of money.

      ‘What is it with you men and stagecoaches? You’ve got drags, you’ve got much better bloodstock than we can afford—why do you want to play with my stagecoaches?’

      ‘It is not your company, when all is said and done. Don’t you want to get married, have a family of your own?’

      ‘I suppose so, but I am resigned to it. By the time Piers is old enough to take control, I will be too old to find a husband.’

      ‘So find a business manager, then find a husband,’ Max said. ‘And don’t frown at me, it creases your very nice forehead.’ He got up and smoothed the furrow between her brows with his thumb. ‘I fail to see why you cannot find a good man to manage your business.’

      ‘Piers would resent it.’ It was tempting and yet, what on earth would she do with herself all day without the company to run? Shopping and calls and parties until she found a husband? Then more of the same, plus children? The children were intriguing, the unknown husband and the daily social whirl were not. ‘I would die of boredom.’

      ‘Find a man with an estate you can become involved with, start a charity, play the ‘Change, take a lover …’

      ‘Max!’ He was altogether too close. She could smell the light, citrusy cologne he wore, the trace of soap, the exciting tang of masculinity overlaid with all the refinements of clean, well-groomed sophistication. He was showing an altogether commendable, if very disappointing, restraint about trying to kiss her again.

      Perhaps he didn’t like it last time. I am very inexperienced after all. Completely inexperienced. Perhaps he doesn’t want to do it again. I shouldn’t want him to—this can’t possibly lead to anything.

      ‘You are a delicious innocent, Miss Mallory, and I should not be out here with you.’

      ‘That’s true. But you were in the carriage with me before, so I know I can trust you. But then I looked dreadful.’

      ‘You looked edible,’ Max said, reminiscently. He reached out and let one finger trail lazily up and down the column of her neck. It felt strong, hard, slightly rough against her soft skin.

      ‘You, my lord, must have a very strange taste in women, if you thought I looked better then than I do now,’ Bree observed as repressively as she could manage, given that her insides appeared to be hollow and her breathing was not working properly.

      ‘I did not say that.’ The finger was exploring the whorls of her ear now, rubbing the lobe, then drifting up behind it into the soft hair. ‘Now, I think you look utterly seductive.’

      ‘Are you trying to seduce me?’ Bree asked, swallowing hard.

      Chapter Seven

      ‘Seduce you? No.’ Max’s mood of gentle sensuality seemed to have quite vanished. ‘I am getting you in a fluster and I am ensuring that I spend an acutely uncomfortable evening.’

      ‘Why?’ Bree demanded.

      ‘Why am I getting you in a fluster?’

      ‘No. I know the answer to that—you’re a man. Men flirt, and I was silly enough to come out here with you—I expect it is quite automatic on your part. No, why will you be uncomfortable?’

      ‘Um … my conscience will be troubling me,’ he said. Bree narrowed her eyes. That was not the truth, but he would refuse to tell her if she pressed. ‘May I call and take you driving?’

      ‘You are number three,’ Bee informed him, torn between smugness and exasperation. ‘Am I to go driving with all of the Nonesuch Whips while you take it in turns to try to persuade me to let you drive a stage? It is a deeply unflattering motive.’

      ‘But you may acquit me, for I have already driven your stage, have I not?’

      Time to take the bull by the horns, my girl, Bree told herself. ‘Then what is your motive, my lord? You do not want to drive a stagecoach, you do not want to seduce me …’

      ‘I said I was not trying to, not that I did not want to.’

      ‘Now you are teasing me. I know perfectly well that you are too much the gentleman.’ He grimaced. In the flare of the torchlight his face looked stony. Bree blinked; it must be a trick of the light.

      ‘Perhaps I am amusing myself by bringing you into fashion, perhaps