Scandal in the Regency Ballroom. Louise Allen

girl.’

      She slapped at him lightly with her fan. ‘Do not patronise me, my lord, or we will not be friends for long.’

      Max stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet. ‘That would be a pity, Bree Mallory, because I think you will be very good for me.’

      Max watched Bree take the hand of her next dance partner and walk gracefully on to the dance floor. Another of the Whips, he noted. He really should do something about that, but it was too tempting to let them lay siege to the Challenge Coach Company—nothing was more certain to drive Bree out of the office and into the life that was proper for her. Into his company.

      ‘Don’t you go hurting my about-to-be-sister-in-law,’ a voice at his elbow chided him, like the echo of his conscience.

      He looked down and met the sparkling green eyes of Georgy Lucas. ‘What do you mean, Lady Georgiana?’

      ‘You know perfectly well what, and you know who, as well—don’t go getting all starchy with me, Max,’ she said, slipping her hand companionably under his elbow as they stood there. ‘I know what they say about you.’

      ‘And what is that, pray?’ Georgy’s challenging gaze was not at all shaken by his coolness.

      ‘That you gave your heart very unwisely when you were young, had it broken and now have no heart at all.’

      Damn the woman! Max bit down a sharp retort. What does she know, really? Not the whole truth—very few people know that.

      ‘Oh, I have a heart, Georgy, just not one I care to hazard any more.’

      ‘You will have to marry one day, Dysart—think of the title.’

      The title. And my heart—if anyone wants it.

      ‘And if you really choose to be unconventional, why, you have the standing to carry it off. Miss Mallory is not so very unsuitable after all—think of all the members of the House of Lords who have married actresses, for goodness’ sake. She is perfectly respectable, with some excellent, if distant, connections.’

      ‘I assume you are trying to matchmake as usual, Georgy. I hope you know what you are talking about, for I have no idea,’ Max lied. She was a disconcerting little minx, but talking to her had given him an idea.

      He began to steer her down the edge of the floor. ‘Where is your husband? I feel the need to advise him to lock you up on his most remote estate until you learn better conduct.’

      Georgy, whom he had known since she was in leading strings, pouted. ‘Darling Charles is in the card room, and he dotes upon me, so it is no use grumbling to him, Max.’

      Darling Charles was Lord Lucas, not only an influential magistrate, but one with close ties both to Bow Street and in government.

      ‘I think I will have a little chat with your Charles,’ Max said meditatively, disentangling Georgy’s hand from his arm. ‘Go and flirt with your numerous admirers.’

      She dimpled at him and strolled off in a swish of expensive French satin, leaving Max wondering how to broach his request to her husband. At the card room his luck was in; his quarry was just settling up after a game of piquet and was more than happy to join Max for a hand.

      Max selected the table in the farthest corner, passing several empty ones on the way. Lord Lucas’s slightly raised eyebrow at this odd behaviour did not escape him, but the magistrate settled back in his chair without comment while Max summoned a waiter to fetch them claret.

      Max looked into the shrewd grey eyes and wondered if the rumours about the baron being the government’s leading spy-master could possibly be true. If they were, it seemed an odd occupation for a man whose taste in wives ran to Georgy and all her frivolity.

      ‘This is an excuse,’ he said baldly, cutting the fresh pack and offering it to Lucas. ‘I wanted to ask your advice on a matter of some discretion. It is a problem upon which I have only just reached a decision.’

      ‘Indeed.’ Lucas shuffled the cards and dealt, his face blandly amiable. ‘I will be glad to help if I can, Dysart.’

      ‘It is a personal matter.’ Max picked up his cards, one part of his brain assessing the hand, even as he spoke. ‘It concerns an affair that very few people know of, and one I would wish to keep from being any more widely known.’ He laid down a club.

      The baron merely nodded, played in his turn, then remarked, ‘I spend my life hearing things that must never be spoken of. I have the habit of secrecy. Why not tell me your problem? I will see what I can do to help.’

      Max folded the cards in his hand and snapped them down on to the table. ‘It concerns my wife.’ He picked up the hand again, irritated to find himself so lacking in control. ‘I need to be certain that she is dead.’

      Bree sat down next to Piers and fanned herself. ‘Phew! That was very energetic. You are a good dancer, my dear.’

      ‘I am, am I not?’ he observed smugly.

      ‘At least when you are dancing with me you are not being indiscreet with your new friends from the Nonesuch Club. Honestly, Piers—you almost blurted out that I was driving the stage that night! Can you imagine the scandal that would cause if it were known?’

      ‘I’m sorry. I will try to be very careful—but what can I do about them calling? They wanted to know our direction so they can visit—I could hardly refuse to say, could I?’

      Bree nodded. ‘We cannot keep fobbing them off. I’ll have to think of something harmless for them to do that does not involve fare-paying passengers.

      ‘But as for calling, I’m afraid I am going to have to find myself a companion-cum-chaperon, and I do not think I can spend so much time working at the inn either. We need a business manager. Lord Penrith pointed out to me that now we are known widely as James’s relatives we are going to have to keep up this level of respectability. Or, at least, I am. I have to admit, I did not think this through at first, but he is quite correct. Our brother is marrying the daughter of a duke, for goodness’ sake! That is not going to be something that goes away after tonight, or even after the wedding.’

      Her brother grimaced. ‘Isn’t it going to be expensive to hire these people? And won’t you miss it? Working at the Mermaid, I mean?’

      ‘Yes, I will, and I will miss my freedom as well, but it cannot be helped. Leaving James’s opinions to one side, I do not really want to figure as a hoyden, nor do I want to cut myself off from society altogether. Tomorrow I will try the agencies, see what I can find out about what rates of pay would be expected. We can afford it, Piers. The business is doing well, and I can still keep overall control from a safe distance.’

      ‘I could leave school,’ he suggested, with a sideways glance from under ridiculously long lashes.

      ‘And act as my chaperon, do you mean?’ Bree laughed at him. ‘I don’t think so!’

      ‘As our business manager, of course.’ Piers laughed back. ‘And I think you are quite right, it isn’t proper, and it is not fair that you have to do all that work.’ He bit his lip thoughtfully. ‘Won’t it be difficult at home, though, if you are going to employ a starched-up chaperon to live with us?’

      ‘Lord, yes! It would be ghastly,’ Bree agreed, taken aback by the thought. Really, the pitfalls of all this respectability stretched way beyond the cost of it. There would be a loss of privacy, the need to run a more regulated and formal household—and the fact that a chaperon would expect to … well, to chaperon her. ‘What I need,’ she said reflectively, ‘is the appearance of rigid respectability combined with the freedom to do whatever I like.’

      ‘Mmm.’ Piers raised an eyebrow, a skill Bree wished she could perfect. ‘I would love to be a fly on the wall when you explain that at the employment exchange.’

      Lord Lucas’s hand froze in the moment of making a discard, then he recovered himself smoothly