The Earl's Irresistible Challenge. Lara Temple

held herself still even as his lips slid and settled on her own. It is only Colin, she reminded herself. This is not Bertram and you are no longer a gullible fool. No one will ever take advantage of you that way again. Ever.

      He drew back, his blue eyes warm and his cheeks pink, and finally she allowed herself to move, pulling her hands from his.

      ‘I must go or Nora will worry. Please tell your mama and Phoebe... Tell them I will see them soon. Be strong, Colin.’

      She hurried outside to the awaiting hackney, narrowly missing a pushcart piled high with casks. Inside, she tugged off her gloves and kneaded her palms, trying to chase away the stinging pressure that always came when memories of Bertram returned.

      ‘I’m so sorry I kept you waiting in this horrid weather, Nora. You will not believe who is in town...’

      ‘I saw Master Colin approach you, Miss Olivia. I told you this was foolishness itself. You aren’t twelve years old, hiding in trees so you can listen to your brothers’ talk unseen. And you needn’t tell me to save my breath, I know you won’t listen. Just put this shawl over your legs, it is almost as cold as back home. I take it you didn’t tell Master Colin the truth?’

      ‘I cannot, you know that. I may uncover nothing and I do not wish to give him false hope.’

      Nora sighed, but didn’t answer, and Olivia turned to look out the window and caught herself as she rubbed again at her cheek, as if she could wipe away the underlying memories of her disastrous betrothal.

      She did not regret jilting Bertram—marriage to that deceitful wretch would be far worse than heartbreak and ostracism—but she deeply regretted telling Henry Payton the truth and then swearing him to secrecy. Poor Henry had taken her side and then faced the fury of Bertram’s family without complaint, even when Bertram’s father Sir Ivo made it impossible for Henry to work in Gillingham. She did not even try to escape her culpability—it was her fault he had to spend so much time in London away from his wife, therefore her fault he sought solace with other women, therefore her fault he was dead.

      None of this was Colin’s fault, but when he kissed her the mocking memory of her fateful confrontation with Bertram surfaced, as sharp and vivid as the reality. Bertram had dismissed her rejection, trying to placate her by the same means he achieved everything—seduction. She had once enjoyed his kisses, convinced they were signs of his love. But that evening the embraces she so looked forward to became unbearable. She could still see his face bearing down on her, feel his wet lips seeking her mouth, the weight of his body pressing her against the wall... Everything she looked forward to in their union became a sign of her gullibility. Colin was nothing like Bertram, but perhaps now and for ever any contact with a man would bear Bertram’s taint and that of her disgust with her blindness. All her passionate hopes capsized by the weight of his horrible deceit.

      She shook herself. What mattered now was Henry. She had come to London and opened herself to the world again because of him and she would see her task through.

      If Lord Sinclair wouldn’t help, she would do it alone. She would prove the Henry Payton she knew and loved had existed, even if he was dead. She would stand by him as he had stood by her.

       Chapter Three

      Lucas waited until the young man exited the church before leaving the shadow of the pillars separating the nave from the chancel. He was tempted to go after him and tell him precisely what foolhardiness his little friend was engaged in. Perhaps a few judicious words about her activities would have her family remove her before she caused real damage. To herself or to others.

      He walked outside into the gloomy winter morning, juggling what he knew about her. He was accustomed to making quick judgements about people, but this girl was proving a bit of a puzzle. Perhaps it would be a good idea to discuss this with Chase. They rarely discussed the past, but his brother was not only good at puzzles but this concerned him as well. Not that he would show it, or much else for that matter. Chase went through life as lightly as possible. Lucas considered going to Chase’s apartments near St James’s, but thought better of it. This discussion had best be held at Sinclair House where they would be assured of privacy.

      ‘This place grows more cavernous every time I enter it. Shouldn’t you consider replacing the carpet on the stairs? I sounded like a herd of stampeding camels on the way up,’ Chase said as he entered Lucas’s study at Sinclair House. Lucas looked up from his papers and smiled at his younger brother. They were of a height and had often been mistaken for twins once out of school, but Chase’s eyes were grey rather than black, as if transitioning between their mother’s Italian blood and the Sinclairs’ northern heritage. He was still brown from his recent trip to the east, adding to the Latin impression.

      ‘I prefer it that way,’ Lucas replied as he went to pour his brother a measure of brandy. ‘You of all people should appreciate the benefit of being forewarned.’

      ‘You have the Tubbs clan in the nether regions to do that for you, Luke. Some boy I didn’t recognise, but scarcely out of breeches, opened the door for me. I thought Mrs Tubbs called a halt to her share in growing the family.’

      ‘That would have been Richard. He is Annie’s boy.’

      ‘Annie’s? My God, she was an inch high when I last saw her.’

      ‘Another sign you don’t come here often enough. Are you settled in London for now?’

      ‘I don’t know yet. A few weeks, perhaps, but I will visit Sam at the Hall before I leave again. I don’t like the fact that our little sister is still holed up at Sinclair Hall so long after Ricardo’s death.’

      ‘Don’t press her, Chase. It isn’t Ricardo she is mourning and you know Sam makes her own decisions, including how long and how hard to mourn. Besides, she is keeping busy with her work.’

      ‘I won’t press. I merely want to see her. And you? How long before you roam again?’

      ‘I am expected in St Petersburg in a month or so. Why not stay here while you are in London?’

      Chase looked around the study.

      ‘No, the Mausoleum is your cross to bear, Lucas. Just walking by the closed door to the Great Hall reminded me why I prefer the uncomplicated impersonality of my lodgings on Half Moon Street.’

      Lucas grimaced. ‘I always enter by way of the mews myself. One day I will have to do something about this place one way or another. It’s damnable that it is entailed.’

      Chase swirled his brandy and went to sprawl in a wingchair by the fireplace.

      ‘That is sufficient reason to have an heir, just so you can then break the entail and rid us of the Mausoleum and the Hall.’

      ‘No, thank you. I don’t think the world needs more Sinclairs; we’ve done enough damage as it is.’

      ‘So we have. I dare say the world wishes our Sinclair ancestors had stayed in the far north among our Scottish forebears instead of joining the English court and wheedling good English titles and land out of them. Too late to repine now, though. So why don’t you tell me what is bothering you?’

      ‘Why do you presume something is bothering me?’

      ‘Years of experience. Out with it.’

      Chase had an impressive ability to remain still while listening, offering neither distraction nor encouragement and certainly no indication of his thoughts, but Lucas knew him too well to be fooled. His very stillness was telling.

      ‘What do you think?’ Lucas asked as he concluded his story of the peculiar Miss Silverdale and her theories.

      ‘I think that if anyone else had told me this tale I would be checking them for the fever. Gypsies, doxies and occultists... Are you quite certain that young woman isn’t touched?’

      ‘I’m