The Mistress of Hanover Square

‘It was a stroke of luck for you, I suppose.’

‘Yes…though it has its drawbacks. My brother and sister-in-law are resentful of the fact that I inherited a fortune they believe should have gone to them. Michael has been unpleasant to me on more than one occasion since my aunt died.’

‘They had no right to expect it. Lady Agatha might have left her money anywhere.’

‘Indeed, she might,’ Amelia said. ‘I believe her deceased husband also had relatives who might have hoped for something—but they at least have not approached me on the matter.’

‘And your brother has?’ His brows arched, eyes narrowed and intent.

‘Several times,’ Amelia said. ‘It has been the subject of endless arguments between us. Michael thinks I should make most of the money over to him. I have no intention of doing what he demands, but it has made for bad blood between us.’ She hesitated, then, ‘I have not spoken of this to anyone but Emily—but his last visit was almost threatening. I was a little disturbed by it, I admit.’

‘Sir Michael is of a violent temperament…’

Amelia was silent for a moment, then, ‘You are thinking it might have been he who tried to have me abducted at Pendleton the summer before last? I believe you thought it then?’

‘It is possible, but I may have been mistaken. My own encounter with him may have coloured my thinking. If it was him, why has he not carried the threat further? Why stop at one attempt?’

‘I do not know. For a long time I thought that there might be another attempt, but nothing happened.’

‘It is puzzling. The likely explanation seems that it was actually Susannah who was the intended victim and you were mistaken for her. As you know, there was some awkwardness between the Marquis of Northaven and Harry Pendleton at that time.’

‘That is one possibility, and yet I cannot think that we are alike. Emily is convinced that my brother means me harm. She overheard something he said to me some months ago and she suggested that he would benefit if I died.’

‘Would he?’

‘At the moment he is the largest, though not the only, beneficiary.’

Gerard nodded. ‘It might be wise to change that and let it be known that you have done so, Amelia.’

Amelia’s expression was thoughtful. ‘I cannot think that Michael would wish to see me dead—even for a fortune. My brother is bad tempered and arrogant, but I would not have thought him a murderer.’

‘It would not hurt to take some precautions. I could arrange for you to be watched over—as I did once before. And changes to your will might help if you would consider making them.’

‘Yes, I may do so after the New Year. We are to attend Helene and Max’s ball at Coleridge. Shall you be there?’

‘Yes, I believe so,’ Gerard said. ‘As you know, both Harry and Max are particular friends of mine.’

‘And their wives are good friends of mine,’Amelia said. ‘I should be grateful if you could arrange some kind of protection, for Emily as well as me. I have no idea how it may be done and it may not truly be necessary. I shall, of course, pay the men myself.’

‘As you wish,’ Gerard said. ‘The breeze is very cold. I think we may have some snow. Should we return to the house before we freeze to death?’

‘Yes, perhaps we should,’ Amelia replied.

She had the oddest feeling that he had been on the verge of saying something very different, but at the last he had changed his mind. Nothing more of note was said between them, and they parted after returning to the house. She pondered on what might have been in Gerard’s mind as she went in search of her hostess.

It was good of him to say that he would find suitable men to protect her if he thought her in danger from her brother’s spite. If, of course, it was her brother she needed protecting from…but who else could it be?

‘What made you think I would be interested in such an outrageous proposition?’ The Marquis of Northaven looked at the person sitting opposite him in the private parlour of the posting inn to which he had been summoned that evening. He had considered ignoring the note sent to his lodgings in town, but curiosity and a certain intuition had brought him here. However, to the best of his knowledge he had never met the gentleman before. ‘Kidnapping is a hanging offence…’

‘I had heard that you have a score to settle with a certain gentleman.’

‘Where did you hear that?’ Northaven was alert, suspicious. The other man’s features were barely visible in the shadows, his face halfcovered by the muffler he wore to keep out the cold.

‘One hears these things…of course there would be money once the ransom was paid.’

‘Money…’ Northaven’s mouth curved in a sneer, a flash of hauteur in his manner. ‘I have not yet run through the inheritance my uncle left me.’

‘Then forget I asked you. I had thought you might care to see Ravenshead brought down, but if you do not have the stomach for it there are others willing, nay, eager to do my bidding.’

‘How would this bring Ravenshead down?’ Northaven asked, eyes narrowed, menacing.

‘He imagines he will marry Amelia Royston. I do not wish to see that happen. Once I have finished with her, she will marry no one!’

The Marquis of Northaven shivered, feeling icy cold. He had done much in his life that he was not proud of, but something in the tone of the person who was asking him to arrange Amelia Royston’s downfall was disturbing. Northaven had seduced more than one young woman, but contrary to what was said and thought of him, he had taken none against their will. Indeed, they usually threw themselves into his arms—and why should he say no? Handsome beyond what many thought decent, he had an air of unavailability that made him irresistible to many ladies. He was by no means a white knight, but neither was he the traitor some thought him. He might cheat at cards when desperate; he might lie if it suited him and would not deny that he had sailed close to the edge a few times, but a cold-blooded murderer he was not.

Northaven had been angry with the men who had once been his friends. He had hated the holy trilogy, as he was wont to call Harry Pendleton, Max Coleridge and Gerard Ravenshead. He hated them because they despised him, believed him worse than he truly was, but with the turn in his fortunes of late much of his resentment had cooled. He would have dismissed the proposition being made to him out of hand, but he was curious to hear more.

‘Supposing I were interested in bringing down Ravenshead,’ he said. ‘What would you be willing to pay—and what do you plan for Miss Royston?’

‘I was thinking of ten thousand guineas. Her fate is not your affair. All you need to do is to deliver her to me.’

The words were delivered with such malice that Northaven’s stomach turned. He imagined that Miss Royston’s fate might be worse than death and it sickened him. He was well aware that Amelia Royston had once thought him guilty of the callous seduction and desertion of her friend; he had allowed her to believe it, but it was not true. A few months previously he might have left her to her fate. He had then been a bitter, angry man, but something had happened to him the day he watched a young girl marry the man she loved—the man she had risked everything to save when she thought he was about to die.

No woman had ever loved Northaven enough to take a ball in the shoulder for him. Susannah Hampton had been reckless and could easily have died had his aim been slightly to the left. The moment his ball had struck her shoulder, Northaven had felt remorse. He had been relieved when Susannah made a full recovery. Something drove him to mingle with the crowd on her wedding day. When her eyes met his as she left the church on her husband’s arm, they had seemed to ask a question. He had answered it with a nod of his head and he believed she understood. His feud with her husband was over.

He had not fallen in love with her. Yet she had touched him in a way he had never expected. He had suddenly realised where he was headed if he continued on his reckless path: he would end a lonely, bitter man. For a while the resentment against his onetime friends had continued to burn inside him, but of late he had felt more at peace with himself.

Perhaps at last he had found the way to redeem himself.

‘Let me think about it,’ he said. ‘Ten thousand guineas is a fair sum—and I have no love for Ravenshead. Give me a few days and I shall decide.’

‘Meet me here again in two days and I will tell you more. We can do nothing over Christmas. Miss Royston goes to Coleridge in the New Year—and that will be our chance…’

Chapter Two

Gerard cursed himself for a fool as he parted from Amelia. He had let yet another chance slip, but after discussing his daughter and her brother the time had not seemed right. If he had asked Amelia to marry him in the same breath as telling her that she ought to think of changing her will, she might have thought he was asking her for reasons of convenience to himself. He had made his circumstances clear so that when he did speak there would be no misunder-standing. He was not in need of a rich wife, though Amelia was extremely wealthy. Her fortune was yet another reason why he hesitated—but the burning problem besetting him was whether her opinion of him would suffer when he told her the truth of Lisette’s death.

To conceal the details from her would not be honest. If they were to come out at some time in the future, she might feel that he had deceived her and there would be a loss of trust. All in all, Gerard considered that he had done what he could to prepare the ground for a future proposal. He felt they were good friends, but he could not be sure that anything of their former love was left on Amelia’s part, though every time he saw her he was more convinced that she was the only woman for him. She was beautiful, charming and the scent of her always seemed to linger, making him aware of a deep hunger within. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. Without her…

‘My lord…’ The footman’s voice broke through Gerard’s reverie. He turned as the man approached him. ‘This was delivered for you early this morning, sir.’

‘For me?’ Gerard stared at the parcel wrapped in strong brown paper and tied with string. ‘Was there a card? Do you know who delivered it?’

‘It was a gentleman’s man, sir. I do not know his name, but he said his gentleman had bid him deliver this to you here.’

‘I see…thank you.’ Gerard frowned as he took the parcel. He had left gifts at the homes of some friends in London; however, he had told no one but Toby Sinclair that he was coming here for Christmas. The gift might have come from one of the other guests, but it was more normal to exchange them after dinner on Christmas Eve. He shook the parcel gently and discovered that it rattled. Intrigued, he took it into a small parlour to the right of the hall and untied the strings, folding back the paper.

There was no card, but inside the paper was a wooden box. He lifted the lid and stared at the contents. At first he thought that the doll must be a present for Lisa. However, the head was lying at an odd angle, and, as he lifted it out, he saw that the porcelainhead had been wrenched from the stuffed body. It was broken across the face and the body had been slit down the middle with a knife or something similar.