his invitation to take up residence in her own home and await her chaperon and his ideas for her future, he had no choice. Had he been married, he would have had no hesitation in commanding Miss Bellingham to do as he bid her, but, as a single man of no more than one and thirty, he must be circumspect in his dealings with the young lady—and therefore he must try to get on to terms with the old biddy who had brought her to London. He had never met the Viscount Salisbury or any member of his family, but he’d been told by Mrs Bellingham that they were respectable people and rich. He’d thought Lady March a younger woman, but the tone of this letter made him think he’d been mistaken.
Well, he would forget it for this evening. Paul had already set things in motion regarding the furnishing of his house. Lady Moira had returned to town after discovering that her charge was not in residence at Paul’s country house and, discovering that he was camping out in two rooms, promised to arrange for him to meet a very good man who would furnish his house in the latest style.
He’d thanked her, for although he had his own ideas on what he wanted, he really had no idea where to start. Lady Moira knew all the best shops and the silk merchants—because, she said, when she called, all the drapes in the house needed refurbishment too.
Adam had told him he needed a wife, and a certain unease at the back of Paul’s mind warned him that Lady Moira was thinking of herself as filling the position, which meant he would be reluctant to ask for her help furnishing his house. She was actually five years older, but because she dressed in the first style, was intelligent and up to date in her thinking, she seemed younger. Many men seemed to prefer a slightly older woman, and there was something very sensual about Lady Moira. Although Paul did not care for the perfume she wore; it was too heavy and reminded him of some that the ladies of easy virtue who pleasured the Army officers had a habit of wearing. Indeed, Lady Moira reminded him of a beautiful courtesan he’d been offered by the Indian Prince he’d saved from death.
‘I owe you my life, sahib,’ the young Prince told him. ‘Selima is of royal blood and she is yours for the taking. She is trained to please men and she will show you tricks you never dreamed of, my dear lord and saviour.’
Paul had held his laughter inside for he knew the young man believed he was bestowing a great honour by giving him the services of the beautiful concubine, but he’d refused as politely as he could. A certain gleam in the woman’s eyes had spoken of a sly nature and she’d held no appeal for him. However, to refuse point-blank would have been considered an insult, so Paul was forced to fabricate an excuse. He’d been preparing himself for marriage with his English bride, he’d said, and must forswear the pleasures of the flesh until his wedding so that he could do his bride justice.
This had found favour with the young Prince, who clapped his hands and said very seriously that he thought the sahib was wise not to waste his strength on a courtesan when he could have a sweet young bride. Selima would be waiting for him when he returned to India, his heir already born or on its way.
Everyone had felt certain that Paul would return. Why would he wish to live in a cold, wet climate when he could have a life of ease in the heat and splendour of palaces made cool by tinkling fountains and little pools, with lilies and beautiful courtesans to play in them and await the attentions of their master? A wife was necessary for sons, who could inherit his wealth, but after one had sons there was so much more to enjoy.
Paul did not truly know what he wished for. Since his return, almost two weeks since, he’d taken a trip into the country to look at various estates, hoping to find Miss Bellingham where he’d expected her to be. Failing that, he’d visited her aunt and finally returned to London in a less than contented mood. He was still not quite back to his full strength and felt the extra journey had been wasted. Finding that his ward was out when he’d called that afternoon had seemed the outside of enough, and now this letter... For two pins he would sell his estates here and return to India. There seemed little reason for him to stay and he had almost made up his mind to book a passage next month, leaving the winding up of his various estates to his agents and lawyers.
* * *
Jane had just come downstairs the next morning and was about to write some letters in her parlour when she heard the door knocker sound in a manner that was no less than imperious. She hesitated as the footman looked at her, inclined her head and said, ‘I’ll be in my parlour if it is for me, John.’
Going into her parlour, Jane sat at her desk and dipped her pen in the ink. She had just begun her first reply to an invitation when a tap at her door heralded the arrival of the impatient guest. She waited as the door opened and the man she was expecting was announced. Getting slowly to her feet, Jane looked at the man that entered, her heart suddenly beating faster. He was at least a head taller than she, and she was a tall woman. Harry had been slightly shorter but that had never mattered because they were so much in love, but this man could look down on her. Her first thought was that he had a harsh face, but was otherwise unremarkable, and then she looked at his eyes—fierce, and wild, she thought with a little shock, untamed.
‘I have come to speak with Lady March and my ward, Miss Amelia Bellingham. Would you have the goodness to ask them to come down, ma’am?’
‘I am Lady March, and I will certainly ask Melia to come down shortly, but perhaps it might be wise if we spoke first alone?’
‘You—but you’re far too young...’ he said, looking astonished.
‘What have you been told?’ Jane felt a laugh escape her, try as she might to control it. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I believe you are Lord Frant—and I am certainly Lady March. My brother, the Viscount Salisbury, will verify that if you wish.’
‘Of course not...forgive me,’ he said and his eyes glinted, though she was not sure whether it was anger or something else she saw in them. ‘I presumed from...but no matter. I hope I do not inconvenience you but you did say any morning at this hour?’
‘So I did,’ Jane replied. ‘Melia is trying on some gowns that were delivered this morning, but I will send for her in a moment. When we have established why it is so very urgent that you see both of us.’
‘I merely wished to make her acquaintance,’ he said, looking as if the wind had been taken out of his sails. ‘Without my consent or knowledge, her father made both Amelia and Elizabeth my wards. The elder girl is married but I thought...’ He paused, as though he was not sure what he wanted to say. ‘It was never my wish that they should be turned from their home and I wanted to make sure that they—Miss Amelia in particular—had all she needed for her comfort and happiness...’
‘Ah, then we are in agreement,’ Jane said and smiled at him. He stared at her as though he did not quite know what had hit him. ‘Melia is my friend and—although it is not certain, she may one day be my sister. I believe my brother is fond of her and, if they find they suit, he intends to make her an offer of marriage....’
‘Indeed...’ Lord Frant went on staring at her. She thought he looked shocked and felt quite sorry for him. Jane suspected that he had come spoiling for a fight, and something—she had no idea what—had pricked the bubble of anger, leaving him drained like an empty balloon. ‘I am glad to hear she has prospects. It was—and still is—my intention to settle five thousand pounds on her. I intend to do the same for her sister. Ten thousand pounds is more or less the sum I shall receive once I sell the Bellingham estate, and I have no wish to profit from any of it.’
‘It is your intention to sell then?’ Jane appraised him with her clear eyes. ‘I had thought perhaps you had come home to live?’
‘Yes, perhaps I have,’ he said, seeming to come back to himself all at once. He smiled and she saw that his mouth was soft and sensual, not
