‘Still there. I’m sure they will return to the ballroom shortly.’
Harry returned to his chair and sat, watching Lady Fortescue out of the corner of his eye. When she’d introduced herself he’d been unable to stop from staring. Normally so in control of his reactions, he’d been thrown by her identity. She was notorious, perhaps the most notorious widow in society at the present time. Married three times before the age of twenty-five, her latest husband, Lord Fortescue, in the ground for twelve months now. He’d expected her to look different somehow, perhaps more exotic. Instead a perfectly pleasant-looking young woman stood before him. She was pretty, but not any more so than most of the young debutantes. He couldn’t deny she had poise and grace, but there was a coolness about her that hinted at a reserved character and a tendency to shun company. Her most intriguing feature were her eyes. Cool and grey, they seemed impenetrable. Normally a young woman’s eyes gave away her emotions, but not Lady Fortescue’s. If eyes were the window to the soul, then Lady Fortescue’s were shuttered and barred against intruders.
They remained silent for some minutes, Harry reclining in the armchair, Lady Fortescue standing in the middle of the room, her hands folded together in front of her abdomen, the perfect picture of demure womanhood.
‘So tell me,’ Harry said when he could bear the silence no longer, ‘are the rumours true?’
His companion sighed, a deep and heartfelt sound that hinted that she’d rather be anywhere but here.
‘I find rumours rarely are,’ she said evasively.
‘Very true,’ Harry murmured. He knew better than most the damage malicious gossip could cause. ‘How do you bear it? People talking about you, speculating?’
Lady Fortescue shrugged, an instinctive movement that she seemed to try to suppress at the last moment. ‘People will always talk. It doesn’t matter what they say if you don’t listen.’
Although she was younger than he, and undoubtedly hadn’t been exposed to as much of the world as he, she had a quiet wisdom about her that suggested she’d had more important things to cope with than a little gossip in her time.
‘Most women would not feel comfortable leaving the ballroom on their own, let alone wandering about a strange house,’ Harry said, changing the focus of the conversation. He was curious as to why she had put herself in this position in the first place. Although the ton were meant to be respectable, the cream of society, some of the men still got uncontrollably drunk at functions such as this and thought it their right to take advantage of any unchaperoned woman. From a young age the future debutantes were cautioned about wandering away from crowds if they wanted to keep their virtue intact. A necessary requirement Harry was painfully aware of.
Again that almost imperceptible shrug. Lady Fortescue might be intriguing, but she certainly wasn’t the easiest woman to make conversation with.
‘Sometimes a little peace is worth a considered risk.’ Moving gracefully, as if she were gliding across the floor instead of walking, Lady Fortescue crossed to the window. ‘This leads out on to the terrace,’ she said, turning her neck to look in one direction and then the other. ‘It would be an easy way back to the ballroom.’
‘Surely my company isn’t so intolerable you have to contemplate climbing out a window?’
A grimace and then a reluctant smile flitted across Lady Fortescue’s face. Although the smile was barely more than an upturning of the corner of her lips, it transformed her face and Harry caught a glimpse of what her three husbands must have been so enamoured with.
‘I am supposed to be chaperoning my young cousin,’ she said by way of explanation, still eyeing up the window as if it were a valid option.
‘You’re far too young to be relegated to the role of chaperon,’ Harry said, without thinking the words through. It was a compliment, in a roundabout way, and he had the feeling Lady Fortescue was not comfortable with receiving compliments.
‘Three times a widow,’ Lady Fortescue said, adding so quietly Harry was sure he wasn’t meant to hear, ‘and happy to never have to dance a waltz again.’
She’d just stepped away from the window when the faint hum of voices out in the hallway became a little louder. Both Harry and his companion stiffened, and Harry realised he was holding his breath waiting to see if the doorknob started to turn.
‘We can’t be found together,’ Harry whispered, standing quickly and crossing to the window. Normally he wouldn’t worry for his own reputation in this sort of situation. As a titled and wealthy gentleman he could generally withstand being found in a compromising position with a young lady, even one as notorious as Lady Fortescue. However, following his sister’s unfortunate liaison with the dishonourable Captain Mountfield last year and the ensuing scandal, the Edgerton family was not in a position to be embarrassed again. Added to that the look of pure fear in Lady Fortescue’s eyes at the thought of giving the gossips of London society something to really get their teeth into, the window escape was looking more appealing every second that passed.
Quickly he unbolted the window, slid it up and motioned for Lady Fortescue to join him. She was at his side in an instant, nodding as he motioned for her to go first. With more grace than should have been possible in this situation Lady Fortescue gathered up her skirts, giving Harry a fleeting glimpse of a slender, stockinged leg, and allowed him to steady her as she stepped up to the windowsill.
Behind them the voices were getting louder still and now Harry had no doubt they were heading for the study. If he could just get Lady Fortescue out of the window he would be able to distract whoever came into the room until she had managed to move out of sight.
She stepped up as the doorknob began to turn. One foot was through the window, balancing on the sill outside as the door began to open. Then Lady Fortescue gave a quiet cry of pain, lost her footing and came careening back into the room. Harry instinctively caught her, spinning round with the impact of her body into his and ending up with her chest pressed against his, one arm looped around her waist and the other resting between her shoulder blades.
At that very instant the door opened fully.
‘Merciful Lord,’ Mrs Winter, one of the worst gossips in the whole of London, exclaimed loudly.
Quietly Lady Fortescue groaned.
All in all there were four women standing on the other side of the study door. Each and every one looked thrilled to be at the centre of such a scandal.
Slowly, aware his every movement was being observed and mentally recorded for later dissection and discussion, Harry ensured Lady Fortescue had her balance before removing his arms and stepping away.
‘Ladies,’ he said with a polite bow.
‘Lord Edgerton,’ Mrs Winter gushed breathlessly, ‘and Lady Fortescue.’
Muscling a path through her companions, a well-built lady in her late forties stepped into the room. Harry closed his eyes momentarily, wondering how he’d sinned to be punished this badly.
‘Lord Edgerton, this really won’t do,’ Lady Prenderson, their hostess for this evening, said, her eyes burning with righteous indignation. ‘This behaviour is unacceptable—having relations with this woman in my husband’s study.’
Harry wasn’t sure what she objected to the most: the supposed relations between him
