Major Clifton’s role in the affair she said only that he wanted to keep Tony’s name free from scandal and to help her to catch the culprit. When she had finished her recital she reached into her reticule and pulled out the crumpled paper. ‘When I met with the villain he gave me this tonight.’ She shuddered as she handed it to him. ‘Burn it, please, once you have read it.’
Alex took it, rubbing his chin as he frowned over the writing.
‘You will see that you are only mentioned there as “M”,’ she said, ‘but if anyone begins to put together the dates and the places, your identity must be known.’
He looked up.
‘Why did you not tell me?’ he asked. ‘Why did you not write to me? I would have come back to town immediately.’
She spread her hands, saying miserably, ‘I thought I could deal with this myself. And then…and then Major Clifton became involved.’
Alex tossed the paper into the fire, a look of distaste marring his fair features. He said, ‘Tony mentioned Clifton to me in one or two of his letters. Thought quite highly of him, so I suppose we can trust him.’ He shot a glance at her. ‘How much does he know, Elle?’
‘Only that I am desperate to recover the diary.’ A knot of unhappiness was twisting itself in her stomach. ‘He knows nothing of its contents.’
She lowered her eyes, unwilling to meet Alex’s keen glance.
‘He thinks it is a scandalous record of your affairs,’ he stated baldly.
Eloise shrugged. ‘Better that than the truth.’
‘And you don’t mind that?’
‘Of course not. Major Clifton is nothing to me!’ She looked away from his searching gaze. ‘And there is no need for you to look at me like that. You know I have no wish for another husband.’ She managed a scornful laugh. ‘Certainly not the major!’
Eloise did not think she sounded very convincing, but Alex seemed satisfied. He said, ‘Well, I am here now, and I will help you recover that damned book. You can tell Major Clifton that we no longer require his help.’
Eloise could not understand herself: she had thought she wanted nothing more than to be free for ever of Jack’s disturbing presence, but Alex’s words gave her pause.
‘I am not sure he will be that easy to put off,’ said Eloise slowly. ‘He is very anxious to protect the Allyngham name.’
‘Is that all he wishes to protect?’
Her cheeks grew warm again as she remembered her behaviour in the carriage. She stifled a sigh.
‘He has no reason to think well of me.’
‘No, it is most likely that Clifton thinks to take you for his mistress.’
‘No!’ cried Eloise, tears starting to her eyes. ‘He must know I would never agree to that!’
‘Are you sure? When you go off alone with him to Vauxhall, and invite him into your house in the middle of the night?’
Eloise bit her lip. She had been about to tell Jack the truth, but had he understood that, or had he thought she was offering to take him to her bed?
‘Much as I hate to admit it, Jack Clifton could be useful to us,’ mused Alex, rubbing his chin. ‘After all, we cannot involve too many people in this affair. And if we are careful, there is no reason why he should ever discover that the journal is anything other than an account of the Wanton Widow’s scandalous past, is there?’
Eloise stared into the fire. A short while ago she had been on the verge of telling the major everything. Now she must continue with her role, and abandon any hope of Jack Clifton ever regarding her with respect.
‘No,’ she said dully. ‘No reason at all.’
Lady Chastleton’s rout promised to be a huge success: the elegant salons were so full that it was impossible to move freely and even though the tall windows to the garden had been thrown open, the noise and heat had increased to an uncomfortable level.
Catching sight of her reflection in the gilded mirror, Eloise thought that no one watching the Glorious Allyngham would think her anything other than a wicked flirt.
She was in Lady Chastleton’s elegant salon, at the centre of a group of attentive gentlemen. One young buck was gazing at her adoringly, another had taken her fan and was gently waving it to and fro; Sir Ronald Deforge was offering her a glass of champagne while a red-faced gentleman in a powdered wig was bending to take snuff from her upturned wrist.
Her eyes travelled to where Alex was standing, paying court to a shy ingénue who blushed prettily whenever he addressed her. She sighed. They were both playing out their charade and she knew Alex was as sick of it as she. If only they could retire again to their respective country acres. But it could not be, not yet. Not while the threat of exposure hung over them.
‘You must take care not to allow the snuff to stain your fair skin, my lady.’ Sir Ronald’s voice broke into her reverie. ‘Allow me to brush it off.’
He caught her hand and rubbed his thumb over her wrist. It was an effort for her not to pull her hand away with a little shudder of revulsion. Instead she gave him a roguish smile as he bent to touch his lips to the soft whiteness of her inner wrist. Some instinct made her look up at that moment and her smile slipped a little when she saw Major Clifton glowering at her from across the room. Her head went up and she hunched one white shoulder at him. She had heard nothing from him since Vauxhall and it did not matter what he thought, he was nothing to her. When she looked again he had disappeared into the crowd and Eloise tried to convince herself that she did not care, but her dissatisfaction with the evening was intensified.
With soft smiles and caressing words she retrieved her fan, disengaged herself from her entourage and moved away. Lord Berrow was smiling and nodding to her from across the room but she pretended she had not seen him: he might still be persuaded to sell her Ainsley Wood but she had laughed and flirted enough for one night. She would find Alex and ask him to take her home.
‘You are frowning, madam. It does not become you.’
Major Clifton’s voice at her shoulder brought her to a halt. She looked round to find him beside her. Glancing up, she saw no sympathy in his face, only a cool, considering look in his hard eyes.
‘I have the headache,’ she said shortly.
‘A little air will revive you.’ He held out his arm. ‘Let me escort you outside.’
She hesitated but the sight of Sir Ronald Deforge standing a short distance away decided her: if she turned from Major Clifton she knew Sir Ronald would be at her side, offering to escort her, enveloping her with his suffocating attentions. She laid her fingers on Jack’s sleeve and allowed him to lead her to the nearest of the tall windows. His arm was reassuringly solid beneath the soft wool of his evening coat and it was tempting to lean upon him. It was very odd that she should feel so safe with Jack Clifton beside her, despite his obvious
