accepted Lovelace’s offer of help because she was quite desperate to save herself from a dreadful marriage, only to find herself in a worse situation than she was before.”
“And you have an affinity to Clarissa, have you, Miss Divine?”
Louisa smiled with a faint trace of cynicism. “Oh, I believe there is a Clarissa in most women, Lord Dunstan—just as there is a Lovelace in most men.”
“Perhaps you are right, but we do not all have to resort to kidnap to engage the affections of the ladies we desire. You speak from experience, I think, Miss Divine?” he said slowly, meaningfully, in a voice low with seduction that made Louisa think improper things; it was a voice few women would be able to resist, especially not if the man speaking happened to look like Lord Dunstan—over six feet tall and built like a Greek athlete of old.
She looked at him, suddenly beginning to feel out of her depth, unable to answer his question, and feeling a wave of hot colour burn her cheeks under his close scrutiny. She was relieved when Mr Brewster chose that moment to come shuffling along the aisle towards her.
“I must apologise, my dear young lady, for taking so long. I thought I had a copy of Mr Collins’ poems but I was mistaken.”
“That’s all right, Mr Brewster.” Louisa smiled. “Thank you for taking the trouble to look.”
When he had moved away, Louisa looked up to see Lord Dunstan eyeing her with some amusement and a hint of mockery, his eyelids drooped down over his glorious blue eyes giving him a lazy, sleepy look.
“William Collins! A book of sentimental lyric poetry that is fashionable and much sought after in some circles, I believe.” His smile widened. “I salute your taste, Miss Divine—a veritable catalogue of sensation. Perhaps Mr Brewster might order it for you if you are so desirous to obtain it.”
“I am sure he would, but that would not be convenient.”
“And why is that, pray?”
“Because I do not intend remaining in London for very much longer, Lord Dunstan. That is why.”
“You are not leaving before I have had the pleasure of receiving you at Dunstan House on Thursday evening, I hope?”
In answer she took the book he was still holding and placed it back on the shelf, conscious as she did so that their fingers touched. She moved away from him quickly, disturbed by his close proximity but refusing to show it—although she strongly suspected he was aware of it and found it amusing. Assuming a calm, almost blasé expression, she smiled.
“That all depends on Mr Fraser, Lord Dunstan.”
“And you wish to visit the pleasure gardens that evening, as I remember. Ranelagh or Vauxhall?”
“Why, I—we, that is—have not yet decided,” she stammered.
“Good. Then you should not be disappointed if you have to put off going.” His expression suddenly changed and the lightness disappeared from his tone. He looked at her hard, moving closer. “Come, now, Miss Divine, let us cut the preliminaries, shall we? You strike me as being a sensible young woman—and a beautiful one—although from my experience the two do not always keep good company.
“I find you extremely attractive and it is obvious we were made to know each other better—that our paths were destined to cross. Should Mr Fraser find he has another engagement tomorrow night, you could accompany Mr Hacket to Dunstan House or come by yourself. You will be well received and find it extremely rewarding.”
Even though Louisa had spent all her life buried in the country, away from the sleaze and corruption of London, she would have had to be a simple, naive fool not to have known the implication of his words. Insulted, hot, angry colour flooded her cheeks again and she took a step back abruptly, gazing at him with pure loathing.
“I think you are mistaken, Lord Dunstan. I am not for sale.”
He arched his brow infuriatingly. “Oh! I thought all the ladies who attended Lady Bricknell’s parties were?”
“I can assure you that this one isn’t. Goodbye, Lord Dunstan.”
Louisa turned and marched out of the shop with all the dignity she could muster, never having been so insulted in her entire life. But what did she expect, she rebuked herself furiously, after brazenly showing herself at a party thrown by a notorious socialite of Lady Bricknell’s ilk? Lord Dunstan, along with every other man present, could not be blamed for believing her to be a whore.
Alistair watched Louisa go with a brooding attentiveness in his eyes and not without a good deal of interest, extremely puzzled by her behaviour. Hostility from the likes of her was not something he had encountered before. Most young ladies were more than eager to be amiable to him.
But in Miss Divine’s voice there had been something sincere which troubled him. She was not of a common kind, and there was also about her a mysterious, almost sweet and gentle allure. Could it be that she was different from the others? But no, he told himself harshly, striding out of the shop, angry that she had been capable of rousing in him a moment of weakness.
He knew from harsh experience that a woman’s face could be deceptive. Why should Miss Divine be any different? If that was her real name, which he very much doubted, which gave him all the evidence he needed of how good an actress she was and how well practised in the arts of deception. But as he strode along Fleet Street towards the Mitre tavern he was unable to cast her from his thoughts, for every time he saw her—in surroundings so very different from the ones before—she succeeded in getting under his skin.
She had the poise of a woman fully conscious of her beautiful face and figure, and his instinct detected untapped depths of passion in her that sent silent signals instantly recognisable to a lusty, full-blooded male like himself. The impact of these signals caused an ache to start deep inside him and brought a smouldering glow to his eyes as he imagined what it would be like to possess such a glorious creature—and that was the moment when he marked Miss Divine as his own.
Somehow Louisa managed to turn in the direction of Henrietta Street, trying to still the angry trembling inside, her cheeks still burning with shame. Lord Dunstan was despicable, even more despicable than she recalled, and she detested him thoroughly—for what he was, what he thought she was, and for what he had done to James. But with every step that took her further away from Mr Brewster’s bookshop a plan was forming in her mind, a plan so shocking she hardly dared enlarge on it. It caused her heart to pound so hard she could scarcely breathe, for it was a plan no gently bred young lady would dare think of, let alone consider.
Yet as she walked with her head down, completely unaware of the people around her, she fixed her mind on the plan, and, with a cold logic, let it grow until she could think of nothing else. At one stroke Lord Dunstan had presented her with an answer to her problem. He was obviously attracted by her, assessing her for the possibility of an amorous affair. He had told her that he wanted her and would reward her well. By giving herself to him, it could wipe out James’s debt entirely.
The thought of giving herself to Lord Dunstan sent a chill down her spine, but it did not shock her, the events of the past twenty-four hours having drained her of all feeling so there was hardly any emotion left in her. If her capacity to feel had been intact, everything inside her would have protested and rebelled against the plan forming in her mind, for she hated Lord Dunstan. But with her feelings and emotions deadened by the anxiety of the situation James had created her thoughts were entirely
