child as much as he did. He just had to go and choose her.
This was nothing like he had expected it to be. Avery, his features schooled into the expression that worked for sensitive, yet boring, diplomatic parties, circulated the room, displaying an outer confidence while he fought an inner sensation that was something akin to panic.
Young women swirled around him like so many birds in an aviary, charming in their pastels and frills, smiling and flirting and chattering. Previously he would have been civil to the plain ones and the dull ones—not that Godmama had invited anyone who fitted those descriptions—and then admired the pretty ones with an appreciative male eye for their physical features.
Which was just what he would be guarding Alice against when she was their age—men like him. Shaken, Avery kept his eyes firmly raised above collarbone level and set himself to assess character, not curves. There were ten eligible misses assembled for him, the mix leavened—or perhaps the better word was disguised—by three married couples in their early thirties, eight bachelors of his age and younger, a couple of older widowers and a handful of widows of Lady Birtwell’s age. And Lady Laura Campion who was, he decided, neither fish, fowl nor good red herring.
‘Lord Wykeham?’ Lady Amelia Woodstock looked up at him through wide blue eyes, delightfully fringed by darker lashes. ‘Is something amiss?’
‘Am I scowling?’ he enquired. ‘I do apologise.’
‘No, not scowling, merely looking a trifle thoughtful and severe. No doubt matters of state are weighing on your mind.’ Her lips quirked into a confiding smile which managed to convey that she was hugely impressed by his importance, but also recognised that he was a man who might be charmed. By the right woman.
‘To be frank, they are not.’ Avery lowered his voice and leaned towards her. With a twinkle Lady Amelia inclined her head for him to divulge the secret. ‘I was wondering what a red herring was and why, precisely, it is always referred to as good red herring.’
‘Or why it is the term for a deceptive clue.’ Lady Amelia pursed her lips in thought. Full, kissable lips, Avery noted. ‘Perhaps Dr Johnson’s Dictionary would tell us.’
Us, not you. A clever little trick to increase the intimacy of the conversation. Not only a lovely young lady, but a bright one, as well. Not that he was ready to go off to the library and snuggle up on the sofa with only a massive tome as chaperon. Not quite yet, not with the first promising candidate.
He glanced up and saw Laura watching him. No, watching Lady Amelia and with an expression he could not read on her face. It was not approval. Jealousy? After that kiss in his bedchamber any other woman would be expecting either a declaration or a carte blanche, but Laura knew full well why he would never offer either of those. The only kind of relationship they might ever have was a flaming and very short-lived affaire characterised by lust on both sides and liking on neither. And, as he was a gentleman and had no intention of carrying out his threats to ruin her, that must remain in the realms of fantasy. It was a very stimulating thought though and his body reacted to it with a shocking lack of discipline.
With an inward snarl at his inner primitive male Avery wrenched his thoughts back to reality and the sensible thing, which was to avoid the blasted woman, get his rebellious body under control and stop reacting like a green youth whenever the scent of her was in his nostrils. But in the confines of one house, and with an innocent child in the middle of the thing, he was not certain how avoidance was going to be possible. He wondered whether it was still possible to purchase hair shirts.
He was certainly no fit company just at the moment for an innocent young lady, not without a moment or two to collect his thoughts. ‘Will you excuse me, Lady Amelia? It is almost time for dinner and Lady Birtwell asked me to take in Lady Catherine Dunglass, so I had better find her and make myself known.’
‘She is over there by the window in the yellow gown. So brave to wear that shade of primrose with red hair.’
Little cat, Avery thought, amused by the flash of claws. Lady Catherine had dark auburn hair and the primrose gown was a rather odd choice to complement it, but he doubted a mere man would have noticed without that little jibe. Was Lady Amelia aware of just why this house party had been assembled? Or perhaps she considered all single girls as rivals on principle and dealt with them with equal resolution. Perhaps they all did, he thought, startled by the notion that the ladies were hunting the single males with the same determination, although probably with rather different motives, as the gentlemen pursued them.
Parents were obviously searching for just the right husband for their daughters, but surely these girls, innocent, sheltered and privileged, were not ruthlessly seeking men? Weren’t they supposed to wait passively to be chosen, exhibiting their accomplishments and beauty? He glanced across at Laura again. The fast young women like her were after excitement, obviously, but these other young women? He was obviously hopelessly naive in this matter of courtship and he did not like feeling at a disadvantage. It was not a sensation he experienced often.
Avery murmured a word to Lady Amelia and made his way across to the window and Lady Catherine, passing close by Laura as he did so. She turned and looked at him, her gaze clear, limpid and implacable. Was it only obvious to him that she had been kissed to within an inch of ravishment only a short while before? Her lips were full and a deep rose-pink and a trace of rice powder glinted on her cheek where he must have roughened the tender skin with his evening beard. Marked her.
Mine, something primitive and feral growled inside him. Madness, his common sense hissed back. This woman was a threat to everything that was important to him. He had tried to put aside the knowledge that she was Alice’s mother, his daughter’s blood kin, and that by following his instinct, to keep the two apart, he was both punishing Laura and preventing Alice from ever knowing and loving her own flesh and blood.
Of all the awkward times and places to have an attack of doubt! Avery moved behind an ornate screen to try to collect himself for a moment. Alice would never stop wondering why her mother had left her. As she got older she would speculate on why her parents had not married—and would doubtless place the blame on Avery’s head.
I could tell her the truth—but then she will know Laura sent her away, completely out of her life. How could she face that rejection? She will know I am not her father. And if she blames me? I sent her father back to war and his death. I am stopping her mother from being with her. The shock would be terrible, her trust would be destroyed, not just in me, but in the whole basis of her life.
Fear was an alien emotion, except when he thought about Alice having an accident, being ill, being frightened. Now he knew he was afraid for himself. If Alice discovers the truth, I will have hurt her. And if I lose Alice, I have lost the only person I love.
Exerting all the control he had, Avery stepped out of cover and found Laura’s eyes still on him. Hell, he wanted her. If he had not known all the things he knew about her he would have liked her as much as he had liked ‘Mrs Jordan’. Her dubious reputation as Scandal’s Virgin meant nothing to him now, he realised as he met her gaze, filled with pain and fear and pride.
It took a physical effort to break that exchange of looks, to move. Then he was past her and asking Mr Simonson, a club acquaintance from White’s, to introduce him to Lady Catherine. Avery forced a smile and turned all his attention on the young woman.
She was shyer than Lady Amelia, but with a sweeter expression. By the time dinner was announced, with Lady Catherine seated to Avery’s left, she was chatting
