waving her new little wooden toy. ‘Horse.’
Katy was in the parlour off the kitchen when they returned, sitting in Mary’s comfortable lap. All around was evidence of a pleasant family shopping trip: gingerbread men, a penny whistle, ribbons and other toys. ‘We took the children up Bishopsgate,’ Mary explained. ‘With some of the Captain’s men, of course. I do hope you don’t mind, ma’am?’
‘Not at all.’ Rosalie smiled down at Katy. ‘Your little horse is beautiful, darling.’
‘For Polly-doll.’ Katy perched her little rag doll on the new horse. Alec had entered the room behind Rosalie and came over to gently ruffle the child’s dark hair. When Rosalie saw the look of tenderness in his eyes for Katy, it lanced her.
‘Bedtime, Katy,’ she said lightly. She picked the little girl up, breathing in the sweet infant scent of her skin, and started for the stairs, but turned back. ‘Thank you,’ she said fervently to Mary and Garrett and all the others, ‘for looking after her so well today. For looking after both of us so well.’
Mary beamed. ‘It’s a pleasure, ma’am.’
Rosalie put Katy carefully in her little bed and sang her sister’s child to sleep. Alec had offered her his help and protection; therefore she had to endure living under the roof of a man who affected her as no man ever had done before. And Lord, it was going to be difficult.
Alec went to his room and cursed softly under his breath. Ever since he’d seen Rosalie Rowland at the Temple of Beauty, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. And today, at his father’s house, how he’d managed to control himself, he’d never know.
He could have taken her so easily. But he’d restrained himself with an iron will, because he still had not been sure of her motives. And—because, strangely, she seemed to trust him. She wouldn’t if she knew his secrets.
He raked his hand through his hair. Earlier today, a note had been delivered for him. He’d cracked open the seal with a bitter heart, not needing to look at the signature to know who it was from, because he was already alerted by the faint scent of gardenias that imbued the expensive notepaper.
Alec. I am back in London before your father, who is following in a few days. I’m staying in Bedford Street, because the Belgrave Square house needs to be prepared. I know there are risks, my dear, but might I see you at Lord Fanton’s ball? There are things I need to tell you.
It was from his stepmother. His beautiful stepmother. And Lord Fanton’s ball was tomorrow night.
There was a knock and Garrett came in. ‘Captain. You asked us to find out who started the fire at the place where the girl lived—and who smashed up the printing press there, too.’
‘I take it you’ve found out?’
And Garrett told him.
After Garrett left, Alec paced the room. Stephen’s men. In God’s name, why?
He rather feared he was beginning to know the answer.
That night Stephen was at his father’s house and in a raging temper. This evening’s gathering was to have been a fine one for his friends: a delectable supper followed by drinking and gaming, with a few high-class whores performing their tricks at midnight.
But—there had been no food. No wine. Devil take it, Stephen’s failure of a party would be sniggered over around the clubs of London for weeks to come, thanks to his damned brother!
And then Jarvis, the old fool, had directed Stephen specifically to the drawing room, where he was immediately confronted with—the paintings. The labels that had been tied to one frame after another. Counterfeit, those labels had screamed out in large letters. Stephen had roamed the house, his agitation increasing. Counterfeit. And every identification, without fail, was correct.
It must be Alec! But how had his damned brother detected it, when the whole business had been conducted with such care? Sending them for cleaning, having them copied and selling off the originals had seemed an inspiration.
Hell’s teeth, would Alec tell their father?
Finally there was the fact—which he’d forced out of old Jarvis—that Alec still had the girl, Rosalie, from the Temple of Beauty, under his protection. And Stephen was beginning to guess that the child she kept with her might not be Rosalie’s at all.
His threats had achieved nothing. He’d hoped to bribe some of Alec’s ruffians into betraying her, but the opposite seemed to have happened. Damn it all, this could be lethal. Especially if Alec was starting to guess the truth!
When Rosalie came downstairs the next day, the place seemed altogether quiet. Most of the soldiers were at their various places of work and Captain Stewart was also out on business, she was told.
For a while she read stories to Katy and Mary’s granddaughters, then helped with their lunch. But when it became clear that Alec would be absent all day, she grew restless.
‘Please let me do something to help you,’ Rosalie asked Mary, who as usual was busy in the kitchen with her baking and her laundry. ‘Are there any more shirts to mend?’
‘Lord bless you, I’ve got my two women, Janey and Bess, to help with that. But the sun’s shining, it’s a lovely afternoon. Why don’t you take the little ones into the garden to play?’
So Rosalie did. And looking round, while the girls busied themselves setting out their toys for a tea party, she could see how beautiful this place must once have been. Ajax had joined them, sprawling hopefully in the sun while Katy and her friends feasted on milk and fresh-baked scones. Rosalie smiled at the big golden dog. ‘Ajax. You are a good, good boy. Aren’t you?’ She slipped him a buttered scone and the dog snuggled closer to her side.
The children were absorbed in their make-believe party and the usual soldiers were around to watch them, so Rosalie, with Ajax at her heels, began to explore the overgrown thickets of shrubs that lay beyond the paved terrace. Under the ivy and sprawling wild clematis she found old stone urns, intricate paths and trellised arbours. Everywhere were vivid pockets of flowers and unpruned shrubs—blackthorns, primroses, buttercups and half-wild blue hyacinths that filled the air with their sweet scent. Flowers her mother had loved so.
As she returned to the terrace she became aware of Garrett leaning against the back door, watching her. ‘I was wonderin’ where that dog had got to,’ he said. ‘So you’ve been explorin’ our garden, ma’am, have you?’
She seized her chance. ‘Yes, and it’s beautiful! I don’t suppose, Mr Garrett—are there any tools I could borrow to clear it? A trowel, perhaps, and a pair of shears?’
He blinked. ‘You want to clear this ‘ere garden?’
‘Well, yes, just a little. Nobody would mind, would they?’
Eyepatch wasn’t Alec Stewart’s lieutenant for nothing. Within ten minutes he’d unearthed a store of ancient gardening implements from
