you have not had it from me,’ said Luke gently. He picked up Angelique’s hand and planted a kiss in the palm before releasing it. ‘The woman is an upstart. Her beauty dazzled le Brun, but there is no breeding behind that pretty face.’
‘If it’s breeding you want, the Tregennick chit has it through several generations,’ remarked the major, ‘yet you cut her dead last night. She was mad as fire.’
Luke flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve. ‘Her mama insisted upon throwing her in my way at Lady Gressingham’s rout. I obliged her with an evening’s flirtation, that is all.’
‘And you could not even recall her name the very next night.’ Major Denby shook his head at him. ‘By Gad, you are devil, man! No woman is safe from you.’
‘Nonsense. Virtuous maidens bore me, so they have nothing to fear. And you will never find me chasing innocent little ingénues. But a man must have a diversion now the war is over. Mine is beautiful women.’
‘Yet you’ll offer none of them your heart and your hand.’
‘There is no room for sentiment in marriage, Denby. When I take a wife, it will be a business contract. My father gambled away the Darvell fortune; it is up to me to restore it by marrying a well-bred heiress. But not yet.’ He stared at the cards Sir Neville laid on the table and muttered a laughing curse under his breath. ‘Two kings! Damnation, Clayman, your luck is running high tonight. I am out.’
Angelique smiled at him. ‘Well, my lord, it was agreed if you lost at cards you would worship at my feet.’ She spoke in English, a charming, provocative lilt to her words. With the light of mischief in his eyes Luke reached down, curled his fingers around one slim ankle and lifted her foot on to his knee. A murmur of anticipation ran around the room, while the lady herself leaned back on her chair and smiled.
‘Well, milor’? What do you propose? What will the wicked Baron Darvell do?’
He grinned. ‘I will keep my word.’
His hand moved over the pink silk stocking and she shivered delightfully when he reached the ribbon-and-lace garter at her knee. He hesitated, then his long fingers moved back to her ankle. He began to untie the strings of her pink satin slipper, calling to the waiter to bring another bottle of champagne.
‘Now what are you about, Darvell?’ cried Major Denby gaily. ‘Do you propose to undress the lady in public?’
‘Not at all, my friend. Patience and you shall see.’ He pulled the little shoe free and held it aloft, the ribbons dangling over his wrist. When the waiter returned with the champagne he took the bottle from the tray. ‘I wish to drink a toast to you, Angel.’ He poured a little of the wine into the shoe and quickly raised it to his lips.
‘You fool, Darvell, the satin won’t hold it!’ laughed Sir Neville.
But Luke was not listening; he had swallowed some of the champagne, the rest was seeping through the slipper and running over his hand, soaking the white ruffle around his wrist.
‘It held enough,’ he said. ‘And witness, Angel, that none of the bubbles escaped—I drank them all.’
Angelique sat up and clapped her hands. ‘Bravo, milor’, I am enchanted. But we should use glasses for the rest.’ She looked at him, an invitation in her dark eyes. ‘Per’aps you would like to drink with me privately?’
‘I regret not, Angel. I am obliged to leave you very soon.’ He filled two glasses with champagne and handed one to the lady. ‘I am off to England tomorrow.’
‘England!’ cried Major Denby, signalling for a fresh pack of cards. ‘Never tell me you are going home.’
‘I am indeed. Peacetime soldiering is not in my line. I have spent one winter in Paris and that is enough.’
‘He’s going back to Darvell Manor to become a gentleman farmer,’ declared Sir Neville, smoothing the wrinkles from the sleeve of his grey silk coat.
Luke grimaced. ‘Devil a bit! I plan to enjoy myself for a few more years yet. But I have a fancy to see England again. Besides, I have a commission from my brother. You may recall he was in Paris last month. He is touring Europe with his bride until the summer and wants me to make sure his new house at Malberry is ready for his return.’
‘Ah, the fortunate James,’ nodded Sir Nicholas. ‘He married his heiress.’
‘Fortunate indeed,’ agreed Luke. ‘Not only is she rich, but pretty and agreeable, too.’
‘Perhaps you should try marriage, Darvell,’ suggested the major.
‘I think not, my friend. It would take a paragon indeed to make me give up my freedom.’
Angelique drew a finger gently along his cheek. ‘Milor’, it is not necessary that you should give up everything.’
For a moment he looked serious. ‘Oh, yes, it is. Only a deep, long-lasting devotion could tempt me into matrimony.’
‘And what would tempt the lady, his prowess in the bedroom, perhaps?’ quipped an officer in scarlet regimentals.
‘That and his title,’ responded another.
Luke joined in the general laughter. ‘Aye, that would have to do it, gentlemen, since there’s no fortune to speak of.’
Angelique held up her glass. ‘Then you will come back to Paris, mon cher?’
‘Perhaps.’ He handed her the wet satin slipper. ‘It is past midnight: I must take my leave.’
Chapter One
The atmosphere in the morning room of Broxted House was decidedly tense. Carlotta stared at her uncle, her chin raised and a hint of defiance in her dark eyes. Lord Broxted met her look with a frown of exasperation.
‘Carlotta, you are no ordinary débutante. It is no matter that your mother is the daughter of an earl; twenty years ago she eloped with a penniless Italian artist.’ He paused and a faint look of distaste flickered across his aristocratic features. ‘They both of them…paint…to earn their living.’
Carlotta clasped her hands even more tightly in her lap. ‘I am not ashamed of my parents, Uncle.’
Lady Broxted, sitting beside Carlotta on the elegant little sofa, reached over to pat her hands. ‘No, of course you are not, my dear, and no one is suggesting that you should disown them, only…’
‘Only what, Aunt?’
Lady Broxted avoided Carlotta’s eyes and fluttered her fan nervously. ‘Tonight we attend Lady Prestbury’s rout—your very first ton party. It is what we have been working for, is it not, ever since we carried you off from Malberry last June and installed you in Miss Currier’s extremely select seminary? Not that I think it was necessary to send you there; no one would know you were brought up in Rome, for the English governess your mama employed gave you an excellent education, and all that was needed was a little polish—but there, your uncle was adamant.’
‘I was, madam, but I fear we are straying
