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It was more than time that their paths parted.

He needed an opportunity to suggest that the lady leave. And if one did not present itself, then he would have to end the situation as carefully and discreetly as possible.

The former did not arise, so he was driven with some distaste to the latter, after making some thoughtful preparations.

* * *

‘I have seen so little of you, my lord.’ Olivia Wexford entered his library on the following evening, where he was sitting with a glass of brandy and a recent edition of the Gentleman’s Magazine. A provocative swing of expensively gowned hips advertised her deliberate intent. The neckline of the emerald silk was cut low on her bosom and, unless he was very much mistaken, her lovely face was enhanced by the use of cosmetics. Her mouth, deliciously red, settled in an inviting pout, her heavy perfume invaded his senses. His lordship felt a sudden urge to retreat in disorder, but stiffened his resolve.

‘Forgive me, Olivia. I have not been the best of company.’ He called on the excuse of his damaged hip and knee, with silent apologies to the deity who had granted him the facility to heal quickly and well. ‘My leg. The pain, you understand. Sometimes it is almost too great to bear.’ He managed to move surprisingly quickly from his chair, even without the use of his cane, to avoid an inevitable kiss as the lady approached. ‘Perhaps I can offer you a glass of brandy?’

‘No. I suspected that you were in some discomfort.’ Her intense expression was not quite critical of his lack of attention to her. She followed him to where he had lifted the decanter to refill his own glass. Oh, God! ‘But perhaps now that you are able to walk more easily, and without your cane…’ She smoothed a hand delicately down his arm, looking up into his face with wide and lustrous eyes. ‘Perhaps you would be willing to escort me to the opera? It would be good for you to see friends again, I think. And afterwards a light supper where you could spend time with me, of course. Alone.’

‘I would be delighted to oblige, Olivia. But I regret not this evening. I have another engagement.’ He cast about in his mind, only to come up with the obvious. ‘At Brooks’s.’ The only place he could be safe.

‘Ah!’ The faintest of lines was drawn between her sleek brows, but then she smiled. It reminded him of a raptor’s hungry interest in its prey. ‘I have received an invitation to join a weekend party at the country home of Lord and Lady Melville in Berkshire. So gracious of them. I think it would be excellent for your spirits if you accompanied me, Joshua.’

‘Olivia—there is something I would say.’ He put down the glass of brandy. ‘But first, I have a gift for you—a mark of my esteem. And gratitude.’ How clumsy it sounded. He winced inwardly as he moved to open a drawer in the desk, to remove a flat packet. Held it out.

The Countess took it, without any sign of pleasure, and lifted the lid on the velvet-lined case.

‘How lovely.’ Her eyes were flat and cold. She did not touch the sparkling gems, but merely tilted the box so that their facets would catch the light. She angled her head, watching the expensive glitter, then looked at him. ‘Could this be in the way of a farewell present? Somehow, in my experience, diamond necklaces always seem to figure at the end of a relationship.’

‘I think, yes. I fear that you are bored, my dear Olivia. I have been no help to you in recent weeks, although I shall be eternally grateful for your company. In my convalescence.’

Thick lashes hid her thoughts. She fixed a smile that looked almost genuine. ‘But you are recovering now, Joshua. We could still pass some pleasant times together. I think that you are not unaware of my attractions.’ She reached over to touch his hand.

‘No. My mind is made up.’ He tried to be gentle even as he withdrew his hand. ‘This is the end for us, Olivia. Much as I admire you.’

‘But I have not thanked you sufficiently for your hospitality.’ The raptor’s talons sank deeper. He could not escape as she tightened her hold on his arm and touched her lips to his. All he could do was to remain still, cool and unresponsive to her invitation. Not quite a rejection—that would be too much like a slap in the face—but his reluctance was plain.

Olivia straightened, allowed her hand to drop away, her face controlled, but her smile had vanished and there was now an edge to her voice.

‘I see that you are determined. Will you tell me why?’

‘No reason that would be an insult to you, my dear. But time passes. And I need to make some changes in my life.’

‘And I have no place in them.’

He could find nothing to say.

‘Is there someone else in your life? Have you taken another mistress?’

‘No.’

Her smile was brief and bitter. ‘How demeaning to be overthrown for no one else.’ She turned her back to walk toward the door, pride stamped on every controlled movement. And a simmering rage. ‘Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?’

‘No.’ A brush of sympathy touched his senses before it was ruthlessly checked. ‘You deserve better than I can give you.’

The Countess of Wexford picked up the necklace from where she had placed it on the desk. She would not reject the gift, however angry, however humiliated she might be. ‘You have been a disappointment to me, Joshua.’

‘I must live with it.’ The thought came into his mind that Sarah Russell would not have snatched up the necklace to take with her. Sarah Russell refused anything he offered!

‘Yes. you must. I hope that you do not live to regret it, my dear Joshua.’

She did not look at him again but left the room, leaving the door open behind her, all grace and cold fury. The diamonds had glittered, stark and blue as the coldest of ice, but never as frigid as the face and heart of Olivia Wexford.

Lord Joshua retrieved the brandy and drank. It was over. And easier than perhaps he deserved, for he and Wycliffe had made use of the woman. Her eager compliance did not make his own part in the masquerade any more comfortable. At least his injuries had given him every excuse to keep him from her bed and for that he must be grateful indeed.

Chapter Six

The contentious issue of his continuing employment of Mrs Sarah Russell was resolved in Lord Faringdon’s mind in a quite unexpected manner—indeed one of mind-shattering discovery—one sun-filled afternoon in the following week. He rode into Hanover Square a little after three o’clock. It was the first time that he attempted to get into a saddle since the disastrous and humiliating culmination of his assignment in Paris. The short ride around Hyde Park, one circuit only, had been without doubt excruciating, but it was immensely satisfying that his strength and agility were at last returning. Shoulders and ribs were already more comfortable, allowing him to stretch and turn without immediate and painful repercussions. His knee and thigh might still scream from the demands put on damaged tendons and joints, but there was room for optimism. Thank God he had at last been able to dispense with the cane.

As he rode toward the front steps of his house, his mind occupied with far from pleasant thoughts, shouts and laughter caught his attention from the garden beyond the iron railings. He drew rein. Turned his head to watch. Then simply sat and stared in amazement.

A game was in progress. Not a game that he recognised, but one which involved considerable noise and a lot of running and hiding, with a ball and a hoop. And also, it appeared, involved much enjoyment. He immediately recognised the participants and could not prevent his lips from lifting in appreciation of the scene. Most of the laughter came from John, untidy and red-faced, who whooped and shrieked as if pursued by a band of cut-throat robbers, wielding a hoop to the danger of any who might come too near. But there was his daughter, Miss Celestine Faringdon, no less, hitching up her petticoats and chasing the boy, to wrest the hoop from him with a cry of triumph. Her dark eyes sparkled and she laughed aloud. When she caught John she grasped and hugged him, planting a kiss on his cheek, which caused him to squirm and shriek even more, and his daughter howl with laughter. He had never seen his daughter so…so happy! Abandoned was perhaps the appropriate word, he thought. There was bright colour in her cheeks and stains on her skirts from where she had come to grief in the grass. Now she ran across the garden with John in noisy pursuit.

But the shock doubled, for the supervision of this madness was in the hands of one of the younger maids and Mrs Sarah Russell. And they were joining in. He found that he could not take his eyes from the solemn young woman who ordered and organised his life with intense reserve and so rarely smiled. It was a revelation indeed.

Sarah Russell was flushed. She was involved. She ran after the children, catching them, taking her own turn with hoop and ball. She laughed, completely unselfconscious, unaware of the picture she made. She is no older than a girl! he thought. She looked radiant, as if all the responsibilities and tensions of her life had been lifted for this short time. Even more, she looked exceptionally, stunningly pretty with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. The vitality, the sheer… well, loveliness of the lady struck him a blow to his chest. His hands tightened on the reins: he could not take his eyes from her.

He would like nothing better, he realised in that one moment of recognition, than to make it possible for her to be so joyful all the time. That was how she was meant to be. If he had ever met Theodora, he would have recognised the same outgoing nature and love of life—now that Sarah had been able to forget her present burdens and her past sins. When she shrieked—then covered her mouth in youthful and delicious embarrassment—as Beth caught her skirts, he smiled. He could not resist.

She had dispensed with the lace cap and her hair had loosened from its neat arrangement, to drift in soft, fair curls around her face. Why had he not realised that she was so pretty when he saw her every day?

The game was apparently over, the players weary but ecstatic. They trooped back across the road in the direction of the house, to halt when they saw their unexpected audience. They came to stand beside him.

John put out a tentative hand to stroke as much as he could reach of the satin shoulder of the bay gelding. Beth smiled up at her father with such openness that it filled him with warmth. This was how his daughter should be. And he cursed his former neglect, however essential it had become to keep her safe in Richmond, away from Paris and its dangers, the threats attached to his own actions in the service of the Crown.

‘You are riding again, Papa.’

‘So it seems. And you are out of breath.’

‘I won.’ Beth crowed with a smug satisfaction. ‘But John is very good. I am older, of course,’ she explained in all seriousness.

‘So you are.’ Lord Faringdon’s eyes moved on to rest on Sarah, who flushed even more at being discovered in so ruffled and unseemly a state. It took much effort to resist the urge to straighten her skirts and push back a wayward curl. But she would not.

‘We had finished the lessons for the day, my lord.’ Why did she feel the need to explain her actions? She set her teeth. ‘The afternoon was so mild…’

‘There is no need to explain, Mrs Russell. I could see that the game—whatever it was—was much enjoyed—by all.’

Her colour now became a deep rose. ‘I must go in. If you will excuse me, my lord…’

‘Of course.’

Transferring the reins to one hand, he swung down from the horse in one fluid movement. And forgot the need for care—until the bright pain lanced from foot to knee to thigh, a red-hot branding. His knee had stiffened during the ride and was reluctant to bear his weight as he landed on the hard surface of the pavement. Momentarily staggering with a hiss of pain, leaning against his mount to keep his balance, he dropped his gloves and riding whip.

The reaction around him was immediate. If his jaw had not been braced against the raw agony and lack of circulation in his leg, he might have laughed at the manner in which his housekeeper and the children instantly leapt to his aid. What price a reputation as a dangerous and unprincipled rake? They came to his rescue as if he were a damsel in distress, Andromeda facing her dragon. Beth collected gloves and whip from the dust of the pavement, wiping them against her skirts. John caught the loose reins to hold the gelding steady as far as a five-year-old could as Lord Faringdon leaned his weight against it. And Sarah Russell—well, she stretched out both hands to grasp his forearms, to hold him upright with her light strength, without a moment’s hesitation.

The reaction between Joshua and Sarah with the touch of hand on arm was instantaneous and elemental. His eyes snapped to hers. She was looking at him with just such a startled expression as he knew was on his own face. It lasted only the length of a heartbeat, both caught in the net of awareness. Then he straightened. She snatched her hands away. And, to all intents, the moment had passed.

‘See how well I am looked after. And how useless I am.’ The little grooves around his mouth deepened at the self-mockery. Yet he was aware of nothing other than the memory of her hands grasping his sleeves, as if the flesh beneath were scorched by her touch.

‘You are stronger every day, Papa. You no longer use the ebony stick.’ Beth clutched the gloves and whip to her flat bosom.

‘You are very good for my self-esteem, Beth.’ The mockery was still there, but gentler. And although his reply was for his daughter, his eyes were still fixed on Sarah’s.

‘I must go in.’ Mrs Russell took a step away from him in clear retreat.

‘Of course.’ He managed the slightest of bows. ‘I have to thank you, Mrs Russell.’

‘I have done nothing to earn your thanks, my lord.’

‘I think you have. In many ways.’ An enigmatic reply, which did nothing to still Sarah’s heightened emotions.

Lord Joshua Faringdon, as he made his way slowly from stable to house, was left thinking, beyond question, that he knew one means of improving his housekeeper’s life. He could suddenly think of no better solution. The clarity of the plan all but took his breath away.

Later that same evening the blinding moment of revelation—but a revelation of quite what he was still unsure—continued to trouble his lordship. He sat in the library, staring blindly at the untouched glass of port. Was he having second thoughts? Undoubtedly. Even third thoughts, he decided. He did not wish to marry. Had no intention of ever marrying again. Had no belief in the strength or lasting quality of love. Would seriously have denied its very existence if pressed closely. Certainly there had been no evidence of its overwhelming power in his relationship with women.

So why the hell should it have come into his mind with the force of a lightning bolt that marriage to Sarah Russell was an outcome to be desired and pursued? There must be other, simpler, more predictable solutions to her—and his—predicament. And there was no certainty that she would actually be tempted to accept his offer. No suggestion in her manner that she felt anything toward him other than a mild tolerance. Except for that one moment that very afternoon—a slap of physical awareness such as he had never before experienced. The reaction in her own eyes as they had flown to his, held there, he could not say. Yet the image of her in the garden, laughing and joyous, came clear and unbidden into his mind. Once there, he could not shake it loose. Of course he did not love her. So why he should even consider to entangle himself in marriage he had no idea.

But he cared about her. Felt a strong urge—if he were feeling poetic, he thought with a quick grin—to stand as shield between her own slight figure and all the slings and arrows that the world might unleash against her. To see and hear her laugh and smile every day. To laugh and smile at him, with him.

He drank the port in disgust. He must truly be going out of his mind. His thoughts on this problem were neither sensible nor logical. And yet he was still gripped by a terrible conviction that marriage was the right step to take.

There again, his mind coming full circle and still as undecided as ever, if he did pursue this objective, would Sarah Russell agree? Knowing what he did of the lady, he had grave room to doubt it.

‘You wished to speak with me, my lord. And I have brought the menu for this evening if you would wish to approve it.’

Lord Faringdon stood with his back to Sarah, studying the view from the window, his thoughts engaged elsewhere. Nor did he immediately turn as she announced her presence. Which gave her the opportunity to study the firm set of his shoulders, the confident tilt of his head with its magnificent fall of hair. And it gave her an even greater sense of unease. Of foreboding.

‘Mrs Russell. Yes, indeed. If you would care to sit.’ He turned at last and indicated a chair beside his desk.

So it had come at last. Dismissal, with or without references. Sarah chose not to sit, but continued to stand before him, chin raised, as he approached. She had done no wrong. If he chose to dispense with her services, there was nothing she could do to change his mind. She would not think, she would definitely not think of that one moment when she had touched him, when the connection between them had raced through her blood with all the force of a summer flood. When their eyes had locked with such intensity, something vital holding them suspended in time. No. No good could come from dwelling on that.

‘Let us try for some honesty here.’ His words surprised her and his voice had an edge. ‘You have, as you are aware, presented me with a problem. I do not wish to employ you, for reasons that are plain to us both. But I know that if I terminate your employment here you will immediately seek another position elsewhere, perhaps not to your benefit or your comfort. Or even your peace of mind.’

She waited, brows raised, heart beating insistently in her throat. There was nothing she could add to his assessment of the situation. Nor could she guess where this was leading. His face was stern as if he had come at last to a difficult decision and was not now to be deterred.

‘I have thought about it all at some length. I feel a responsibility toward you because of the family connection through Theodora. I have a proposition to make.’ He paused as he swept her from head to foot with eyes that expressed all his exasperation with females who refused to take good advice. ‘I wish you would sit down, Mrs Russell.’

‘I would rather stand, my lord.’

‘I am aware. But you might consider my parlous state of health. If you stand, then so must I—as a gentleman.’ She could not mistake the sneer.

‘Forgive me. It was not my intention to be insensitive.’ Colour warmed her cheeks as she took the offered seat. It was so easy for him to put her in the wrong! What sort of proposition would he possibly make that did not include her dismissal? On a sudden thought her blood ran from heated to ice in her veins. Her throat dried. She could only think of one proposition. And now that the Countess of Wexford was no longer in residence…

Unaware of this shocking line of thought, Lord Faringdon continued.

‘I have seen how you have settled here in so short a time. I have seen how my daughter has taken to you. She has begun to blossom, begun to behave like a little girl rather than a matron of advanced years. And your own son too is content, I think. I believe it is important for everyone that you remain here in my household.’

It seemed more and more likely to Sarah, with every word that he uttered, that she was about to receive an offer that would humiliate her beyond bearing. She discovered that she was holding her breath and her fingers closed, white-knuckled, on the arms of the chair. She forced herself to breathe again.

‘So I would ask you…’ He rose to his feet and walked forward toward her. Without the cane, she could see the return of grace and well-muscled ease. He reached out and took her hand, which still clutched, albeit wrinkled, the list of dishes for the evening meal, and unlatched it from the chair.

‘No. You must not… ‘ She snatched away her hand into her lap, taking him aback.

Lord Joshua frowned. ‘What must I not?’

‘You must not make such a proposition. I would remain as your housekeeper and governess to your daughter. Never anything else.’

‘What proposition?’

‘And if you do make it, it will make it impossible for me to stay under your roof in any event. Please do not, my lord. I beg of you…’

‘Do not what…?’ His frown darkened as the light dawned.

‘I will not be your mistress, my lord,’ Sarah whispered. ‘How would you think it?’

‘Mrs Russell!’ He fisted his hands on his hips, more in frustration than anger. Oh, God! So much for reputations. When he had tried to deal with the whole matter with some sensitivity. ‘Is that what you thought I would offer you?’

‘Why… yes. What other could you possibly offer me?’

He took her hand again, both of them, in fact, removing the list to discard it on the floor, and drew her to her feet. This time he held on when she tugged. ‘Mrs Russell—it would be the greatest discourtesy imaginable to you to suggest such a thing. It was not my intention to offer to take you under my protection. Your opinion of me is not very high, is it?’ And nor of yourself. How can you have so little notion of the light in which I see you? Of the respect in which I hold you?

‘But… You must explain more clearly, my lord, for I find myself at a loss. If you do not want me as your mistress—and, indeed, I find it difficult to understand why you would!— then what?’

‘I realise that you could believe me capable of inflicting so monumental an insult on your good name.’ He made no attempt to hide the bitter self-disgust. ‘But it was not my intention to do so. Mrs Russell…’ He might as well get it over with and allow her the pleasure of refusing him. How could any woman of integrity be persuaded to accept the offer of marriage from a man with so damaged a reputation? But he would try, beyond hope, to paint himself in a better light. Suddenly it had become very important that he remove her from her self-imposed role below stairs and restore her to the ranks of society into which she had been born. And something more, which he barely understood, could certainly not acknowledge, drove him on. But whatever the compulsion, he knew that it was underpinned by an overwhelming need to protect Sarah Russell. So he would offer her marriage, even though she would undoubtedly fling the gesture back in his face.

‘Mrs Russell. Will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?’

Shock drove the colour from her cheeks, even from her lips. Her hands stiffened within his grasp and her lips parted on a little cry of sheer disbelief. Much as he had expected!

‘You cannot!’

‘Why can I not?’

‘You do not know me. You do not love me. You could marry anyone of your acquaintance.’ Sarah sought through her tumbling thoughts for all the reasons why his words must be false. ‘You do not want me. Why, in heaven’s name, would you wish to marry me? I am your housekeeper.’

Sarah Russell! Have you no thought of your own value in the eyes of any man?

‘You seem to have an entire list of reasons why I should not. Let me tell you of the advantages for me as I see them. I think I would get an excellent bargain.’

‘What could I possibly offer you?’

‘If we are to be purely practical, then—the running of my establishments. No trivial matter, as I have a house in Richmond and an estate in Yorkshire. A mother to my child, whom I think you already have some affection for. The removal of one serious cause of conflict—only one of many, I acknowledge—that would stand for ever between myself and my own parent and sister if I continued to employ you as my housekeeper. Also—’ But he bit back on further revelations. What other could he say, when he was so unsure himself? He smiled down into her anxious face. ‘Enough! I have a care for your happiness. I think that marriages have been made with far less to recommend them.’

‘I cannot allow you to even consider it, my lord.’ She would have clutched her hands in dismay except that he still had them in his possession, so her fingers tightened around his. ‘I do not want charity. I refused it from your sister. I left New York because it would have been too easy to accept it from Lord Henry and Eleanor. I will not take it from you!’

‘I expect Henry in New York found you just as difficult to deal with as I do! I wonder how he coped with your uncomfortable desire for independence! Listen to me. Will you at least think about it? I have no intention of offering you charity, as you put it. There are considerable advantages for myself and for you in such a match. I can offer you comfort, respectability’— he winced inwardly—’a home for yourself and your son with no more fears for the future. Will you at least consider it?’

He would have raised her captive hands to his lips, but she tugged them free at last, to rub her damp palms down the skirts of her gown. She shook her head, took a step in retreat.

Which Lord Faringdon accepted and made a little bow. ‘Mrs Russell—you owe me that at least you will think about my offer, as my employee. I would ask you not to reject it out of hand. I think that would be… fair.’

She heard the hint of a plea in his voice and for that moment, her treacherous heart picking up its beat, she could not doubt the sincerity in his outrageous offer. Of course she must consider it. Even if she could do nothing other than refuse it. Because, however much her heart, in its secret depths, might desire such an outcome, her common sense told her that it could never be. But since he had appealed to her sense of justice—with a certain low cunning—she must comply. She acknowledged the inclination of his head with a graceful curtsy. ‘Very well, my lord. I agree that your proposition demands my consideration. I will think about it. I will give my answer tomorrow.’

Abandoning the suddenly irrelevant list of courses and their appropriate side dishes on the floor, she almost fled from the room.

Leaving his lordship with the thought that, although he had pressured her into not refusing his offer out of hand, he still had no confidence that she would accept. And that perhaps he had done too well in creating a reputation for himself, which no honourable woman would willingly take on. Remembering the shock—the outrage—at his offer and her readiness to believe that he would humiliate her by taking her as his mistress, he suffered an unaccustomed sense of hurt, but firmed his lips against it. It was his own fault and he must live with the consequences.

It was no surprise at all to Sarah that she spent a sleepless night. Disbelief refused to let her rest. A proposal of marriage. Lord

Faringdon’s wife! She might as well have wished for the moon. As a lady of neat and fairly predictable habits she sat in her room before a dying fire with a pen and paper and prepared to compose two lists, absorbing the quietness around her. Aware of her son sleeping next door. And Beth in her own room. All was comfort and luxury. Warmth and security. Yet nameless anxieties and indecision gnawed at her mind, troubled her heart. What would it be like to put herself into Joshua Faringdon’s power? To give him the rights of a husband over her, to allow him to take her to his bed? Sarah shivered a little despite the warmth of the fire. It was unimaginable.

She put pen to paper to write in her careful flowing script.

Why I should not even contemplate marriage to Lord Faringdon.

1. It would be accepting an offer of charity.

She had told Judith that she would make her own way in the world. And promised herself that she would never again be dependent on the whims or desires of any man. She nodded agreement with her first point.

2. He has an undesirable reputation as a rake. It would not be a respectable marriage.

Well, that was certainly true. She had seen him with the Countess of Wexford in a situation that gave credence to all rumours about their relationship. Living in the same house together, they had flouted all convention. Then there were the opera dancers. Not that she had seen any, of course. As for what had occurred in Paris… No, Sarah decided, she was far too conventional to consider such a liaison with a man who had cast aside the honour of a gentleman.

3. What is Lord Faringdon’s reason for his proposal? She had no idea and it worried her. As she had said to his face, he could marry anyone he chose. A mama of a hopeful débutante might consider overlooking his disreputable past if he was willing to bestow his wealth and his title on her daughter. So why should he want to marry her? She was five-and

twenty years old and a widow with a son. She frowned at her list. She did not want to be in the hands of a man who might use her for his own ends—a legacy of Edward’s treatment of her. She should undoubtedly refuse Lord Faringdon’s offer. She wrote again.

4.I have nothing of my own to bring to this marriage.

Her mind repeated her written words. She would bring nothing of her own to the marriage. No money, property or connection. No beauty or superior intelligence. No dramatic traits of character as did her sister Theodora. She did not care to admit it, but honesty forced her to do so. She appeared to be a very dull—a very ordinary—person, which once again caused her to nibble the end of her pen with unease—until she threw it down in disgust. Only to pick it up to add one final flourish.