***

Dark-haired Baron Bianchi was of average height, with those liquid deep brown eyes that displayed a surfeit of emotion, almost at will. Fortunately, there was little in his mode of dress for Jason to suspect him to be one of those Latins he detested, who wooed a lady with flattery then revealed themselves to be corrupt at the core. Bianchi’s midnight blue tailcoat and white embroidered waistcoat were unremarkable, his only affectation a large emerald of a superior quality on the ring finger of his right hand. Jason imagined women would find him attractive. His sister undoubtedly did.

The baron accepted a glass of wine from the footman, and they seated themselves in the drawing room.

“How do you find our weather, Baron?”

“Forgive me for saying so, but it rains rather often,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “And the sun, it is not as warm here as in Italy. Have you visited my country, my lord?”

“Yes. A brief stay.” Jason was not about to elaborate. He had accompanied the Foreign Secretary, Viscount Castlereagh, to Italy during the Congress of Vienna, when Napoleon returned to France during the hundred days after his escape from Elba. Jason then fought under Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo. Fortunately, Bianchi knew better than to ask.

“As you would be aware, Napoleon’s family hailed from Italy before they went to Corsica. Italian was the general’s first language.” Bianchi raised a black eyebrow with quizzical amusement. “I feel I must apologize for the appalling actions of my countryman.”

“Please don’t think I will hold it against you.” Jason smiled as the door opened and Lizzie entered.

He and Bianchi stood as his sister, dressed in a surprisingly frivolous deep lavender silk gown, the skirts and sleeves a mass of ruffles, came to take Bianchi’s hand.

“How very glad I am you could come on such short notice, Baron Bianchi.”

“I would have braved a snowstorm to be here, tonight, Lady Greywood,” Bianchi replied in his heavily accented voice, his gaze capturing hers for a long moment.

“Thankfully, that wasn’t necessary,” Jason said, pouring a little cold water on the heated atmosphere. He met Lizzie’s fiery glance and smiled. “Just a little rain, Baron, of which we English are quite accustomed.”

“Ah, yes, rain.” The baron nodded sympathetically.

Charlie entered with Russell, who announced two ladies. Although Charlie had said Amelia Groton was pretty, Jason had not expected such a beauty. The slender young woman in pale pink was a perfect English rose with creamy skin, wheat-gold hair drawn into a topknot to display a graceful neck, and eyes the blue of an English summer sky. Her Aunt Bessie, tightly corseted in purple, cast a nervous glance around the room while clutching a rope of jet beads at her breast.

Charlie drew them both forward. “Allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Greywood, and my brother, Captain, Lord Peyton. Lizzie, Jas, please meet Mrs. Groton and her niece, Miss Groton. And this must be Baron Bianchi. How do you do.”

Jason watched as Amelia’s speculative blue gaze roamed the drawing room from the swags of silk damask at the windows to the elegant furniture, the white columns decorating brick red walls hung with fine art and mirrors. She revealed none of her aunt’s nervousness when she turned to Jason. With a demure smile, she offered him her gloved fingers.

“So very kind of you to invite us, my lord.”

“My pleasure, Miss Groton.” Jason raised her small hand to his lips.

As the rest of the introductions followed, Jason grew increasingly uneasy. If Charlie had a yen to make Miss Amelia Groton his wife, and many red-blooded men would be tempted, it would be very difficult to dissuade him.

Jason had Miss Groton’s measure at first glance. While he was sympathetic to any young woman unprotected and at the mercy of some scoundrel, she would not marry Charlie.

Bianchi, however, was not so easy to read. Some digging was required into the gentleman’s circumstances. Jason had a friend residing in Florence. He would write to him tonight.

In the dining room, as Russell supervised the footmen bringing in the first course, Jason turned to the baron on his left, acutely aware of Lizzie listening to their conversation from across the table. “What has brought you to London, Baron?”

“I have made fine art my interest, my lord. I particularly like the da Vinci drawing of a horse on that far wall. I suppose you don’t wish to sell it? No? I should not like to part with it myself,” he said when Jason shook his head. “I am presenting an exhibition of Renaissance art here in London, at a Mayfair gallery. Some of the works are from my estate in Florence, a Titian amongst them. Perhaps you’d care to attend the opening? It is on Thursday.”

“Thank you. Regretfully, I have another engagement on Thursday.”

“A pity. The exhibition will run for the following two weeks.”

“Then I look forward to seeing it.” He smiled at Lizzie, who toyed with her spoon. “You will accompany me, won’t you, Lizzie?”

She smiled gratefully at him. “Such works of art require more than one viewing.”

Miss Groton was giggling flirtatiously at something Charlie had said. His brother’s flushed face betrayed his fascination as Mrs. Groton looked on with a fond expression.

Jason groaned inwardly.

The evening passed without incident. When the front door closed on their guests, Lizzie paused at the foot of the stairs before retiring.

Something was required of him. “The baron has a great deal of charm, Lizzie,” Jason said as they made their way upstairs. After dinner, over port, Bianchi had spoken effusively of his ancient villa and gardens, which he hoped Jason and Lizzie would visit one day. “I am keen to view what promises to be a superb collection.”

“There is more to him than charm and his artworks, Jas,” she said, sounding exasperated.

“You’ve only just met the baron, my dear. But by all means, take the time to get to know him.”

With an affectionate smile, she took his arm. “Do you fear that if we should marry he’ll whisk me off to Italy?”

That seemed so final it chilled him. Lizzie at her new husband’s mercy in some foreign country didn’t bear thinking about. Had he become too protective? He was determined not to let his own desire to keep her close and safe motivate him. “Of course, I would miss you. Very much. But it’s early days, Lizzie.”

Reaching her door, he turned to her. “Apart from the fellow’s obvious good looks, what is it about him that so captivates you?”

She paused for a moment, one hand on the doorknob. Her eyes were sad when she looked at him. “His warmth, I suppose. I adored Greywood, as you know. I wanted to die after he was shot. But he was brutalized by his years away at war. It was not always easy to get as close as I would have liked.”

She was right of course. Jason bowed his head in agreement. The war changed men. A captain in the Foot Guards, Robert Greywood had lost most of his men at the advance of the French cavalry and artillery. He only talked about it when he and Jason had imbibed a good deal of brandy. And Jason knew Robert would never speak of it to Lizzie. The horror of battle was etched forever in his and Jason’s soul. How Greywood described wave upon wave of the French cuirassiers advancing, shouting, “Vive l’Empereur.” How his men had knelt, their bayonets raised, like a line of impassable steel, to thwart them. And then to watch so many of them fall. A man doesn’t forget that.

“I only ask you to take your time, Lizzie. Don’t be swept off your feet.” He kissed her cheek and continued along the passage.

In his sitting room, Charlie sprawled in a chair. “Well, what do you think of Amelia, Jas?”

Jason buried a sigh. He longed for a few moments of uncomplicated peace, and he had that letter to write. “I thought her exceedingly pretty.”

“She’s a beauty. Sweet natured too.” Charlie jumped up and followed Jason into his dressing room, where Hicks waited. “You will help her, won’t you, Jas?”

“I promise I’ll try. But I refuse to discuss it now while I undress. As charming as Miss Groton is, she does not equal my need for sleep.”

Charlie chuckled and slapped him on the back. “It’s barely one o’clock. Shall I begin to call you ‘old fellow’?”

“Only if you desire to be sent to Coventry,” Jason said with a grin.

An idea had come to him. The best way to deal with Miss Groton was to solve her immediate problem and banish the scoundrel who threatened her. Once she no longer required Charlie’s help, a young man such as he, with no means to support her for years, would fade into the background while London discovered a new beauty in their midst. As far as Jason could tell, although Charlie was captivated, he had not fallen deeply in love with Amelia Groton. Not yet at least.

Late the next morning, Jason woke to the sound of church bells ringing out over London. Russell delivered a note with his morning coffee.

“This just came, my lord. I thought it prudent to bring it to you immediately.”

Jason stretched and yawned. “Can’t a fellow have some peace on a Sunday? Thank you, Russell, you are, as always, correct to have done so.” He examined the letter and, as the butler withdrew, opened it.

I apologize for disturbing you on the Sabbath, my lord, but an urgent matter has arisen. I consider it imprudent to wait for my husband to return or to put the reason for this missive in writing. I wonder if you could visit me this afternoon? I would be most grateful.

The note was signed Grace Kinsey.

Jason tossed the blankets back and leaped from the bed, more than a little intrigued and hopeful that he might be about to learn what lay behind this mysterious so-called wild-goose chase Parnell had sent him on. With any luck, he could report back to Parnell and put the whole damned business behind him by the end of the week. Then he could concentrate on other pressing matters, like sorting out Miss Groton’s problem and delve, albeit subtly, into the baron’s past. He needed to discover if the man was decent, for Lizzie’s sake, before their relationship deepened.

After washing and dressing, he made his way downstairs. In the breakfast room, as he scooped ham and eggs onto his plate from the heated dishes on the sideboard, he was hit by an unpleasant thought. What if his findings did crush Charlie’s and Lizzie’s plans for their futures? He would become persona non grata in his own house. It would require him removing himself to Peyton Grove, a place he usually found appealing, but just now, the prospect of returning alone to his country seat was not so captivating. Self-examination was not something Jason normally indulged in. He wasn’t sure why he’d begun to question his life, but he refused to give the credit to Parnell.