Kenmuir House, Edinburgh, Scotland
Saint Valentine’s Day, February 1757
‘More champagne, my dear Miss Burns?’ Alex turned to his paid companion for the evening, a young woman named Nell, and offered her a glass along with his most charming smile.
The prostitute fluttered her eyelashes and murmured a coy ‘thank you’ in return, but it was all for show, of course. Not for a moment did he entertain the thought that she blushed beneath her scarlet half-mask and face powder; not when her ample bosom all but spilled from her red and gold brocade ball gown. Indeed, Alex imagined nothing much at all made a woman of her profession blush. He wasn’t even sure if Nell Burns was the lass’s true name, but then, it didn’t really matter.
He certainly couldn’t pass judgement, not when the world now knew him as Alexander Price, an indecently wealthy Englishman who hailed from Berwick. A ruthless man-of-business who received invitations to society’s best dinner parties and balls wherever he went, be that London, Glasgow, Edinburgh or even Jamaica. It seemed money could buy him just about anything he wanted: a new identity; a shipping concern and several logging companies; even his own forfeited estate and ruined castle. And at long last, Lord Tay’s demise.
Alex smiled behind his black domino mask. It wouldn’t be long before he hammered the last nail in the bastard’s coffin and consigned him to Hades. It had taken him over a decade to get to this point but the wait had been worth it. Success would be headier than the Marquess of Kenmuir’s very fine French champagne.
Nell touched the sleeve of his black velvet frockcoat and gave him a smile that was just as practiced as his. ‘Just say the word, sir, an’ I will seek out his lordship. You mentioned ’afore tha’ he is verra partial to fair-haired lasses.’ She tossed her guinea gold ringlets over her shoulder as if to emphasise her desirability.
‘Aye. He is.’ Alex scanned the throng gathered in Lord and Lady Kenmuir’s ballroom. Thanks to his height, he could still see Malcolm Campbell above the heads of the other guests; he was presently prancing about the dance floor with his sister, Damaris, the widowed Countess of Glenleven, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. A powdered peruke covered his dark red hair but his distinctive Medico della Peste mask and elaborate blood-red cape made him an easy mark. ‘Actually, see if you can claim Lord Tay’s attention when the minuet is over.’ He slid a key into Nell’s slim hand and added sotto voce, ‘Here’s the key to the private parlour you can use. As we’ve discussed, I trust you’ll be able to keep Tay busy for a good half hour or more. And remember to leave the curtains open.’
Nell’s eyes sparkled as brightly as the cut-glass crystal chandelier above the ballroom floor as she slipped the key between her plumped-up breasts. ‘Och aye, sir. It will be my pleasure.’
Alex inclined his head before returning to study his nemesis. The last time he’d spied Lord Tay, it had been over a year ago in London at a similar masked affair. He doubted Tay would recognise him after all this time—it was almost eleven years since they’d truly crossed paths—but it didn’t hurt to keep to the shadows. His network of spies kept him well informed. And carried out his dirty work when necessary. Why risk discovery when he was so close to achieving his goal? Ah, if you only knew what I have planned, Tay, you’d be shaking in your silk-covered pumps.
His blood practically hummed with anticipation.
The minuet at last drew to a close and the delectable Nell sashayed away, heading toward the dance floor. If she could keep the cur suitably occupied, he should have ample time to seek out his intended quarry for the night—Miss Sarah Lambert, a decidedly pretty, extremely wealthy English heiress.
Lord Tay’s betrothed.
But not for long. Not if Alex had his way.
Thanks to a well-mapped out and painstakingly executed campaign enacted over the best part of a decade, the Earl of Tay was on the brink of utter financial and social ruin. And there was no way on earth that Alex was going to let the man marry his way out of penury.
Alex circumnavigated the perimeter of the dance floor, heading for the main hall. He’d observed Miss Lambert exiting the ballroom a few minutes earlier but he didn’t think it would take long to locate her. Earlier in the evening, when he’d first laid eyes upon her, he’d discovered she was the sort of young woman who definitely stood out from the crowd.
Standing beside an arrogantly smiling Lord Tay at the head of the reception line, one small elegant hand resting on her affianced’s arm, he’d grudgingly conceded that Sarah Lambert was as exquisite as an English rose. Her rich satin gown, a confection of rose pink, cream and soft apricot, was the perfect foil for her pale gold hair and peaches-and-cream complexion. Even her gold half-mask couldn’t hide her glowing beauty. She appeared to be quite the catch.
What a pity she has such poor taste, Alex had thought. And clearly no scruples. But then, she wouldn’t be the first woman who’d prostituted herself for a title. Unless she was an innocent Tay had duped into marriage with false protestations of love and fidelity. That was definitely another possibility.
However, whether Miss Lambert had no taste, or was unscrupulous, or easily duped hardly mattered. What mattered was she was a convenient pawn he could use to hasten Tay’s downfall. And considering the pair was due to wed in less than a month, the sooner he removed the heiress from the earl’s greedy grasp, the better.
***
Sarah wasn’t sure when she first noticed the mysterious man dressed in black, watching her. Perhaps it was when Malcolm had escorted Damaris out onto the ballroom floor for a minuet.
Movement and noise surrounded her: laughter and chatter and the elegant strains of the small orchestra filled the air; the swirl of opulent silks and satins and velvets, and the flash of jewels dazzled the eye as dancing couples floated by. But lingering in the shadows on the other side of the room was a tall, dark stranger. He stood perfectly still, his attention focused solely on her. She could almost feel the weight of his gaze like a physical, intimate touch upon her—or so she imagined—and her cheeks grew hot, first with embarrassment and then silent indignation. How rude. Where were his manners?
With a lift of her chin, she turned her head away and directed her gaze back to Malcolm and his sister. But it was all for naught; her eyes kept straying to the man in black. There was something inexplicably compelling about him. Even though he was some distance away, she could tell he was handsome beneath his black half-mask. Unlike many of the other gentlemen of the party, including Malcolm, he was sans peruke. His raven black hair was clubbed at the nape, revealing the sharp cut of his square jaw above the frothy white lace of his jabot. Aside from white silk stockings and a touch of white lace at his cuffs, everything else he wore, including his cloak, was as dark as midnight.
Who was he? And why was he so interested in her? Since her father’s passing six months ago, she’d been in mourning and hadn’t been out and about that much. And considering she had only been in Scotland since Hogmanay, she wasn’t all that well acquainted with Edinburgh’s polite society yet.
She was about to ask Aunt Judith, her erstwhile guardian, if she’d noticed the stranger’s pointed interest when a young, fair-haired woman, in a scandalously low-cut gown of scarlet and gold brocade, touched his arm in a familiar fashion before murmuring something in his ear. The man’s wide, well-shaped mouth curved into a slight smile and his attention shifted to the dancers. Was he studying Malcolm now? How peculiar. Sarah’s nape prickled with unease.
Something odd was going on, she was sure of it. She would discreetly mention the stranger to Malcolm when he returned to her. Perhaps they were just old acquaintances…
‘Sarah, my dear, I’m afraid I’m feeling rather poorly.’ Aunt Judith grasped her hand and when Sarah turned to examine her, she was quite alarmed; lines of tension bracketed her aunt’s mouth and eyes and her cheeks were ashen. Although she was only three-and-fifty, this was the third event she’d been to this week. The hustle and bustle of large group gatherings and the late nights were clearly beginning to take their toll.
‘You have a megrim again, don’t you?’ Sarah said gently. ‘Let me find you somewhere quiet to rest.’
Aunt Judith gave her a weak smile. ‘I’m so sorry, dear child. But yes, I think that would be best.’
Sarah glanced back towards the ballroom floor but Malcolm and Damaris were now too far away; she doubted she’d be able to catch their attention. But she wouldn’t be long. She’d install her aunt in the ladies’ retiring room, or somewhere nearby, then return. She suppressed a small unladylike sigh as she took Aunt Judith’s arm and carefully steered her through the crowd toward their destination. Malcolm probably wouldn’t even notice her absence.
She’d been reluctant to acknowledge how mercurial he’d become of late. Their nuptials were only three weeks away and as she was feeling nervous, she reasoned it was only natural for Malcolm to be out of sorts too. One moment he was sweetly attentive and eager to be in her company—perhaps too eager, considering how ardent his kisses had become whenever they happened to be alone. Then there were other times when Malcolm was hopelessly distracted and irritable. She didn’t like it when he snapped at her about the most trivial things. Of course he would always apologise afterwards for his ill-mannered behaviour and ask for her forgiveness, which she freely gave. How could she not?
She’d trusted her father’s judgement in choosing a suitable husband for her. And in his last moments on earth she’d promised him she would wed the Earl of Tay, an honourable peer of the realm who would protect and provide for her. She’d never go back on her word. Besides, for all Malcolm’s faults, she’d grown to care for him—deeply—since they’d become engaged nine months ago. Perhaps it was even love. And even though Malcolm hadn’t professed any deep and abiding affection for her yet, she was certain he cared for her too.
‘Are you quite all right, my dear?’ Aunt Judith asked as she lowered herself onto a small tapestry-covered settee. They’d found a vacant parlour only a few doors away from the ladies’ retiring room. ‘You seem… not quite yourself. Perhaps you could call round the carriage and we might both return to Tay House. I’m sure his lordship wouldn’t mind—’
‘No, no.’ Sarah waved away her aunt’s concern with a forced smile. ‘I am fine.’ She didn’t want to admit to Aunt Judith that she was worried Malcolm would be cross with her if she left early. He was always concerned about appearances and of course she understood. She might be an heiress in her own right now that she’d recently come of age, but in the eyes of society, she was the daughter of a mere merchant. A nobody who’d been lucky enough to ensnare a nobleman. She must never put a foot wrong. Ever.
Besides, she wanted to speak to Malcolm about the curious stranger.
‘If you are sure, then…’ Aunt Judith pressed a hand to her forehead. ‘Perhaps you could arrange some refreshments for me. Some elderflower cordial or barley water would be nice. And a cold compress for my forehead. It aches so. And if it’s not too much bother, perhaps you could procure a book for me to read while I wait for you? I’m sure Lord and Lady Kenmuir wouldn’t mind if you borrowed something from their library.’
Sarah patted her aunt’s shoulder. ‘Of course. It’s no bother at all. I will even polish your spectacles as well.’
On exiting the parlour, she found a maid, requested the items her aunt wanted, then obtained directions to the library. Thankfully it wasn’t too far from the ballroom. Malcolm was probably looking for her. She might see him along the way.
But she didn’t. Scanning the sea of people gathered in the ballroom, she saw neither hide nor hair of her affianced, or her sister-to-be for that matter. Perhaps they were in the card room; both were partial to faro. Thankfully she didn’t spot the man in black either. Feeling a little less anxious, Sarah traversed the marble floor in the main hall and followed the long, oak-panelled gallery as the housemaid had directed until she reached the Kenmuir’s library.
To her surprise—and relief—it was vacant when she entered. Aunt Judith had often warned her about poking her nose into out-of-the-way rooms at affairs like this, as one was liable to come across courting couples or even worse, have one’s reputation ruined if caught alone with a man. But perhaps her aunt was no longer concerned about such things because her betrothal to Malcolm was common knowledge. A man would be foolish indeed to attempt a dalliance with the Earl of Tay’s affianced.
Closing the door behind her, Sarah advanced into an impressively appointed room; a blazing fire and several large branches of candles revealed towering oak bookcases, beautifully polished occasional tables, and fine leather chairs. The comforting scents of wood smoke, beeswax polish, and leather permeated the air, reminding her of her father’s study in their old Northumbrian home by the sea, Linden Hall. A home she would have to give up once she and Malcolm were married. Instead, she would be the mistress of Taymoor Castle.
A countess. She could scarcely fathom it.
Oh, Papa…I wish you were still here to see me wed. Blinking away a rush of bittersweet tears, Sarah crossed to one of the bookcases and pulled a random volume from the shelf; she had no idea what the title was, as the letters on the cover were nothing but a blur. With a sigh she tugged off her gold half-mask, placed it on the shelf, then dabbed at her eyes with her satin and fine lace sleeve. She could almost hear Aunt Judith admonishing her for being so unladylike but she hadn’t a kerchief to hand.
‘Looking for something?’
Sarah jumped like a startled rabbit and dropped the book at the unexpected question—spoken by a man. Her pulse skittering, she whirled around to find her mystery stalker from the ballroom standing only a few feet away.
Before she could even think or utter a word, he stepped forward and retrieved the book from the rug near her feet.
‘Ah, Clarissa,’ he said in a soft Scottish burr, offering her the leather-bound volume with a smile. ‘I’ve been told it is quite a good read if one likes weighty tomes about virtuous maidens. And then, of course, there is Pamela.’ He nodded towards the shelves behind her. ‘Although I hear it is a little more scandalous. I suppose it depends on what sort of mood you are in.’ His deep, smoky voice was just as potent as his gaze, his words heavy with secret meaning. It was as though he’d uttered a jest that she didn’t quite understand.
Sarah took the book with a shaking hand and held it against her chest. Now the man was closer, she could see his eyes were dark too—storm-cloud grey fringed with long sooty lashes that would make any woman green with envy. And he was much taller and more physically imposing than she’d previously thought. His black velvet frockcoat and brocade waistcoat were perfectly tailored to show off his muscular frame, and the snug fit of his black silk breeches did nothing to hide his long powerful thighs. Indeed, his masculine presence seemed to dominate the room. And to her great shame, despite her suspicions that this man was up to no good, she couldn’t look away. He was, in a word, mesmerising.
‘Wh—who are you? What do you want?’ she managed to stammer when she found her voice.
He shrugged and his chiselled mouth tipped into a half-smile as he leaned a wide shoulder nonchalantly against the bookcase. ‘I thought it was rather obvious, my dear Miss Lambert,’ he drawled as he slid a book from the shelf then flipped through its pages. ‘Like you, I thought I’d seek another diversion.’ He grimaced and put the book back before catching her gaze again, regarding her from beneath half-lowered lids. It was a sensual look, lazy but watchful at the same time. The look of a predator feigning disinterest, right before it pounced. ‘These affairs can be frightfully boring sometimes, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘How… how do you know my name?’ she asked, breathless with nerves. The stranger was standing much too close but she couldn’t seem to summon the urge to step away. Her cheeks felt hot and she had the awful feeling she was blushing.
The man’s mask didn’t hide the amused quirk of one slashing black brow. ‘Why, I was in the ballroom when you and your affianced were formally introduced. Lord Tay is a lucky man.’
Good. He knew who she was betrothed to. That should provide her with some measure of protection. Only a fool would cross a nobleman of Malcolm’s stature. Sarah felt some of the tension leave her body. ‘Thank you,’ she replied with an incline of her head. ‘Which reminds me, I should be getting back to my aunt.’ She picked up her discarded mask from the shelf. ‘She’s expecting me. And so is Lord Tay.’
The stranger smiled as he gave a small bow. ‘I’m sure he is, so don’t let me keep you. Good evening to you, Miss Lambert.’
‘Good evening.’ With her mask and Clarissa in hand, Sarah turned and left the library. Even though she didn’t look back, she swore she could feel the enigmatic stranger’s eyes upon her. It was only as the door shut behind her that she realised he’d never actually given her his name.
***
Damn, bloody damn.
Leaning an arm along the bookshelf, Alex rubbed his jaw as he scowled at the closing library door. Why did Miss Sarah Lambert have to be so… so damned lovely? A young woman who, at first meeting, seemed completely free of artifice. Likeable. His spies had reported she was from a good family and despite her questionable choice in men—or one man in particular—there was no hint of scandal attached to her name. He hadn’t wanted to believe Miss Lambert might actually be agreeable. But then, all things considered, his scheme would be much easier to carry out if she wasn’t the social climbing, conniving bitch he’d supposed her to be.
Even though their meeting had been brief, his gut instincts told him he was right about her. When she’d regarded him with wide, innocent blue eyes and had taken a book from him with a trembling hand, he’d been quite disarmed. Good Lord, she’d even blushed at his innocuous attempts at flirtation.
Alex heaved a sigh as he pushed away from the bookcase and crossed to a cabinet, where he helped himself to a glass of Lord Kenmuir’s brandy. After observing Miss Lambert from afar in the ballroom, he’d thought it would be a good idea to assess her firsthand before he made his next move. To take her measure so he’d have an idea of what sort of woman he would be dealing with and how she would react to what he had planned for her.
How inconvenient that he should be afflicted by a sudden pang of conscience.
He hadn’t expected that.
He downed the brandy in one savage gulp, then released the catch on the onyx ring he always wore on his right hand. A tiny tri-coloured braid and a snippet of blue ribbon lay curled beneath the glass. His jaw clenched. He wasn’t going to alter his plans even though Miss Lambert appeared to be a proper young lady who’d stammered breathlessly when he’d stood too close to her. A woman who reminded him of Maggie when he’d first courted her…
He might feel a little sorry for Sarah Lambert but the emotion paled into insignificance when he recalled why he was doing this. He would not be swayed.
He flipped the ring closed. As planned, Tay was currently busy with Nell. Lady Glenleven, his sister, was shamelessly flirting with whomever she could in the card room, and Miss Lambert’s chaperon was conveniently indisposed.
Alex slipped his hand beneath his frockcoat and withdrew a silver flask from the satin-lined breast pocket. He uncapped it and carefully topped up the bitter contents with Lord Kenmuir’s brandy.
A mirthless smile curled his lip as he repocketed the flask. It seemed there was no time like the present to at long last set events in motion.