Jared had been in many establishments run by women in his time, but none of them had been respectable gown shops. This was like being in an exquisite little bon-bon box and he found himself sitting very still on a ludicrous gilded chair expecting something to crack and drop him to the floor at any moment.

The back door had been locked and was equipped with a tinkling bell that would ring when it was opened, so no-one was going to get in the back without him hearing. The room full of seamstresses looked exactly as he imagined they should and the young woman flirting not very discreetly with him showed neither alarm nor curiosity at being informed that the Viscount preferred his wife to be escorted everywhere.

‘Not surprising, her ladyship being so beautiful. I’ll wager you have to hold the young men off with that sword to stop them making a nuisance of themselves.’ She prattled on, Jared responded, becoming increasingly tired of the game, the majority of his concentration on the puzzle of Lady Northam’s enemy.

Anyone with intelligence and nerve and the money to employ competent criminals could have set up the attacks. There was no clue there to either the sex or the age of the antagonist. And the motive seemed equally hidden.

If the Viscount’s daughters were after the title for their sons then they would have to eliminate not only Lady Northam but his lordship’s brother and nephew and distant cousins – to say nothing of their own father, if they were impatient. The nephew could surely be ignored, at least for the present, because he would be secure in the knowledge that he would inherit sooner or later.

Unless the brother and nephew feared the young wife would produce an heir for Augustus… For some reason Jared had assumed that this was a marriage in form only, despite his routine questions earlier. There was nothing new about an elderly man acquiring a pretty trophy wife to look after him in his dotage and a young woman in difficulties taking on the role of old man’s darling in return for status, luxury and security.

But the Viscount was a lively and seemingly vigorous man. If he was still active in the bedchamber, or the heirs believed him to be – and it might take as little as a meaningful glance or a teasing comment to convince them of that – then they had genuine grounds for concern. And if someone felt that an inheritance they had grown up believing was theirs, or their heir’s, was threatened, then removing the young wife might seem a solution.

Or it could be that Lady Northam was unaware of an enemy elsewhere, or had misjudged a threat. Or was keeping something secret. Or, or, or… Possibilities churned round in his head, each as likely, and unlikely, as the next. This was getting him nowhere and he still was not even certain whether this was a campaign of harassment or a genuine attempt at murder devised by someone with a warped mind and a scattergun approach to method.

If Lady Northam was going out that evening to a social function then he would have to accompany her, begin to establish himself in the London scene and discover what was being said about the Viscountess of Northam. He made a note to approach Cal for some introductions. His friend would not mind and a duke vouching for him would do wonders for the speed with which he could work his way into Society.

The other end of the scale was less easy. He had been out of London too long to know the underworld, not that he had ever been familiar with it before he took up his post as swordmaster and companion to Viscount Castledale, as Cal had been then. Jared had been too young, his own swordmaster too strict with his apprentice, to have mixed with the criminal classes.

On the other hand he had plenty of experience of the seedy underbellies of other cities around the world. It was time to put that to good effect. Jared made another note as the shop door bell tinkled and his flirtatious companion hastened away to deal with the newcomers. Jared stood up, the little chair creaking in relief, as a flurry of ladies entered. There were only four of them but they managed to fill the shop to overflowing with femininity.

He edged into a corner, hand on the hilt of his rapier to push it down parallel with his leg and out of sight. He was not exactly what the customers would expect to find in this temple to feminine elegance but there was nowhere to retreat to without giving up his line of sight on the fitting room door.

It rapidly became clear that far from being an unwanted intrusion he was providing an additional attraction. As he had not been introduced to any of the ladies he could do no more than bow slightly when they caught his eye, but that was enough to produce blushes and giggles from the pair of young ones and a lingering, considering, assessment from the two older women.

Jared greeted the reappearance of Lady Northam with a silent sigh of relief. He would fight four attackers for her without a moment’s hesitation, but he was mightily relieved to be rescued by her from that many harmless ladies.

Her fitting did not seem to have relaxed her, and there was a tiny frown between her brows as she emerged from the dressing rooms, but she greeted the other customers with a pleasant smile that became fixed when she saw the sliding glances from herself to Jared and back. They thought he was her escort, he realised, and they were reading far more into that than either of them would have wanted.

He stalked forward as her polite greetings faltered, opened the door and followed Lady Northam and her maid out without any acknowledgment of the other women. When he took his seat opposite her he realised her cheeks were flushed pink and her chin was up.

‘I hope you are not sensitive to gossip, Mr Hunt.’

He had intended to deal with it by ignoring the encounter. She, it seemed, preferred to take bulls by horns. ‘An escort for a lady in broad daylight when she is with her maid is surely not something to remark upon?’

Lady Northam twisted on the seat, the rustle of her skirts brushing against his knees, the subtle hint of her perfume reaching him more strongly. Jared set his hat firmly on his lap and met her exasperated gaze with a bland look in return.

‘Mr Hunt, I do not know if you ever spend much time looking in a mirror, but you must be aware that you cut a striking figure – all in black, a rapier at your hip, your hair not in the common mode. I assume your style is a matter of deliberate choice.’

‘I make my living by teaching other men to fight with deadly and elegant accuracy and when I am escorting someone, as I am now, I expect to intimidate anyone who might think of offering my client insult. If I am to sell my services I must look the part and if I am to deter attackers I will not do it with the appearance of an idle man about town.’

‘I suspect that Lady Mitcham, Mrs Rushworth and their daughters did not see a fencing tutor or a bodyguard in there. I suspect they saw a handsome man escorting a lady who is married to a man old enough to be her grandfather,’ Lady Northam said ruefully. Faith let a startled sound that might have been laughter escape her, then bit her lip and studied her clasped hands.

Jared digested the handsome. The Duchess of Calderbrook, much as she might like him now, had described him as sinister and dangerous-looking. Other women treated him warily, in bed and out, apparently fully prepared to accept the outer image as a portrait of the inner man. Lady Northam appeared to see through the clothes and the hair and the rapier as so much masquerade costume. She also appeared to find him good-looking. Jared’s right eyebrow, one of the tells he usually kept rigorously under control, escaped him, arched up.

Lady Northam blushed. ‘I mean…’

‘That many people have dirty minds and a liking for gossip?’ he suggested.

‘Exactly,’ she agreed with a rueful smile. ‘And my husband and I will be attending Lady Fulborne’s ball this evening and I know Augustus would feel happier if you were to accompany us.’

‘That will either flatten the gossips or make things worse depending on just how dirty those minds are.’ This enterprise was developing angles he had not predicted.

‘I do not understand, Mr Hunt. Why should it make things worse?’

 

Jared Hunt glanced out of the window. Guin followed his gaze and saw they were almost at the turn into Clarges Street, opposite the reservoir gate into Green Park. ‘Will you walk a little, Lady Northam? I would like to talk.’ He pulled the check-string as she nodded and the carriage came to a halt amidst the usual shouts of protest from following vehicles which, after a moment of confusion, began to flow round them again.

‘But we are almost home,’ she said. Even so, when he helped her down she made no more protest, nor when he waved-on the coach with the assurance he would bring her ladyship home directly she’d had a little air. Nor did Guin contradict him when he told Faith to walk a little behind them as he had confidential matters to discuss.

‘What do you have to say to me that cannot be said in my own home?’ she asked as they strolled along the northern edge of the reservoir towards the Wilderness, avoiding excited small children in the care of their nursemaids who were endeavouring to prevent them falling into the water as they threw crusts to the ducks. ‘I assume it was of importance for you to order me so peremptorily from my own carriage.’

‘I hope I was not exactly ordering and thank you for responding without protest. I thought this might be embarrassing in front of your maid and even more so in your house where your husband or the servants might overhear.’

‘What on earth are you talking about, Mr Hunt?’ She stopped dead, stared up into his face, then, with a little shake of her head walked on.

‘It occurs to me, as it did not when I accepted this assignment without knowing you at all, that the ill-natured might draw an unfortunate inference from my apparent… closeness to you. My constant attendance. That encounter just now in the dress shop is a mild example of it.’

‘Surely not when my husband is seen to escort me to social events in your company?’

He was silent, as though he was working out how to phrase something. ‘Lord Northam would not be the first elderly husband to take extreme action to ensure that his young wife bore him an heir.’

‘What? What?’ Guin wrenched her hand free of his arm and stopped dead in the middle of the path. ‘You are saying that my husband is employing you for stud purposes?’ Her voice was rising dangerously and she put her hand to her lips before she shrieked something even more damning for public consumption.

‘No.’ Jared Hunt also seemed to be making an effort to keep his voice down. ‘Certainly not. Of course he is not. I am saying that some people might assume that to be the case, especially if we are seen too obviously together and making up a threesome with your husband.’

‘That is disgusting.’ She was trembling, she realised. Trembling and probably white-faced. It certainly felt as though the blood had drained away to her toes.

‘It is the way of the world,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I think it would be better if I have a list of your social engagements and make my own way there so that I am not so obviously connected with you both.’

‘I… Yes, that seems to be the best course to take.’ When he offered his arm again she took it but it required an effort of will to touch him publically, even in such an acceptable manner. ‘I trust your judgment and I have no desire to compromise you.’

‘Compromising me is the least of it, Lady Northam. It is a lady’s reputation which must be protected.’

‘Oh, this is so stupid. Call me Guinevere, please.’ Good heavens, the man knew her history, her reproductive state, the books she read and her taste in decorative braid. What more did it take to be on first name terms?

‘I hardly think – ’

‘You are not required to think, Mr Hunt! Oh, I am so sorry. What a horrible, catty thing to say. I never thought this would be so difficult.’ I need a friend.

‘Suffering the kind of attacks you have been subjected to would shake anyone’s nerves.’

‘I do not mean that.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper and Guin lifted her chin and made herself speak clearly. ‘I mean my marriage.’

‘Should you be saying such things to me?’

‘There is no-one else I can talk to,’ she said and heard the bleakness in her own voice. Yes, I need a friend very badly. ‘I thought I could offer something in return for Augustus rescuing me from the plight I found myself in. I thought I could be an attentive wife, a companion in his old age. I had not realised that he was still so very active – we are constantly attending parties and balls, lectures and drives. I am in the public gaze far more than I ever expected, or am used to. And of course everyone assumes I have married him for his money, for the title.’

‘Why did you marry Lord Northam?’ Jared Hunt asked, straight out.

‘For security,’ she admitted. ‘I was desperate. It was marriage or selling myself, frankly. If I was not arrested first for murdering my husband, that is. I had no friends, no references that might have secured me a post as a companion or a governess. I was sick with worry, I had no money, no time to try and establish myself somewhere. Augustus was like a good angel, arriving in the nick of time to save me.

‘But now I find myself mistress of an estate – which is not so hard – and living in a London Town house. And that is hard. I have been well brought up, but not to navigate London Society, to weather the gossip and the cliques and the rivalries. People acknowledge me because they like Augustus. He is very much respected, so they are not unkind because it would hurt him. But they simply do not accept me, not as a friend. I have none you see,’ she finished miserably. ‘No-one to call me by my name, any longer.’

‘Your husband – ’

‘Calls me Guinnie as a pet name. He means it affectionately but I feel as though I am nothing but a pet. I am losing myself and I hate it.’

‘Guinevere.’ The sudden warmth in the look he gave her would have cured frostbite. ‘You are being stifled by your doting husband who does not realise you are being slowly pecked to death by the slights and whispers of the world he so proudly shows you off in and you do not tell him because that would wound him. You are a good wife, Guinevere. But that name is only for when we are alone.’

And I want to be alone with you rather too much. ‘Mr Hunt – ’

‘Jared.’

She fell silent, merely curling her hand more snugly into the crook of his elbow. After a few minutes, after they rounded the end of the reservoir and strolled on towards the centre of the park, she said tentatively, ‘Will you be able to obtain invitations to all of the events we will be attending, do you think?’

‘Yes. There are advantages to having a duke as a close friend. What Calderbrook wants, he gets. A few invitations on my behalf are nothing.’

Another silence. She wondered if it hurt his pride to have to ask his friend for such help. ‘Augustus says there is no record of you before the age of seventeen, Jared. Have you no family?’

‘I have relatives,’ he admitted. ‘I would not call them family now. There was a breach, irrevocable. You are not the only person who found themselves with no way back.’

‘What… what did you do that was so dreadful?’ She tipped her head to one side, finding she was tall enough not to have to look up far to study his face. ‘Can you tell me?’

 

Jared bit back the instinctive refusal, searched for a way to explain. ‘I did nothing, except to deny lies and refuse to forgive those lies.’ He was a grown man now and the hurt and the betrayal had changed, become a cold, hard anger that had not softened for understanding his brother’s motives, the fears of the girl he had dreamed might love him, the immediate prejudice of his father. Cowardice he could forgive, momentary panic was understandable. Planned betrayal was neither.

‘At seventeen, was it not? So young. And then you made a new life for yourself, from nothing?’

‘I had a rapier, a background of sound training in fencing, a few coins in my pocket and a great deal of luck.’ He had never ignored the power of luck after that. Admittedly you had to put the work in, or the Lady would turn a scornful shoulder your way when you needed her most, but when everything seemed hopeless a belief that maybe she was on your side this time gave you the guts to keep fighting. ‘I fell into the company of one of the best swordsmen in Europe and he saw something, lord knows what, in me. I was a sullen, difficult youth at that point.’

She gave a little smile, as though she still thought him difficult. ‘We will find out who is doing this, won’t we, Jared?’

‘Of course.’ A group of well-dressed ladies were strolling towards them and he turned casually, before they were within conversational distance, and took another path that curved round to the gate they had entered by. ‘You simply need to hold your nerve and we will find him.’ Unless this was someone completely deranged who had fixed their sights on Guinevere, was obsessing about her. It did happen and then they really would need luck and, perhaps to catch the man in the act, which would be unpleasant for Guinevere and possibly dangerous.

‘It will be a man, I suppose,’ she mused as they paced back along the path, closer now to the sound of the traffic on Piccadilly. ‘It is particularly unnerving not to be able to imagine even the shape of my enemy, a glimpse of their face.’

‘A man would have easier access to criminal elements, men who could enter a house unnoticed, climb a roof, not flinch at tipping fireworks down chimneys,’ he agreed. And a man was far more likely to be behind this if a completely irrational fixation was the motive. But he did not say that. Guinevere would probably find that even more frightening than a sane attacker.

Against his side he felt the little shiver go through her again and walked faster. ‘I will take you home and go in search of my invitation for tonight.’ And beg the assistance of Michael Flynn, Cal’s valet and their companion in the travels and adventures, to turn him out looking respectable. He rather thought his evening clothes were still jammed at the bottom of a hastily-packed trunk.