A Lady's Risk

Book 1: Gentlemen of London

by Felicity George

Genres: Regency Romance

Synopsis

'I cannot recommend this enough. This was the best Regency RomCom I've read all year!' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'A real regency romance which was a delight to read' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

'I really enjoyed this story, but I have to say I cheered for Nick, and I yelled for Meggy to wake up' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Never trust a rake...

Lady Margaret has devoted herself to taking care of her young siblings and the estate while her half-brother fritters away the family fortune. Upon Edwin's death, she learns he has left them destitute and, worst of all, at the mercy of a notorious and cruel rake.

Lord Nicholas would much rather be pursing women for quick sport rather than taking care of a headstrong debutante without any prospects, as well as her siblings. But Edwin saved his life once, and now he owes him a debt. Fortunately, all he has to do is find Meggy a husband, and his debt will be paid.

There's just one issue: Meggy is nothing like what he'd imagined. And the more time he spends in her company, the more he begins to wonder whether he's met his match...

Heartwarming, sexy and unputdownable, A Lady's Risk is perfect for fans of Georgette Heyer and Bridgerton.

*The first in The Gentlemen of London series*

Release date: September 29, 2022

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 336

Sample

September 1812

Lady Margaret Fairchild, on her knees in the grass in an entirely undignified manner for a lady of one-and-twenty years, plucked one last blackberry from the brambles between Berksleigh Hall’s parkland and the road from Warwick. She plopped it into the basket clasped in her little sister Sophy’s berry-stained hands. ‘Are you still counting, Harry?’ she asked her seven-year-old brother, the newly made Earl of Berksleigh.

Little Lord Berksleigh rubbed his snub nose with a grubby paw. ‘I lost precise count, but I think that makes one thousand, Meggy.’

Meggy stood and shook her wrinkled skirts in a futile attempt to clean the dirt from her faded yellow frock and red apron. ‘Do you suppose we’ve picked enough, my loves?’ she asked, waving her hand towards the baskets of fragrant fruit filling their pony cart. There were far more than one thousand berries, and Meggy had picked most of them whilst Harry and Sophy chattered and skipped about like two playful squirrels, their spaniel Copper dashing in circles around their feet.

‘Not nearly,’ nine-year-old Sophy said. ‘Cook needs ever so many for jam.’ A tear trickled down one pink cheek and dropped into the blonde curls spilling over the child’s shoulder. ‘Although I don’t suppose it matters, as we shan’t be here. The strangers leasing Berksleigh Hall will eat the jam instead.’

Harry kicked at the dirt with his scuffed boot. ‘I wish I were a man. Then we needn’t leave our home to live with someone we’ve never met. I’d go to sea and make the Fairchild fortune back in prize money.’

Meggy embraced her brother, leaning down to inhale the sun-warmed scent of his thick brown curls. She understood the dear boy’s sentiments more than he’d ever know. If Meggy had been born male, she’d be the Earl of Berksleigh now. Then she could find some way to care for the children without relying on aid from the dreadful stranger their recently deceased half-brother Edwin had appointed as joint guardian to Harry and Sophy.

‘You cannot go to sea, Harry.’ Her stomach lurched at the thought of her beloved little brother slipping beyond her protection. ‘Who then would care for Sophy and me?’ Harry squirmed, but Meggy kissed his forehead before he wriggled out of her hug.

Sophy nestled into his abandoned spot, with the basket still in her hands. ‘We might bring jam with us when Lord Holbrook takes us to Alton Park.’

Harry’s blue eyes darkened under drawn brows. ‘If he takes us, Sophy. I think Lord Holbrook might be as scaly a rascal as Edwin was. Wasn’t he meant to arrive a fortnight ago?’

‘Yes,’ Meggy said, holding her sister close. ‘And he’ll be here before the tenants arrive in two days.’ She spoke with false conviction for the sake of the children, for the Marquess of Holbrook had a notorious reputation. He’d likely forgotten about them – holed up in London with whores and gamblers, no doubt. ‘I’m afraid the jam must be for the tenants, but perhaps, if you’re especially good at lessons with Miss Kimberley this afternoon, Cook will bake a tart for tonight.’

She tickled her siblings under their chins. Although the children smiled, no sparkle lit their eyes, and Meggy swallowed back tears. Edwin’s rapid ruination of the family had taught her no one was more selfish and irresponsible than a reprobate, and the unknown marquess was proving that yet again.

Meggy tried another tactic to brighten her siblings’ spirits. ‘Let’s return home and have lemonade, loves. The day is scorching, and we haven’t any more containers to fill, anyway.’

Harry stuffed his little fists into his trouser pockets. ‘Perfect day to be at sea.’

‘Perhaps a swim in the pond after lessons,’ Meggy said, wiping perspiration from her upper lip. Her words elicited the longed-for joyful squeals from the children. Meggy beamed as she kissed her sister’s soft cheek. ‘Put your basket with the others, Sophy darling.’

As Sophy complied, a cooling breeze from the nearby Avon blew across the Warwick Road. Meggy arched her aching back whilst a pair of swans glided along the river’s serpentine path. The wind livened the willows and rustled the rushes at the water’s edge, and the river current danced like rippling satin ribbons, but Meggy muffled a sigh. Berksleigh Hall was home, and the pain of their imminent departure stabbed like a knife.

Her heart leaden, Meggy stuffed her leather work gloves into her apron pocket. ‘Harry,’ she said, forcing a lilt to her voice, ‘please lead Hazel home.’

Harry snapped to attention like a soldier. ‘Aye, aye.’ He grabbed the pony’s reins and led her onto the road.

Sophy tucked sticky fingers into Meggy’s hand whilst Meggy whistled to Copper. But as the whistle died on her lips, the cry of an unseen coachman and the hammering hooves of a team of horses roared from the south. Meggy’s heartbeat quickened. There was a blind curve in the road, and the rumble of the carriage grew louder every second.

The vehicle was travelling too fast, and Harry stood directly in its path.

Meggy released Sophy’s hand and leapt for Hazel’s reins, yanking her brother and the cart to safety just as four thundering horses and a black and silver carriage rounded the turn.

Meggy glowered at the liveried coachman. ‘Mind your speed, you horrid man!’ The hooves upon the hard-packed dirt road swallowed her words, but at that moment, the occupant’s head – topped by a tall-crowned black hat – turned in her direction. The sun’s glare on the glass obscured most details, but crisp white shirt linen cascaded below the man’s powerful jaw.

The carriage slowed at the gates of Berksleigh Hall twenty yards down the road, allowing Meggy her first clear view of the painted coronet topping the crest on the door.

Three strawberry leaves – two in profile – with two pearls between them.

A marquess.

Of course.

Lord Holbrook had proven himself an incapable guardian already by permitting his coachman to gallop horses on a blind curve. Meggy balled her fists, readying herself for battle as the team pulled to a halt and the carriage door opened.

The infamous marquess emerged with his head bowed as he assisted a small dog down the carriage steps. A dark blue tailcoat, tailored like a second skin, covered his broad shoulders, and tight buff trousers displayed muscular thighs before tapering into gleaming black Hessian boots.

Lord Holbrook lifted his head.

Meggy gasped as her fists slackened. Her heart, already racing in anger, now hammered.

Edwin had been forty when he died, but his friend was no more than thirty – and handsome beyond compare. Thick dark curls fell to his forehead from under his hat brim, long sideburns cut a sharp line under his high cheekbones, and black brows arched over clear grey eyes. But his mouth arrested the most attention. He wasn’t smiling, and yet his lips curled up tenderly at the edges.

What a gentle, kind-looking man.

But as Lord Holbrook walked closer, he lifted his firm chin, threw back his shoulders, and smirked, displaying perfect white teeth whilst a mocking gleam shone in his eyes.

Ah, he was a devil in disguise.

Meggy’s hammering heart calmed its nonsense. She knew better than to let a handsome face – even one as magnificent as Lord Holbrook’s – sweep her away.

‘Excuse me, miss,’ the marquess’s deep voice rumbled. ‘Did my carriage cause you some trouble?’

Meggy blinked. Miss? ‘Miss’ was not the proper address for Lady Margaret Fairchild, daughter of an earl.

Clearly, Lord Holbrook didn’t know who she was.

The day before, Nicholas Burton, the Marquess of Holbrook, had endured a seven-hour journey from London to Warwick in blazing heat, and he’d amused himself for the duration by cursing his dead friend’s name. Bah – not even a friend. The late Lord Berksleigh was an acquaintance at best. In fact, Nicholas had avoided him when possible, for Edwin Fairchild was a distasteful person, oozing debauchery from every pore of his wheezing, shattered body.

But dammit, Edwin had saved Nicholas’s life years ago, and he owed him.

‘My siblings, Holbrook,’ Edwin had said during Nicholas’s deathbed visit in late July. The wasted, jaundiced earl lay upon a sagging mattress in a sordid flat off Lincoln Inn Fields whilst Nicholas, perched on the edge of a rickety wooden chair, pressed his handkerchief to his nose. Faecal odour from a nearby public boghouse blew into the dank room along with the cries of beggars, the clop of hooves, and the rumble of carriage wheels. A drunken nurse snored in a corner, with a trail of drool dribbling down her chin. ‘My half-siblings from my father’s second marriage. I need you to provide them a home at one of your estates whilst Berksleigh Hall is let.’

Nicholas coughed into his handkerchief. ‘What?’

Edwin held up a skeletal hand. ‘There’s more. You must stand as their joint guardian.’

Nicholas stiffened. Memories of his own childhood guardian surfaced, but he repressed them quickly. ‘Joint with whom?’ he asked through his handkerchief.

‘With my half-sister, Margaret. She’s past her majority now – she turned one-and-twenty last month. But she is yet unmarried, and I cannot leave Henry and Sophia to her without guidance from a male guardian.’

Nicholas stifled a snort of laughter. ‘I’m hardly qualified to guide anyone.’ He folded his handkerchief and returned it to his waistcoat pocket. ‘You’d best choose someone else.’

‘I cannot. Who else would do more for me than spit on my grave?’ Edwin knitted his trembling fingers together on the threadbare counterpane. ‘I’ve been a friend to no one, Nicholas. But you … you owe me your life, and I’m asking you to repay that debt by helping them.’

Nicholas respected few rules, but he must honour a debt, even though, on his gloomiest days, he wished Edwin had let him die. ‘Very well, damn you,’ he said. After all, he could pawn the children’s daily maintenance off on his sister Rose. ‘How old are they?’

‘Sophia is nine, and Henry is seven.’

‘Seven? Fourteen years from his majority?’ Even Rose wouldn’t want a fourteen-year responsibility to grubby little Fairchilds.

‘Yes – and there is another task you must do.’

‘Bloody hell, Edwin. Absolutely not.’ Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest.

‘Ah, but the sooner you do the second thing, the sooner my siblings are entirely off your hands.’ Tears welled in Edwin’s yellow-tinged eyes. ‘They’re near destitute. I’ve left them with nothing. The townhouse in Mayfair is sold, and those proceeds long gone. Of course, I couldn’t sell the estate, connected with the title as it is, but it’s mortgaged and in poor repair, although Margaret did her best. She was fourteen when our father died, and I was three-and-thirty, and yet I left it all to her – raising the children, managing the estate.’ Edwin pulled upon the strands of thin hair clinging to his scabby scalp, his unshaven chin quivering. With a ragged breath, he continued, ‘Locate tenants for Berksleigh Hall, and then do your best to find Margaret a good husband – a man of means and honour. Once she’s wed, your obligation is complete, for her husband will be joint guardian then. But, promise me, Nicholas – a good husband. Someone who will love Henry and Sophia, someone who will be kind to poor Margaret.’

Nicholas twisted his signet ring and sighed. ‘Oh, very well. I shall do my goddamn best. That’s all I can offer.’

‘Thank you. You give me great peace.’ A thin smile hovered on the earl’s lips. ‘One more thing.’

‘By God, I shall kill you myself soon.’

Edwin laughed until he wheezed. ‘You’re not as horrid as you pretend, Nick.’

Nicholas flicked a speck of dust off his coat sleeve. ‘You don’t know a damned thing about me.’

‘I know a bit, and I stand by my opinion. This is the last task, I promise. Care for my dog Caesar once I’m gone.’ Edwin lifted the coverlet to expose a fawn pug with a black face and curled tail. ‘It’ll be hard on him – the poor beast has loved me when no one else could.’

So Caesar accompanied Nicholas in the carriage on his journey to Berksleigh Hall. In fact, the pug accompanied him almost everywhere, for once Caesar had ceased mourning for Edwin, he’d bestowed all his affection upon Nicholas.

After hours on the road, a night spent at an inn in Warwick hadn’t improved Nicholas’s mood. The charms of a dark-haired chambermaid provided a brief distraction, but she became so annoying – thrusting her breasts in his face as she served his dinner and whimpering, ‘My lord, you are the handsomest gentleman that ever lived’ – that in the end Nicholas pursued nothing beyond an uninspiring kiss. He closed the door on her sobs and crawled between scratchy sheets in a stifling room with only Caesar for company.

Nicholas arose miserable with half the morning gone, and his mood like a hurricane. During the short ride to Berksleigh Hall, he fumed. Now he must endure a couple more days’ travel in the summer heat with two children and an insipid virgin – undoubtedly pasty and plain, as she was Edwin’s sister – to transport them to his estate near Ipswich. Then how long must he bear that burden before he found someone willing to marry the destitute sister of foul Edwin Fairchild?

But when his carriage slowed near the gates of Berksleigh Hall, Nicholas’s pulse quickened. A delectable village wench stood next to a waggon bursting with blackberries.

He paid little mind to the two children with her, for the doxy was a joy to behold. The high waist of her wheat-coloured summer frock defined her full breasts; a cherry-red apron enhanced her skin’s rosy glow, and hints of soft lips, fine eyes, and thick golden-brown curls peeked out from under the brim of her straw bonnet. The girl drew her lovely face into an adorable scowl, quite as if she wished to murder his coachman.

The all too familiar thrill of the chase revived Nicholas’s languid spirits. The Fairchild siblings could wait. First, he should make amends for whatever wrong this morsel had suffered. And as he soothed her, he’d discover if she were willing for a tumble with a lord. She was certainly ripe for one.

Nicholas banged his walking stick for his coachman to stop and then emerged from the carriage with Caesar at his heels.

When their eyes met, the village girl’s lips parted with a gasp, and her cheeks flushed even rosier. She was smitten, and Nicholas’s excitement ebbed. A good hunt heightened his pleasure – why did women make it so easy to be caught?

He stepped closer, and his pulse raced again.

She was provincial perfection. As lovely as a summer meadow, with full lips and a round face. Dusky lashes framed her cornflower blue eyes, and a spattering of freckles fell across her small nose.

Nicholas no longer cared if she was easy. She was a tumble-in-the-hay busty beauty, and he wanted her.

He always got what he wanted.

Nicholas grinned. ‘Excuse me, miss – did my carriage cause you some trouble?’

Her thick lashes fluttered. No doubt she was attempting to recover from the excitement he’d aroused. ‘As a matter of fact, yes. Your coachman nearly ran over my brother and our cart.’

Her pronunciation was refined, and Nicholas hesitated. But the girl looked as if she’d been crawling in the dirt, and gentlemen’s daughters didn’t pick berries by a public road without a maid nearby.

Nicholas returned to the hunt. ‘Please accept my apology.’ He placed a hand to his heart. ‘The fault is entirely mine, for my coachman was acting under my orders to make haste. Allow me to make amends by assisting you home.’

One rounded brow raised, and her lips compressed. Ah, perhaps she wasn’t so easy after all. Clever beauty.

Nicholas motioned to his coachman to drive on through the gates.

He turned to her siblings. They resembled her with their blue eyes and copious curls, but the little girl’s hair was fair and the boy’s was dark.

‘Here, lad,’ Nicholas said, ‘I shall lead your waggon, and you tell me where to go.’

The boy looked at his sister. But before she replied, a cacophony of barking and growling broke out behind them.

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder. Caesar and a spaniel, noses to the ground, were having words over who had the greater claim to some creature’s burrow.

He and the beauty dashed for their dogs. It was the work of a moment for Nicholas to kneel and tuck Caesar under one arm. It was the work of one moment more to place his other arm around the kneeling girl, ostensibly to pet her spaniel, but really to embrace her whilst her bottom brushed against his thigh.

Only the brim of her bonnet distanced their faces. Her curls tickled his nose. Her warm skin smelled of berries and fresh air. One of her soft breasts grazed his chest, and Nicholas’s loins tightened. ‘My dear, I’m afraid Caesar is a terribly behaved beast. Alas, I’ve been his master only a month, or he’d have much better manners.’

She licked her luscious lips with the tip of a pink tongue. ‘Indeed, sir? And where would he learn those manners? For clearly you have none.’

Her answer delighted Nicholas, but he retained a solemn expression. ‘Why! Have I offended you, sweetheart?’

She looked at him as if he were a fool. ‘You’ve done nothing but offend me.’ She squirmed away from his embrace by pushing against his chest with a determined little shoulder but remained kneeling to restrain her wriggling spaniel. ‘Your carriage nearly injured my brother. Your vicious little pug attacked my dog, and you … you were holding me without my permission.’

Nicholas leaned towards her, and his lips brushed a tawny tendril upon her cheek. ‘My most sincere apologies. You’re so intoxicatingly beautiful I’m afraid I am too forward.’

He formed his features into the hazy-eyed gaze women loved. Despite her protestations, a ghost of a gasp parted her pretty lips. She blushed, and her eyes trailed to his mouth. Yes, she’d melt into his arms in due time, but he should get rid of the children and the livestock first. Then he’d ask her to stroll with him, and he’d locate a shady meadow. He’d untie her dress laces, remove her bonnet, and loosen her hair so those curly tresses spilled over what must be perfect breasts. And then he’d lay her down in the sun-dappled grass.

He was damnably close to an erection, so it was time to act. ‘I shall be on my best behaviour now, Miss …? Forgive me, sweetheart, I don’t know your name.’

She scratched her spaniel behind its floppy ears and glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. ‘Yes, I have the advantage over you, Lord Holbrook.’ A dimple deepened in each cheek as she smiled.

Nicholas raised his eyebrows. ‘My heavens, clever puss. How do you know who I am?’

She opened her mouth, but before she responded, her little brother called out. ‘Meggy, may we return now? I’m thirsty.’

Nicholas winked. ‘Aha, you don’t have the advantage anymore, Meggy.’

She released her spaniel and stood. ‘Yes, Harry and Sophy, let’s return. And since Lord Holbrook has kindly offered to lead the pony home to Berksleigh Hall, do hop into the waggon, loves.’

Nicholas still knelt on one knee, holding Caesar, but it was as if she’d knocked the breath from him.

Home to Berksleigh Hall.

Meggy, Sophy, Harry.

Margaret, Sophia, Henry.

Bloody hell.

Meggy offered her little hand. ‘Do you need help up, Lord Holbrook? And I do think it’s best if you call me Lady Margaret. We’re not on terms of familiarity, sir.’ Sunlight fell across her smirking lips, and her eyes flashed in triumph.

Nicholas rose without the help of Meggy’s hand and without another glance at her smug countenance. He turned on his heel and took up the pony’s reins, seething as the children scrambled into the waggon.

Meggy had every right to gloat. Only a fool sought dalliance with an earl’s daughter, for high-born young ladies were untouchable outside a marriage contract.

And marriage was something Nicholas Burton would never do again.

With the pony breathing down his arm and his inner hurricane raging, Nicholas followed Meggy towards the gates of Berksleigh Hall.

God damn Edwin Fairchild.

Meggy silently cursed Edwin as her boots crunched along the elm-lined gravel drive towards the three-storey, flat-roofed limestone manor house where she’d lived all her life. How dare Edwin force her into partnership with a rake and a reprobate?

Harry and Sophy’s giggles rose over the churn of the waggon wheels behind her. Meggy was grateful the children seemed happier, but she burned with shame. Perhaps her siblings laughed about her interaction with Holbrook. After all, she must’ve looked a fool nestled in the marquess’s arms.

Good God, he’d wanted to ravish her by the roadside. Utterly disgusting.

Except it hadn’t been.

Her heart had pounded when he whispered the words ‘intoxicatingly beautiful’. Her cheek had tingled at the brush of his lips. His mouth had mesmerised her. She’d wanted to slip into his silken web and melt under his smouldering heat.

And that, Meggy thought as she marched, was exactly how scoundrels ensnare young ladies. It wasn’t a trap she could fall into. Edwin had ruined the Fairchilds, and Meggy must restore the family’s honour for Sophy and Harry. Just as she’d had to do everything for the last seven years since her father’s death, when Edwin dismissed the responsibilities of his inheritance in order to squander the family fortune.

Meggy lifted her face to the sky as she strode, allowing the dappled sunlight filtering through the verdant leaves of the elms to clear her mind. Yes, Holbrook’s handsomeness upset her good sense for a moment, but only because she’d led a sheltered life at Berksleigh Hall caring for her young siblings and the estate. Now that she’d put the marquess in his place so effectively, she’d have no further difficulty resisting his physical allure.

Meggy led Holbrook around the side of the house and down the path leading towards the stables. To save money, she’d long since expanded the kitchen gardens by converting the side lawn to growing vegetables, and the scent of ripe beans and fennel hung in the air. She stopped at the kitchen entrance – an oak plank door recessed into the stone walls – and pulled upon the wooden latch worn smooth from two centuries of use.

‘Harry, Sophy, bid farewell to Lord Holbrook. Then dash inside, have some lemonade, and find Miss Kimberley. You’re late for your lessons.’

Harry bowed, Sophy curtsied, and the children scurried away. The two kitchen maids, Ann and Martha, arrived to unload the baskets, and Daniel, the groom, walked from the stables to take charge of the pony and cart.

‘Will you stay for dinner, Lord Holbrook?’ Meggy asked over her shoulder as she untied her red apron. Dammit, her silly heart fluttered when she addressed him.

There was no reply. Meggy handed her apron to Martha with a quick smile and turned. The marquess stood at the front corner of the house and gazed at Berksleigh Hall with his handsome face drawn as if he’d bitten into a lemon. No doubt he was sneering at the windows blackened to avoid tax, which rendered the house gap-toothed and desolate.

Meggy joined him, holding her chin high. The sorrowful state of the manor didn’t represent the honour of the Fairchilds. Meggy embodied her ancient family’s resilience and dignity – and she guided Sophy and Harry by her strength and example. ‘I enquired if you wish to stay for dinner, Lord Holbrook.’

‘No, thank you.’ His words were terse, and his consonants clipped. ‘I shall return to the inn at Warwick as soon as we’ve discussed our business.’

Meggy nodded. ‘Very well. Shall we go inside to speak?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m indifferent.’

Meggy thought of the peeling plaster in the drawing room. ‘In that case, let’s walk.’

‘As you wish.’ He offered his arm.

Meggy’s mouth went dry as she recalled the sensual heat of Holbrook’s broad body leaning against hers. She declined the arm with a wave of her hand.

Best not to touch him.

Holbrook’s lips twitched, as if in amusement.

Meggy bristled. Did he imagine his good looks affected her? Clearly, she must put him in his place again.

With the dogs wagging their tails as they trotted between them, Meggy walked with Holbrook across the front of the house and into the East Garden, a grassy lawn criss-crossed with low-hedged paths. ‘I assume you wish to discuss our removal to Suffolk,’ she said, trailing her fingers amongst the bright-green box leaves. ‘Or do you want me to point you to the village so you can seduce the tenants’ daughters, or whatever you imagined I was?’ She cut her gaze to Holbrook with a smirk.

The marquess’s grey eyes flashed. ‘Sarcasm is less clever than you may think, Lady Margaret. If you’d refrain from it, we could conduct our business more quickly.’

Meggy raised her eyebrow. ‘Your manner is certainly less appealing now.’ She pushed aside a wave of disappointment. If he intended to be unpleasant, it would make preserving her resolve against him much easier. ‘I must say, you fooled me for the briefest of moments by the roadside. I imagined I glimpsed a kind man when you first stepped from your carriage. Fortunately, I saw through the deception and reminded myself that my brother has forced me into a partnership with the most notoriously hard-hearted libertine in Britain.’

Holbrook half smiled, but his eyes glinted. ‘Fortuitous, indeed. Yet you weren’t entirely averse to my charms.’

Meggy turned her face aside, lest the warmth of her cheeks betray her. ‘What charms?’ She pointed at the waggling rear of Holbrook’s pug. ‘You possess as much charm as your beastly little dog.’

Holbrook put a hand to his broad chest and bowed his head; the black beaver fur of his hat glistened in the sun. ‘I must thank you for your compliment. Caesar is extraordinarily adorable.’

Meggy narrowed her eyes. ‘Your pug is hideous. He pounced on sweet Copper as vilely as you pounced on me. And whilst we’re on that subject, answer me a question so I may determine exactly what sort of man my brother placed as guardian over my beloved siblings. What would you have done with me had I been a village girl as you thought?’

‘I’m afraid, Lady Margaret,’ Holbrook said, swinging his walking stick like a pendulum as he strode, ‘I shan’t answer such an inappropriate question from a young lady.’

‘Never mind,’ Meggy said, with as nonchalance as she could muster. ‘I know the answer. You would’ve ravished me.’

The marquess raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. ‘My goodness. That’s quite the accusation. Yet I wonder if you know what that bold word truly means?’

Meggy halted, pivoting her heels in the gravel as she faced Holbrook with her fists clenched. ‘You are the one whose behaviour is inappropriately bold, embracing me where anyone might’ve seen us. The very leas. . .