his fingers rather nervously on its satin upholstery. ‘Come in hopes of taking advantage of the family drama, have you? Planning, perhaps, to weasel your way back into our father’s affections?’
Alec gazed at him calmly. ‘You’ve had a respite, Stephen. Last night I suggested you leave London. Now there’s no need. Because our father’s going to Carrfields with his wife.’
‘No! Has he just told you that?’ Stephen was on his feet again, his face flushed. ‘Susanna will die of boredom there!’
‘Perhaps. But if you do anything other than tell her she must accompany our father, then your game is at an end.’
‘You wouldn’t …’
‘Oh, I would. Believe me, I would.’
‘She’s young, Alec! Younger than me, younger than you. And Carrfields—it’s like a prison for her!’
‘She should have thought of that before she married him,’ rapped back Alec. ‘Obviously his wealth distracted her from the practical realities of playing wife to a much older man.’
Stephen drew in a hissed breath. ‘Now, look. As far as London society is concerned, I’m merely being the dutiful stepson by escorting her to her various engagements …’
His voice faltered, because of the way Alec was gazing at him. ‘You won’t be escorting her anywhere in the foreseeable future—’ Alec pointed a finger at him, casually ‘—because she’s going to Hampshire with our father.’
Stephen opened his mouth, then shut it again.
‘Oh, and there’s one more thing,’ went on Alec. ‘Why were you talking last night to the blonde whore who played Athena?’
‘Why? The usual reasons.’ Stephen’s lip curled. ‘So you noticed her, too, did you? Are you going back there tonight to tup the wench? I’d be interested to know what bedroom tricks she employs—’
Stephen broke off, because his brother’s bunched fist was suddenly in front of his face. ‘Oh, Stephen,’ Alec said softly, ‘I’ve no intention of paying for anyone’s services. But I’ve another question. You paid those men to attack me last night at the Temple of Beauty, didn’t you? Why?’
‘I really don’t know what the hell you’re—’
‘Don’t waste your breath trying to deny it. Because I’m just longing for an excuse to give you the beating you deserve.’
Stephen cowered away. ‘Not here. Not in our father’s house!’
Then the door opened. And Susanna was there.
Lady Aldchester, the former Contessa di Ascoli, was exquisite, everyone was agreed on that. Her origins were obscure—she had been born in England to an Italian mother and had married a Milanese count, considerably older than she.
When he died in Italy two years ago his widow had decided to come to live in London, where she had made her entrance in considerable style. She had rented a fine house where she held glittering soirées with her mother, and soon half of London’s gentry were in love with her.
Including his father.
Now she looked from one to the other, lovely as ever, with her clouds of raven curls and her sultry dark-blue eyes. She was younger than both of them. Then she said, in her silken voice that bore the allure of her Italian heritage, ‘Stephen. Alec. I’ve just been told that your father is ill.’
‘It’s nothing serious,’ said Stephen. ‘Rest assured.’
‘I will go up, then, to see him …’
Stephen strode forwards. ‘I will come with you.’
‘No. Best if I see him by myself.’
Alec had already turned to go. But he became aware that she was following him out on to the palatial landing above the staircase, where they were, momentarily, alone. The faint scent of gardenias clung to her skin and hair.
‘Alec,’ she said, ‘my dear, please will you speak with me one moment before I go up to your father?’ Her delicate gloved fingers were touching his arm. ‘It’s been so long since we spoke. I’m sad, because you used to be at every society gathering. You are missed,’ she added softly.
‘Do you know,’ he said in a curt voice, ‘I find that London society doesn’t appeal to me very much at the moment. Susanna, my father wants to go to Carrfields.’
The colour left her cheeks. ‘Carrfields! But he promised me—’
‘I take it,’ Alec cut in, ‘that you’ll go with him? Stephen, by the way, is staying in London.’
She hesitated. Then, ‘Of course I will go.’
With a tight bow, he turned to leave, but she caught again at his arm. ‘My dear, I so wish we could be friends again! And I’m sorry about the Bedford Street house. I told your father that my mother wished for a residence in London. But I didn’t realise you would be made homeless!’
‘Didn’t you?’ This time he couldn’t help the bitterness showing through. ‘Believe me, that’s the least of my worries.’
Her eyes were clouded. ‘What can I do, to redeem myself?’ she murmured. ‘Alec, I am not happy, you must know that. I am not, if it’s of any consolation to you, in the slightest bit proud of myself.’
‘I think you know, Susanna, what you ought to do. Whether you do it or not is entirely up to you. You have a better side. Use it.’ Alec gave a curt bow and left.
She watched him go down the vast staircase that swept to the entrance hall below. Stephen had come out of the drawing room and was looking at her.
‘Carrfields,’ he said. ‘How will you bear it?’
‘It seems,’ she answered, ‘as if I must.’
And she went upstairs, to visit her husband.
Shortly afterwards, Lord Stephen Maybury went back to his house in Brook Street and spoke to the man with the scarred forehead. ‘Well, Markin? Did you do as I ordered?’
‘Hire a couple of ruffians to wreck the printing press that produced that foul stuff about Lady Aldchester? Aye, my lord. And there’s more. The fair-haired piece from the Temple of Beauty that you asked me to follow last night—turns out she lives there, as well! She’s some kind of writer!’
And Stephen’s narrow green eyes widened.
He had been absolutely enraged to see the way Susanna looked at Alec out there on the landing. The way she had agreed, in spite of all her earlier protestations about hating the country, to go with his father to Carrfields.
Was she tiring of her secret games with Stephen?
Now, though, the blonde girl from the Temple of Beauty drove everything from his mind. If there was a connection, with the other one from three years ago, he needed to shut the girl up. And fast.
Chapter Nine
The next two weeks were blighted by the blustery rain of late March and the leaden skies reflected Helen’s mood of despair. ‘I’ll never feel safe again. Oh, Rosalie, who could have done such a thing?’
‘The constables are hunting the culprits,’ Rosalie soothed her as she brought her a cup of tea. ‘Why not start writing again? You have a gift for it and for teaching. I’ll never forget how you inspired us in the village school, about art and history. You opened up a new world to me, Helen.’
Helen gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘You had a hunger for learning anyway. Every book I brought to you, you used to devour. When I took you all to that art gallery in Oxford,