you will find a warm welcome awaiting you. Viscount Sidmouth, the home secretary, is most anxious to welcome you. You may count on him to counsel you in light of this…delicate situation.”
“Delicate? Have you been withholding something from me? Is my grandmother in any danger?”
“I have not been so informed, but I cannot say for a certainty.”
Desmond again stared into the fire, struggling with his conscience. He recalled a gentle lady who loved him well. At last he spoke. “If my grandmother is alive, I have no choice but to return to England.”
The envoy looked relieved. “It is my duty to escort you to London for your investiture by the Regent. How soon can you be ready to leave, your lordship?”
Bannington’s brow cleared and he smiled. “How long have you been searching for me?”
“I’ve been away from my home for more than a year.”
“Have you a wife? Family?”
“No, your lordship. But I am betrothed.”
“I wish you happy, old chap. All right. I’ll be ready as soon as may be.”
“Appreciate it, sir.”
“I need time to wind up my affairs here. Shouldn’t take more than a few days at the most. Will that do?”
“Yes, of course. With your permission, I’ll arrange for a carriage to take us to Calais, where I can book our passage to Dover.”
“Order two carriages, one for Rabu and all my possessions and one for the two of us. Which reminds me. I haven’t any place to stay. I have no idea whether my father’s London domicile is habitable and hotels frown on my little Indian, which makes me uncomfortable. Any suggestions?”
“I would be honored if you were to accept my hospitality, your lordship. You may stay as long as you need to arrange your affairs. I live in Mayfair, an easy ride to Carlton House where you shall meet with the Prince Regent.”
“You are an excellent fellow, Darlington. I accept your offer.”
Chapter 1
Wednesday, April Fools’ Day, 1818
London
Lady Helena Fairchild shivered in anticipation as she stole across the lawn. The night was misted in fog. Only the dim glow of the street lamps pierced the gloom. She paused in the shadows of the familiar oak tree and stopped to listen. When she heard no sounds from within or without the town house, she gathered her silk gown, tucked it into her pantalets, turned and climbed the tree.
With customary ease, she slithered along a sturdy branch that led to the balcony. Her hands and feet found purchase on the ornate grillwork and she let go of the tree limb. It snapped back with such a loud crack, she froze, waited a heart-stopping moment, and then eased herself over the balustrade. The door was ajar. She stepped into Darlington’s chamber and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark.
She followed the sound of gentle snores coming from the bed a few steps away. The drapes were not drawn, for the night was warm, one of those rare April nights that made the air feel as if it were already the middle of May. Her fingers trembled as she loosened the ribbons of her bodice. She pushed both sleeves off her shoulders and shifted her gown to undo the back buttons. It slipped from her hips and fell to the floor. She removed her chemise and her pantalets. A shock of cold air bruised her nude body. An irregular mountain of discarded clothing rested on the Aubusson rug.
There was no turning back now. She lifted the quilt and climbed into his bed. A small smile curved her lips when she noted that he favored the right side of the bed when he slept. That was a good sign, for she favored the left.
Though the erratic pounding of her heart seemed too loud to her ears, Chris didn’t stir. She touched him. His arm was strong and warm and firm. How muscular he had become since she had seen him last. Was it only a year? His brawny body filled her with wonder. He turned, pulling the quilt with him. It slid to the floor on his side of the bed. Her eyes widened in astonishment, for he wore nothing. Where is his nightshirt?
She hesitated, trapped between panic and curiosity. Curiosity won. She dared to stroke his back with a feathery touch. Her hand trailed down to his buttocks and came to rest on one dimpled cheek. He sighed. She pulled her hand away, caught between fear of waking him and hope. She waited a few seconds and touched again, astonished at her own boldness.
She hadn’t expected the spark of electricity that tore through her. When a beam of moonlight ran across his body, she raised herself on one elbow and rested her chin on her hand. She studied his body, unable to believe her good fortune. Once scrawny, the boy she fell in love with when she was still in the schoolroom had grown into a powerfully built man.
Darlington turned and flung an arm across her chest, sending her flat on her back. His hand came to rest on one breast, causing her nipples to pucker. When the rhythm of his breathing gentled and her heart ceased its knocking, she lifted his wrist and placed his arm by his side. The moon skittered behind a cloud, plunging the room into darkness.
Helena dared to spread her fingers through the curled hairs on his chest, her fingers trailing down to his navel. She steeled her resolve and explored further. Her hand wandered down to the mound of hair below his waist. She stopped when he threw one leg over her thighs and pinned her to the bed with one arm. His head settled on one breast as if he’d found his pillow. After allowing herself a moment of bliss, she moved his head away and resumed her exploration of his body.
She touched something soft and allowed herself a tiny smile. When his manhood began to engorge, she started to jerk her hand away, but his shot out and kept hers where it was. If he woke now, surely he would willingly seduce…
The door to the hallway flew open and a blinding light transformed the chamber into bright daylight. They had been discovered! Chris would be forced to marry her now. She had but a moment’s regret. They hadn’t had time to complete their lovemaking.
“Have I woken you? What’s wrong, Waverley? I heard a noise.”
Chris? But who’s this in his bed? Helena hid her head under the pillow. A voice fogged in sleep said, “That you, Darlington?”
Darlington banged the door shut behind him and set the candelabra down. “Have you lost your senses, my lord? How dare you seduce one of my maids. I never expected a guest in my home to behave in such a fashion.”
Desmond sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Maid? What maid?”
“Get out of bed, lass, and return to your room at once.”
She whimpered at the anger in his voice.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t cry. Do as I say. I promise not to sack you.”
Christopher Darlington wore his dressing gown, having had no time for proper attire in the middle of the night. His blond hair was uncombed and lay limp, a few strands pasted to his forehead. Myopic gray eyes squinted at the bed’s inhabitants.
Helena drew in her breath, lifted one corner of the pillow, and said meekly, “I’m not a maid, Chris. It’s me.”
Thundering silence met her words. Darlington’s gray eyes squinted at her, for he was nearsighted and far too vain to use his spectacles except when absolutely necessary.
His hand shook as he fumbled in his pocket for his spectacles. When he jammed them on his nose, he found his voice and said, “Helena? What are you doing here? Cover yourself, for heaven’s sake!”
The marquis felt as if he were a spectator at a melodrama. The leading lady enchanted him, for she had the body and the face of an angel. Her skin was bronze, her eyes shone like two obsidians, and her hair bounced in a crown of dark, burnished curls.
“Um. I can explain.” Her head swiveled in her search for the quilt, but it was out of sight.
Waverley reached for the fallen cover