A Regency Courtesan's Pride. Ann Lethbridge

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      ‘We are friends.’ Dash it, did she sound too defensive? ‘I told him to call me Merry the first day we met.’

      The suspicious gleam in Caro’s eyes made her skin itch as if she’d done something wrong.

      ‘Be careful, Merry,’ Caroline said, shading her eyes with her hand. ‘A man with his kind of charm and wealth is used to getting his own way, and it will be for no one’s benefit but his own.’

      Merry’s stomach dipped. Few men did anything out of altruism. He would want something in return. Caro put an arm around her shoulder. It was an unusual display of affection. ‘Tell him you don’t need his help. Like all men, he’ll want to take control. We don’t need a man to solve our problems. We will deal with it.’

      Caro was right. Of course she was. What on earth had she been thinking? She’d never needed anyone’s help since Grandfather’s death, despite her mother’s family trying to insert themselves into her business. She would tell him not to bother with the councillors or the magistrate, that she was giving up her plan. She’d wait until he left before she tackled the problem.

      She and Caro would manage.

      All through the dinner Caro kept looking from Merry to Charlie, acting the chaperon. Looking for signs of misconduct on Tonbridge’s part, no doubt. Merry sighed. With no opportunity to tell Lord Tonbridge her decision since returning from the drive, Merry kept her discourse so carefully light that her head ached.

      ‘Shall we take tea in the drawing room?’ she said brightly, after Gribble cleared the table of all but a decanter of port. ‘You could bring your port there, Lord Tonbridge, unless you prefer drinking in solitary state. I am sorry we have no other gentlemen visiting to keep you amused.’

      ‘You do yourself a disservice, Miss Draycott. Your conversation keeps me well entertained.’

      ‘I am a chatterbox, in other words.’ She almost poked out her tongue at him, but remembered not to just in time. ‘Will you join us, too, my dear Mrs Falkner?’

      Caroline looked torn. ‘I really should see Thomas to bed. He likes me to read a story,’ she explained to Lord Tonbridge, ‘before I tuck him in for the night.’

      ‘You are truly a devoted mother,’ Tonbridge said. ‘Don’t worry about us. I will take Miss Draycott up on her offer of conversation in the drawing room.’

      A look of relief crossed Caro’s face. She turned her gaze on Merry, an intent gaze, reminding Merry of her promise. She rose and curtsied. ‘Then I will bid you both goodnight.’

      Tonbridge’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as she left the room.

      Merry popped to her feet. ‘No time like the present,’ she said, heading for the door.

      She hoped they could have their discussion without the tingle of attraction, the incendiary sparks that filled the air.

      She strode into the drawing room. The tea tray awaited them, just as she’d arranged with Gribble. She had no wish to end up playing billiards again.

      She sat in front of the tray ‘Tea for you, my lord, or will you stick to port? ‘

      He looked down into his almost-empty glass. ‘A cup of tea will do very well, Merry.’

      He sat on the sofa opposite her. She poured the tea. ‘Milk and sugar?’

      ‘Yes, please,’ he said. He crossed one ankle over the other.

      He looked every inch the dandy tonight. The deep blue coat hugged his form. The high cravat was tied in a complex knot, its creases perfect. How Brian had managed it she didn’t know. And his cream waistcoat embroidered with lily of the valley was a work of art.

      She handed him a cup.

      ‘So, have you thought further about my offer?’ he asked. ‘I feel strongly that the person or persons responsible for this crime should not go unpunished. Who leads these mill owners? I will speak to him.’

      She smiled politely. ‘By gum, I’ve been doing some thinking since last we talked.’

      A frown furrowed his brow. ‘Why do you speak like a common labourer when I try to offer a suggestion?’

      ‘Common is what I am. Listen, Charlie, I’ve been talking things over with Mrs Falkner. We do not need your help.’

      His expression darkened. ‘Now you really surprise me.’

      ‘Full of surprises,’ she said lightly. ‘There is no need for you to speak to anyone. We are giving up on the idea.’

      A hard intent gaze searched her face. She tried to look calm, unaffected. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said finally. ‘You are not one to give up, Merry.’

      The way he made her name sound like a caress caused her breath to catch in her throat. But worse yet was his correct assessment of her nature. It wasn’t like her to give up. She made a desperate bid to unscramble her thoughts. ‘What I do is nowt of your business, my lord.’

      His lips tightened. ‘Because I won’t engage in trickery.’ He curled his lip. ‘I am shocked, Merry. Draycott’s is known for honest dealing, in word and deed. Would you compromise your good name?’

      His accusation struck her on the raw. She held on to her rising temper, a hot fizz in her chest. ‘It is precisely because I treasure my good name that I am refusing your offer.’

      He blinked. ‘I do not see the connection.’

      ‘I am sure you do not.’ And she wasn’t going to tell him. ‘Let us be quite clear on your position: while the Draycott name may be known for honest dealing, I certainly understand why it is not good enough to be linked with that of Mountford.’

      ‘Blast it, Merry, I didn’t mean that.’

      But he did. She could see it in his eyes. Rich Merry Draycott. Low class and unacceptable, unless someone wanted her money. She folded her hands together in her lap and tried not to show the ache in her heart. ‘You are leaving tomorrow. None of this is your concern.’

      He got up and threw a log on the fire. The scent of burning apple-wood filled the room. ‘So you are refusing my aid?’

      ‘Yes.’ She put up her hand, when he opened his mouth to speak. ‘The matter is closed.’

      He turned to face her, his eyes hard. ‘You expect me to walk away when your life is in danger.’

      ‘Do you think that words falling from your lips will change that? You faffing in my business will only make things worse. I will speak to the constable and the magistrate myself.’

      She didn’t see fit to add that the local magistrate was also a mill owner or that his wife had been among the most vociferous in her objections to the house in town.

      He clearly wanted to distance himself from her and she’d offered him the perfect way out. She certainly had no reason to feel hurt by his rejection. He owed her nothing.

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