A Regency Lady's Scandal: The Lady Gambles / The Lady Forfeits. Carole Mortimer

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      ‘I would prefer to walk, thank you.’ It was a little over two hours later when Caro firmly dismissed even the idea of getting inside Dominic Vaughn’s fashionable carriage as it stood waiting outside Nick’s—a man Drew Butler had confirmed to Caro was not only the Earl of Blackstone, but also the man who had recently taken ownership of the gambling club at which they were both employed. That aside, she had no intention of placing herself in the vulnerable position of travelling alone in his carriage with him!

      ‘As you wish.’ He indicated for the driver of the carriage to follow them, his raven-black hair now covered by a fashionably tall hat, and a black silk cloak thrown about those widely muscled shoulders.

      Caro shot him a sideways glance from beneath her unadorned brown bonnet, only a few of her golden curls now showing at her temples and nape. The brown gown she wore beneath her own serviceable black cloak was equally as modest in appearance, with its high neckline and long sleeves.

      She had bought three such gowns when she’d arrived in London two weeks ago, this brown one, another in a dull green, and the third of dark cream, having very quickly realised that the few silk gowns she had brought to town with her stood out noticeably in the genteelly rundown area of London where she had managed to find clean and inexpensive lodgings. And being noticed—as herself, rather than as the masked lady singing at Nick’s—was something she dearly wished to avoid.

      To say that Dominic had been surprised—yet again!—by Caro Morton’s appearance on joining him a few minutes ago would be an understatement. In fact, it had taken him several seconds to recognise her beneath that unbecoming brown bonnet that hid most of those glorious golden curls, and the equally unfashionable cloak that covered her from neck to ankle, so giving her every appearance of being a modest and unassuming young lady of meagre means.

      That dark modesty of her clothing opened up a third possibility as to why Caro Morton was living alone in London and so obviously in need of work in order to support herself. Her slender hands were completely bare of rings, but that did not mean she was not one of those starry-eyed young ladies who, during the years of war against Napoleon, had abandoned all propriety by eloping with their unsuitable soldier beau before he marched off to battle, only to find themselves widowed within weeks, sometimes days, of that scandalous marriage having taken place.

      No matter what the explanation, there was certainly very little danger of any of the patrons of Nick’s recognising this drably dressed young woman as the ebony-haired siren whose seductive performance had so easily bewitched and beguiled them all so completely twice this evening.

      Himself included, he readily admitted.

      ‘Perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to why an unprotected young woman should choose to work in one of London’s fashionable gambling clubs?’

      It was a question she seemed to have been expecting as her expression remained cool. ‘For the money, perhaps?’

      Dominic scowled. ‘If you must work, then why did you not find more respectable employment? You have the refinement to be a lady’s maid, or, failing that, to serve in a shop.’

      ‘How kind of you to say so,’ she returned over-sweetly. ‘But one needs references from previous employers to become either of those things. References I do not have,’ she added pointedly.

      ‘Perhaps because you have never worked as a lady’s maid or served in a shop?’ he pressed.

      ‘Or perhaps I was just so inadequate at both those occupations that I was refused references?’ she suggested tartly.

      Dominic gave an appreciative smile at her spirited answer. ‘So instead you have chosen to put yourself in a position where you are ogled by dozens of licentious men every night?’

      Caro came to an abrupt halt, her own humour fading at the deliberate insult, both in his tone and expression, as he paused beside her in the flickering lamplight and allowed that silver gaze to rake over her critically from her head to her toes. ‘It appears that I needed no references for that,’ she informed him with chilling hauteur.

      Dominic knew that it really was none of his concern if she chose to expose herself to the sort of ribald comments he had been forced to listen to following her second performance this evening, when the bets as to who would eventually become her lover and protector had increased to a level he had found most unpleasant. And yet … ‘Do you have so little regard for your reputation?’

      Her cheeks became flushed. ‘The jewelled mask I wear ensures my reputation remains perfectly intact, thank you!’

      ‘Perhaps.’ Dominic’s jaw tightened. ‘I am surprised you did not consider a less … taxing means of employment.’

      She looked puzzled. ‘Less taxing?’

      He shrugged. ‘You are young. The comments of your numerous admirers this evening are testament to your desirability. Did you not consider acquiring a single male protector, rather than exposing yourself in this way to the attentions of dozens?’

      Caro felt the flush that warmed her cheeks. ‘A protector, my lord?’

      ‘A man who would see you housed and suitably clothed in exchange for the pleasure of your … company,’ he elaborated.

      Caro’s breath caught in her throat, that flush covering the whole of her body now as she realised that the earl was suggesting she should have taken a lover when she arrived in London rather than ‘singing for her supper’ at Nick’s.

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