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       Chapter One

      Three weeks later, Lieutenant Lord John Trethwell, youngest son of the late Marquess of Barkley and recently returned from the 2nd (Queen’s Royal) Regiment of Foot in India, limped beside his great-aunt, Lady Woodlings, down a path in Bath’s Sidney Gardens. ‘Ah,’ he said after drawing in a deep breath, ‘Bath in the spring!’

      ‘It is lovely,’ his aunt said as he helped her to a seat on a convenient bench. ‘Though it doesn’t offer quite the fleshly amusements a jaded adventurer like you might prefer,’ she added, punctuating her reproof with a whack of her cane against his knee.

      Surprised into a grunt, he rubbed the affected leg. ‘How unsporting, to strike an injured man.’

      For a moment, his aunt looked concerned. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

      ‘Just teasing, Aunt Pen,’ he reassured her. ‘No harm done. But you malign me, assuming I mock the beauty of April in Bath. After blistering tropical heat, and jungle fevers, and pursuit by hostile natives, it is a soothing balm to return to the cool, tranquil beauty of England.’

      His aunt studied his face, probably searching for the lines of pain he tried to conceal. ‘Are you recovering, Johnnie? You still have that dashed limp.’

      ‘I’ll be rid of it in good time,’ he replied, hoping he spoke the truth.

      ‘As you’re going to be rid of the army? You know I hope to coax you into remaining in England, don’t you?’

      Johnnie shrugged, ignoring her last comment to reply, ‘I’m done with the army, for sure. After seven years, I’ve had enough of restrictive rules not to my liking and kowtowing to some jumped-up Cit whose father paid to have him made a Company official.’

      ‘Jumped-up Cits, eh?’ His aunt chuckled. ‘Blood will tell and yours is the bluest! Much as you’ve tried to distance yourself from your family! Not that I blame you. Idiots, most of them.’

      ‘I never set out to distance myself,’ he corrected, grinning. ‘But with all his building projects, trying to make Barkley’s Hundred the equal of Blenheim, Papa had virtually bankrupted the estate even before Robert inherited. With dowries for the girls—’

      ‘And the profligate habits of your other three brothers.’

      ‘There was left little enough for the youngest son. I didn’t want to be a further drain on Robert’s slender resources—then or now. Once I leave the army, I must have another way to earn my bread.’

      ‘You know the best way to do it.’

      ‘You’d have me to find a rich woman to marry. ‘

      ‘Marrying a rich woman has been the alternative of choice for well-born but indigent younger sons for centuries—and a much safer alternative than trekking off to barter for treasure in foreign lands, as you propose to do! You might not possess a title, but your breeding can’t be faulted.’

      ‘The breeding you just disparaged?’ he pointed out.

      ‘Nothing wrong with the blood,’ she flashed back. ‘Just with several recent possessors of it.’

      Declining to point out the lack of logic in that statement, he said, ‘I happen to believe setting up a trading operation is a better route to wealth than sacrificing myself on the altar of some India nabob hoping to marry his daughter into the aristocracy. Or confirming the whispers already swirling around Bath that I’m a fortune hunter, intent on seducing a rich lady of quality. The “parson’s mousetrap”, they call marriage. Whereas I’d describe being tied to just one woman as more like...fitting myself for a garrotte,’ he teased.

      ‘A garrotte, indeed!’ she scolded, whacking him on the arm. ‘Those who disparage marrying money never seem to object when someone in their own family manages it. Since you claim to be unable to tolerate wedding an heiress, I suppose you think if you dance attendance on me, I’ll leave you my fortune to invest in that trading empire?’ she asked tartly.

      Johnnie merely chuckled. ‘If I were totty-headed enough to entertain that hope, I’d better be prepared to wait a long time! I expect you’ll outlive us all. Besides, I would think your own sons stood in line before me in that regard.’

      ‘They inherited wealth enough from Woodlings not to need mine.’

      ‘Your grandchildren, then.’

      ‘Both my boys had sense enough to marry girls with large dowries. Their brats won’t need my money either.’

      ‘In any event, I visit you—as you well know—because you’re the most interesting relative I possess. You may leave that fortune to your dog, for all I care.’

      ‘Hmmph!’ his aunt said, looking pleased at his response. ‘It would serve you right if I left it to some improving school for the instruction of indigent girls.’

      As she spoke, the periphery of his gaze caught on a flutter of movement. Turning in that direction, he realised what he’d seen was the ripple of pale fabric against the green verge beyond the path.

      Two ladies walked towards them down the central alley. He’d just begun to turn back towards his aunt when his gaze, scanning lazily upwards, landed on the faces of the ladies and stopped dead.

      A bolt of pure physical attraction immobilised him, spiking his pulse, suspending breath. He’d bedazzled dark-eyed maharanis, beguiled matrons famed as the Diamond of their cantonment, but he didn’t think he’d ever beheld a woman more breathtakingly beautiful than the one now approaching them.

      Realising, if the walkers continued straight ahead rather than taking the nearby cross-path, they would soon draw too near for him to make any discreet enquiries, he bent to whisper in his aunt’s ear. ‘Good L—Heavens, Aunt! Who is that divine creature?’

      Lady Woodlings peered down the path before straightening with a snort. ‘Precisely the sort of female you need to avoid!’

      Surprised by her vehemence, he gave the girl another quick glance. ‘Avoid—why? I know fashions have changed since I’ve been away, but she doesn’t look like a high flyer to me.’

      ‘She might as well be,’ Lady Woodlings retorted scornfully.

      ‘Aunt Pen, I’m only a simple male,’ Johnnie said with some exasperation. ‘A clearer explanation, please.’

      Sadly for a body eager to have the seductive Beauty pass more closely, but fortunately for his compulsion to find out more about her, the lady and her older companion did in fact turn on to the cross-path and proceed away from him. In partial compensation, though, he was able to stare openly at her enticingly rounded figure as she glided away, the gold curls beneath her elaborate bonnet shining brightly in the afternoon sunshine.

      ‘Very well, Aunt Pen,’ he said, once he was sure they were out of earshot. ‘Who is she and why must I avoid her?’

      ‘One of the Scandal Sisters. The twin daughters of infamous Lady Vraux.’

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