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The Lady Gambles
Carole Mortimer
GENTLEMEN, SINGING FOR YOUR PLEASURE TONIGHT – MISS CARO MORTON!Her heart pounding beneath the bright lights of London’s most fashionable gambling club, Lady Caroline Copeland nervously steps out from behind the curtain… Eyes scanning the crowd, she’s drawn to a devilish-looking gentleman glowering at her from the back of the room.The intensity of his gaze burns through her disguise, making her throat dry, her cheeks pink. Caro’s gambled her reputation to be here, and can’t risk letting anyone close enough to expose her secret – no matter how much her body craves to give in…The Copeland Sisters Flouting convention, flirting with danger…




He introduced himself. ‘I am Dominic Vaughn, Earl of Blackstone.’
Caro felt a tightness in her chest as she realised this man was a member of the ton—a man no doubt as arrogant as her recently acquired guardian. ‘If that is meant to impress me, my lord, then I am afraid it has failed utterly.’
He raised dark brows. ‘I believe it is the usual custom at this point for the introduction to be reciprocated.’
Her cheeks burned at the intended rebuke. ‘If you have spoken to Mr Butler, then you must already know that my name is Caro Morton.’
He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Is it?’
Her gaze sharpened. ‘I have just said as much, my lord.’
‘Ah, if only the saying of something made it true,’ he mused.
The tightness in Caro’s chest increased. ‘Do you doubt my word, sir?’
‘I am afraid I am of an age and experience, my dear Caro, when I doubt everything I am told until it is proven otherwise.’

AUTHOR NOTE
Welcome to the first in a trilogy featuring The Copeland Sisters! Caroline, Diana, and Elizabeth Copeland, eager to escape their new guardian’s unacceptable marriage plans, decide to leave the comfort and safety of their home in Hampshire for the first time, and embark on exciting and separate adventures in London.
They certainly find adventure—and danger—and, most importantly of all, the men destined for each of them. And by doing so they begin the biggest adventure of their lives—love. The sisters are totally different in temperament, of course, but all are feisty and brave. And I do believe I fell in love with each and every one of my heroes during the writing of this trilogy. I hope you do too.
Enjoy!

About the Author
CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon
. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’
Previous novels by the same author:
In Mills & Boon
Historical Romance
THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE*
THE RAKE’S INDECENT PROPOSAL*
THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY*
LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE*
*The Notorious St Claires mini-series
You’ve read about The Notorious St Claires in Regency times. Now you can read about the new generation in Mills & Boon
Modern
Romance:
The Scandalous St Claires
Three arrogant aristocrats—ready to be tamed!
JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS
THE RELUCTANT DUKE
TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE
Also available in Modern
Romance:
SURRENDER TO THE PAST
And in Mills & Boon
Historical Undone! eBooks:
AT THE DUKE’S SERVICE
CONVENIENT WIFE, PLEASURED LADY
Did you know that these novels are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Lady Gambles
Carole Mortimer


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Prologue


April 1817—Palazzo Brizzi, Venice, Italy
‘Have I mentioned to either of you gentlemen that I had thought of offering for one of Westbourne’s daughters?’
Lord Dominic Vaughn, Earl of Blackstone, and one of the two gentlemen referred to by their host, Lord Gabriel Faulkner, found himself gaping inelegantly across the breakfast table at the other man in stunned disbelief. A glance at their friend Nathaniel Thorne, Earl of Osbourne, showed him to be no less surprised at the announcement as he sat with his tea cup arrested halfway between saucer and mouth.
Indeed, it was one of those momentous occasions when it seemed that time itself should cease. All movement. All sound. Indeed, when the very world itself should simply have stopped turning.
It had not, of course; the gondoliers could still be heard singing upon their crafts in the busy Grand Canal, the pedlars continued to call out as they moved along the canal selling their wares, and the birds still sang a merry tune. That frozen stillness, that ceasing of time, existed only between the three men seated upon the balcony of the Palazzo Brizzi, where they had been enjoying a late breakfast together prior to Blackstone and Osbourne’s departure for England later today.
‘Gentlemen?’ their host prompted in that dry and amused drawl that was so typical of him, one dark brow raised mockingly over eyes of midnight blue as he placed the letter he had been reading down upon the table top.
Dominic Vaughn was the first to recover his senses. ‘Surely you are not serious, Gabe?’
That mocking dark brow was joined by its twin. ‘Am I not?’
‘Well, of course not.’ Osbourne finally rallied to the occasion. ‘You are Westbourne!’
‘For the past six months, yes.’ The new Earl of Westbourne acknowledged drily. ‘It is one of the previous Earl’s daughters for whom I have offered.’
‘Copeland?’
Westbourne gave a haughty inclination of his dark head. ‘Just so.’
‘I—but why would you do such a thing?’ Dominic made no effort to hide his disgust at the idea of one of their number willingly sacrificing himself to the parson’s mousetrap.
The three men were all aged eight and twenty, and had been to school together before serving in Wellington’s army for five years. They had fought together, drunk together, eaten together, wenched together, shared the same accommodations on many occasions—and one thing they had all agreed on long ago was the lack of a need to settle on one piece of succulent fruit when the whole of the basket was available for the tasting. Gabriel’s announcement smacked of a betrayal of that tacit pact.
Westbourne shrugged his wide shoulders beneath the elegance of his dark-blue superfine. ‘It seemed like the correct thing to do.’
The correct thing to do! When had Gabriel ever bothered himself with acting correctly? Banished to the Continent in disgrace by his own family and society eight years ago, Lord Gabriel Faulkner had lived his life since that time by his own rules, and to hell with what was correct!
Having inherited the extremely respected title of the Earl of Westbourne put a slightly different slant on things, of course, and meant that London society—the marriage-minded mamas especially—would no doubt welcome the scandalous Gabriel back into the ton with open arms. But even so …
‘You are jesting, of course, Gabriel.’ Osbourne felt no hesitation in voicing his own scepticism concerning their friend’s announcement.
‘I am afraid I am not,’ Westbourne stated firmly. ‘My unexpected inheritance of the title and estates has left the future of Copeland’s three daughters to my own tender mercies.’ His top lip curled back in self-derision. ‘No doubt Copeland expected to see his three daughters safely married off before he met his Maker. Unfortunately, this was not the case, and as such, the three young women have become my wards.’
‘Are you saying that you have been guardian to the three Copeland chits for the past six months and not said a word?’ Osborne sounded as if he could barely believe it.
Westbourne gave a cool inclination of his arrogant head. ‘A little like leaving the door open for the fox to enter the henhouse, is it not?’
It was indeed, Dominic mused wryly; Gabriel’s reputation with the ladies was legendary. As was his ruthlessness when it came to bringing an end to those relationships when they became in the least irksome to him. ‘Why have you never mentioned this before, Gabriel?’
The other man shrugged. ‘I am mentioning it now.’
‘Incredible!’ Osborne was still at a loss for words.
Gabriel gave a hard, humourless grin. ‘Almost as incredible as my having inherited the title at all, really.’
It was certainly the case that it would not have occurred if the years of battle against Napoleon’s armies had not killed off Copeland’s two nephews, the only other possible inheritors of the title. As it was, because Copeland only had daughters and no sons, the disgraced Lord Gabriel Faulkner had inherited the title of Earl of Westbourne from a man who was merely a second cousin or some such flimsy connection.
‘Obviously, the fact that I am now the young ladies’ guardian rendered the situation slightly unusual, and so I had my lawyer put forward an offer of marriage on my behalf,’ Westbourne explained.
‘To which daughter?’ Dominic tried to recall whether or not he had ever seen or met any of the Copeland sisters during his occasional forays into society this past two Seasons, but drew a complete blank. He did not consider it a good omen that none of the young women appeared to be attractive enough to spark even a flicker of memory.
Westbourne’s sculptured mouth twisted wryly. ‘Never having met any of the young ladies, I did not feel it necessary to state a preference.’
‘You did not!’ Dominic stared at the other man in horror. ‘Gabriel, you cannot mean to say that you have offered marriage to any one of the Copeland chits?’
Westbourne gave a cool smile. ‘That is exactly what I have done.’
‘I say, Gabe!’ Osbourne looked as horrified as Dominic felt. ‘Taking a bit of a risk, don’t you think? What if they decide to give you the fat and ugly one? The one that no other man would want?’
‘I do not see that as being a problem when Harriet Copeland was their mother.’ Westbourne waved that objection aside.
All three men had been but nineteen when Lady Harriet Copeland, the Countess of Westbourne, having left her husband and daughters, had tragically met her death at the hands of her jealous lover only months later. The woman’s beauty was legendary.
Dominic grimaced. ‘They may decide to give you the one that takes after her father.’ Copeland had been a short and rotund man in his sixties when he died, and with little charm to recommend him, either—was it any wonder that a woman as beautiful as Harriet Copeland had left him for a younger man?
‘What if they do?’ Westbourne relaxed back in his chair, his dark hair curling fashionably upon his nape and brow. ‘In order to provide the necessary heir, the Earl of Westbourne must needs take a wife. Any wife. Any one of the Copeland sisters is capable of providing that heir regardless of her appearance, surely?’ He shrugged those elegantly wide shoulders.
‘But what about—I mean, if she is fat and ugly, surely you will never be able to rise to the occasion in order to provide this necessary heir?’ Osbourne visibly winced at the unpleasantness of the image he had just portrayed.
‘What do you say to that, Gabe?’ Dominic chuckled.
‘I say that it no longer matters whether or not I would be able to perform in my marriage bed.’ Westbourne picked up the letter he had set aside earlier to peruse its contents once again with an apparent air of calm. ‘It would appear that my reputation has preceded me, gentlemen.’ His voice had become steely.
Dominic frowned. ‘Explain, Gabriel.’
That sculptured mouth tightened. ‘The letter I received from my lawyer this morning states that all three of the Copeland sisters—yes, even the fat and ugly one, Nate …’ he gave a mocking little bow in Osbourne’s direction ‘… have rejected any idea of marriage to the disreputable Lord Gabriel Faulkner.’
Dominic had known Gabriel long enough to realise that his calm attitude was a sham, and that the cold glitter in those midnight-blue eyes and the harsh set of his jaw were a clearer indication of his friend’s current mood. Beneath that veneer of casual uninterest he was coldly, dangerously angry.
A fact born out by his next statement. ‘In the circumstances, gentlemen, I have decided that I will shortly be following the two of you to England.’
‘The ladies of Venice will all fall into a decline at your going,’ Osbourne predicted drily.
‘Perhaps,’ Gabriel allowed dispassionately, ‘but I have decided that it is time the new Earl of Westbourne took his place in London society.’
‘Capital!’ Osbourne felt no hesitation in voicing his approval of the plan.
Dominic was equally enthusiastic at the thought of having Gabriel back in London with them. ‘Westbourne House in London has not been lived in for years, and must resemble a mausoleum, so perhaps you would care to stay with me at Blackstone House when you return, Gabriel? I would welcome your opinion, too, on the changes I instructed be made at Nick’s during my absence.’ He referred to the gambling club he had won a month ago in a game of cards with the previous owner, Nicholas Brown.
‘I should have a care in any further dealings you might have with Brown, Dom.’ Gabriel frowned.
An unnecessary warning as it happened; Dominic was well aware that Nicholas Brown, far from being a gentleman, was the bastard son of a peer and a prostitute, and that his connections in the seedy underworld of England’s capital were numerous. ‘Duly noted, Gabe.’
The other man nodded. ‘In that case, I thank you for your invitation to stay at Blackstone House, but it is not my intention to remain in town. Instead, I will make my way immediately to Shoreley Park.’
An occurrence, Dominic felt sure, that did not bode well for the three Copeland sisters …

Chapter One


Three days later—Nick’s gambling club, London, England
Caro moved lightly across the stage on slippered feet before arranging herself carefully upon the red-velvet chaise, checking that the gold-and-jewelled mask covering her face from brow to lips was securely in place, and arranging the long ebony curls of the theatrical wig so that they cascaded over the fullness of her breasts and down the length of her spine, before attending to the draping of her gold-coloured gown so that she was completely covered from her throat to her toes.
She could hear the buzz of excitement behind the drawn curtains at the front of the small raised stage, and knew that the male patrons of the gambling club were anticipating the moment when those curtains would be pulled back and her performance began.
Caro’s heart began to pound, the blood thrumming hotly in her veins as the introductory music began to play, and the room behind the drawn curtains fell into an expectant silence.
Dominic hesitated at the entrance of Nick’s, one of London’s most fashionable gambling clubs, and one of his favourite haunts even before he had taken possession of it a month ago.
Newly arrived back from Venice that afternoon, he had decided to visit the club at the earliest opportunity, and as he handed his hat and cloak over to the waiting attendant, he could not help but notice that the burly young man who usually guarded the doorway against undesirables was not in his usual place. He also realised that the gambling rooms beyond the red-velvet curtains were unnaturally silent.
What on earth was going on?
Suddenly that silence was bewitchingly broken by the sultry, sensual sound of a woman singing. Except that Dominic had given strict instructions before his departure for Venice that in future there were to be no women working—in any capacity—in the club he now owned.
He was frowning heavily as he strolled into the main salon, seeing at once the reason for the doorman’s desertion when he spotted Ben Jackson standing transfixed just inside a room crowded with equally mesmerised patrons, all of them apparently hearing only one thing. Seeing only one thing.
A woman, the obvious source of that sensually seductive voice, lay upon a red-velvet chaise on the stage, a tiny little thing with an abundance of ebony hair that cascaded in loose curls over her shoulders and down the length of her slender back. Most of her face was covered by a jewelled mask much like the ones worn in Venice during carnival, but her bared lips were full and sensuous, her throat a pearly white. She wore a gown of shimmering gold, the voluptuousness of her curves hinted at rather than blatantly displayed, and the more seductive because of it.
Even masked, she was without a doubt the most sensually seductive creature Dominic had ever beheld!
The fact that every other man in the room thought the same thing was evident from the avarice in their gazes and the flush to their cheeks, several visibly licking their lips as they stared at her. A fact that caused Dominic’s scowl to deepen as his own gaze returned to that vision of seduction upon the stage.
Caro tried not to reveal her irritation with the man who stood at the back of the salon glowering at her, either by her expression or in her voice, as she brought her first performance of the evening to an end by slowly standing up to move gracefully to the edge of the stage as she sang the last huskily appealing notes.
It did not prevent her from being completely aware of that pale and disapproving gaze or of the man that gaze belonged to.
He was so extremely tall that even standing at the back of the salon he towered several inches over the other men in the room, his black superfine tailored to widely muscled shoulders, his white linen impeccable and edged with Brussels lace at his throat and wrist. His fashionably styled hair was the colour of a raven’s wing, so black it almost seemed to have a blue sheen. His eyes, those piercingly critical eyes, were the pale colour of a grey silky mist, and appeared almost silver in their intensity. He had a strong, aristocratic face: high cheekbones, a straight slash of a nose, firm sculptured lips, and a square and arrogantly determined jaw. It was a hard and uncompromising face, made more so by the scar that ran down its left side, from just beneath his eye to that stubbornly set jaw.
His pale grey eyes were currently staring at Caro with an intensity of dislike that she had never encountered before in all of her twenty years. So unnerved was she by his obvious disdain that she barely managed to maintain her smile as she took her bows to the thunderous round of applause. Applause she knew from experience would last for several minutes after she had returned to her dressing-room at the back of the club.
It was impossible not to take one last glance in the scowling man’s direction before she disappeared from the stage, slightly alarmed as she saw that he was now in earnest conversation with the manager of the club, Drew Butler.
‘What is the meaning of this, Drew?’ Dominic asked icily under cover of the applause for the beauty still taking her bows upon the stage.
The grey-haired man looked unperturbed; as the manager of Nick’s for the past twenty years, the cynicism in his tired blue eyes stated that he had already seen and done most things in his fifty years, and was no longer disturbed by any of them, least of all by the disapproving tone of the man who had become his employer only a month ago. ‘The patrons love her.’
‘The patrons have neither drunk nor gambled since that woman began to sing some quarter of an hour ago,’ Dominic pointed out.
‘Watch them now,’ Drew said softly.
Dominic did watch, his brows rising as the champagne began to flow copiously and the patrons placed ridiculously high bets at the tables, the level of conversation rising exponentially as the attributes of the young woman were loudly discussed, along with more bets being placed as to the chances of any of them being privileged enough to see behind the jewelled mask.
‘You see.’ Drew gave an unconcerned shrug as he turned back to Dominic. ‘She’s really good for business.’
Dominic shook his head impatiently. ‘Did I not make it clear when I was here last month that this is to be a gambling club only in future, and not a damned brothel?’
‘You did.’ Again Drew remained completely unruffled. ‘And as per your instructions the bedchambers upstairs have remained locked and unavailable to all.’
A gentleman, an earl no less, owning a London gambling club of Nick’s reputation was hardly acceptable to society. But it had been a matter of honour to Dominic, when Nicholas Brown had challenged him to a game of cards the previous month for ownership of Midnight Moon, the prize stallion kept at Dominic’s stud at his estate in Kent. In return, Dominic had demanded that Nicholas put up Nick’s as his own side of the wager and obviously Dominic had won.
Owning a gambling club was one thing, but the half-a-dozen bedchambers on the first floor, until recently available to any man who had wished for some privacy with … whomever, were totally unacceptable; Dominic drew the line at being considered a pimp! As such, he had ordered a ban on women—all women—inside the club, and the bedrooms upstairs to be immediately closed off. With the exception of the mysterious young woman, who had so recently held the club’s patrons enthralled—and not just with her singing!—those instructions appeared to have been carried out.
Dominic’s mouth compressed. ‘I believe my instructions were to dispense with the services of all the … ladies working here?’
‘Caro ain’t—is not, a whore.’ Drew visibly bristled, his shoulders stiffening defensively.
Dominic frowned darkly. ‘Then what, pray, is she?’
‘Exactly as you saw,’ Drew said. ‘Twice a night she simply lays on the chaise and sings. And the punters drink and gamble more than ever once she leaves the stage.’
‘Does she bring a maid or companion with her?’ The older man looked amused. ‘What do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ Dominic’s eyes had narrowed to icy slits. ‘I think she is a disaster in the making.’ He scowled. ‘Which gentleman has the privilege of escorting her home at the end of the evening?’
‘I does.’ The doorman, Ben Jackson, announced proudly as he passed them on his way back to his vigil at the entrance to the club, his round face looking no less cherubic for all that his nose had obviously been broken more than once. His ham-sized fists did not come amiss in a brawl, either.
Dominic raised sceptical brows. ‘You do?’
Ben beamed contentedly, showing several broken teeth for his trouble. ‘Miss Caro insists on it.’
Oh, she did, did she?
Ben Jackson could make grown men quake in their boots just by looking at them, and Drew Butler was a cynic through and through, and yet Miss Caro appeared to have them both eating out of her delicate little hand!
‘Perhaps we should continue this discussion in your office, Drew?’ Dominic turned away, expecting rather than waiting to see if the older man followed him, his impatience barely held in check. Nevertheless, he still managed to greet and smile at several acquaintances as he moved purposefully towards the back of the smoke-filled club to where Drew’s office was situated.
He barely noticed the opulence of that office as Drew followed him into the room before closing the door behind him and effectively shutting out the noise from the gaming rooms. Although Dominic did spot a decanter of what he knew to be a first-class brandy, and he swiftly poured himself a glass and took an appreciative sip before offering to pour one for the manager, too.
The older man shook his head. ‘I never drink during working hours.’
Dominic made himself comfortable as he leant back against the front of the huge mahogany desk. ‘Well, who is she, Drew? And where is she from?’
The manager shrugged. ‘Do you want my take on her or what she told me when she came to the back door asking for work?’
Dominic’s gaze narrowed. ‘Both.’ He took another sip of his brandy, giving every appearance of studying the toe of one highly polished boot as the other man began to relate the young woman’s tale of woe.
Caro Morton claimed to be an orphan who had lived with a maiden aunt in the country until three weeks ago, the death of the elderly lady leaving her homeless. Consequently she had arrived in London two weeks earlier with very little money and no maid or companion, but with a determination to make her own way in the world. Her intention, apparently, had been to offer herself as companion or governess in a respectable household, but her lack of references had made that impossible, and so she had instead been driven to begin knocking on the back door of the theatres and clubs.
Dominic looked up sharply at this part of the story. ‘How many had she visited before arriving here?’
‘Half a dozen or so.’ Drew grimaced. ‘I understand she did receive several offers of … alternative employment along the way.’
Dominic gave a humourless smile as he easily guessed the nature of those offers. ‘You did not feel tempted to do the same when she came knocking on the door here?’ He had no doubt that Miss Caro Morton was a young woman most men, no matter what their age, would like to bed.
The older man shot him a frowning glance as he moved to sit behind the desk. ‘My lord, I happen to have been happily married for the past twenty years, with a daughter not much younger than she is.’
‘My apologies.’ Dominic gave a slight bow. ‘Very well.’ His gaze sharpened. ‘That would appear to be Miss Morton’s version of her arrival in London; now tell me who or what you think she is.’
Drew looked thoughtful. ‘There may have been a maiden aunt, but somehow I doubt it. My guess is she’s in London because she’s running away from something or someone. A brutish father, maybe. Or perhaps even a cruel husband. Either way she’s far too refined to be your usual actress or whore.’
Dominic eyed him speculatively. ‘Define refined?’
‘Ladylike,’ the older man supplied tersely.
Dominic looked intrigued; a woman of quality attempting to conceal her identity would certainly explain the wearing of that jewelled mask. ‘And you do not think that actresses and whores are capable of giving the impression of being ladylike?’
‘I know they are,’ Drew answered. ‘I just don’t happen to think Caro Morton is one of them.’ His expression became closed. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you were to talk to her and decide for yourself?’
That the manager felt a fatherly protectiveness towards the ‘refined’ Miss Caro Morton was obvious. That the doorman, Ben Jackson, felt that same protectiveness was also apparent. If she really were a runaway wife or daughter, then Dominic felt no such softness of emotions. ‘I fully intend doing so,’ he assured the other man drily as he straightened. ‘I merely wished to hear your views first.’
Drew looked concerned. ‘Are you intending to dismiss her?’
Dominic gave the thought some consideration before answering. There was no doubting Drew Butler’s claim that Caro Morton’s nightly performances were a draw to the club, but even so she might just be more trouble than she was worth if she really were a runaway wife or daughter. ‘That will depend upon Miss Morton.’
‘In what way?’
He raised arrogant brows. ‘I accept that you have been the manager of Nick’s for several years, Drew. That you are, without a doubt, the best man for the job.’ He smiled briefly to soften what he was about to say next. ‘However, that ability does not give you the right to question any of my own actions or decisions.’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Where is Caro Morton now?’
‘I usually ensure that she has a bite to eat in her dressing-room between performances.’ Drew’s expression challenged Dominic to question that decision of his.
Remembering the girl’s slenderness, and the pallor of her translucent skin, Dominic felt no inclination to do so; from the look of her, that ‘bite to eat’ might be the only food Caro Morton had in a single day.
‘I’d like to be informed if you decide to let her to go. She has wages owing to her,’ Drew defended as Dominic looked surprised.
She also, Dominic decided ruefully as he agreed to the request before leaving the office, had the cynical club manager wrapped tightly about her tiny little finger, and no doubt the older man would offer her his assistance in finding other employment should Dominic decide to let her go.
Deciding for himself who or what Miss Caro Morton was promised to be an interesting experience. It was a surprising realisation for a man whose years in the army, and the two years since returning to England spent evading the clutches of every marriage-minded mama of the ton, had made him as cynical, if not more so, as the much older Drew Butler.
Caro gave a surprised start as a brief knock sounded on her dressing-room door. Well, not a dressing-room as such, she allowed ruefully, more a private room at the back of the gambling club that Mr Butler had put aside for her use in between her performances.
A room that he had assured her was completely offlimits to any and all of the men who frequented Nick’s …
She stood up slowly, nervously making sure that her robe was securely tied about her waist before crossing the tiny room to stand beside the locked door. ‘Who is it?’ she asked warily.
‘My name is Dominic Vaughn,’ came the haughty reply.
Just like that, Caro knew that the man standing on the other side of the locked door was the same man who had looked at her earlier with those disdainful silver-coloured eyes. She was not sure why or how she knew that, she just did. There was an arrogance in the deep baritone voice, a confidence that spoke of years of issuing orders and having them instantly obeyed. And he was obviously now expecting her to obey him by unlocking the door and allowing him inside …
Her hands clenched in the pockets of her robe, the nails digging painfully into the palms. ‘Gentlemen are not allowed to visit me in my dressing-room.’
A brief silence followed her statement, before the man replied with hard impatience, ‘I assure you that my being here has Drew Butler’s full approval.’
The manager of Nick’s had been very kind to Caro this past week, and, what’s more, she knew that she could trust him implicitly. But having a man approach her dressing-room in this unexpected way and simply stating that Mr Butler approved of his being here and expecting her to believe his claim was not good enough. ‘I am sorry, but the answer is still no.’
‘I assure you, my business with you will only take a few moments of your time,’ came the irritated response.
‘I am in need of rest before my next performance,’ Caro insisted.
Dominic’s mouth firmed in frustration at this woman’s stubborn refusal to so much as open the door. ‘Miss Morton—’
‘That is my final word on the subject,’ she informed him haughtily.
Drew had claimed that Caro Morton was ‘ladylike’, Dominic recalled with a narrowing of his eyes. He could hear that quality himself now in the precise diction of her voice. A subtle, and yet unmistakable authority in her tone that spoke of education and refinement. ‘You will either speak to me now, Miss Morton, or I assure you there will be no “next performance” for you at Nick’s.’ Dominic stood with his shoulder leaning against the wall in the darkened hallway, arms folded across the broad width of this chest.
There was a tiny gasp inside the room. ‘Are you threatening me, Mr Vaughn?’ There was a slight edge of uncertainty to her voice now.
‘I feel no need to threaten, Miss Morton, when the truth will serve just as well.’
Caro was in something of a quandary. Having fled her home two weeks earlier, sure that she would find employment in the obscurity of London as a lady’s companion or governess, instead she had found herself being turned away from those respectable households, time and time again, simply because she did not have the appropriate references.
Everything in London had been so much more expensive than Caro had imagined it would be, too. The small amount of money she had brought with her, saved over the months from her allowance, had diminished much more rapidly than she had imagined it would, leaving her with no choice, if she were not to return to an intolerable situation, but to try her luck at the back door of the theatres. She had always received compliments upon her singing when she’d entertained after dinner on the rare occasions her father had invited friends and neighbours to dine. Those visits to the theatres had resulted in her receiving several offers of employment—but all of them were shocking to a young woman brought up in protected seclusion in rural Hampshire!
She owed her present employment—and the money with which to pay for her modest lodgings—completely to Drew Butler’s kindness. As such, she was not sure that she could turn Dominic Vaughn away from her dressing-room if for some reason the older man really had approved the visit.
Her fingers shook slightly as she took her hands from the pockets of her robe to slowly turn the key in the lock, only to step back quickly as the door was immediately thrust open impatiently.
It was the silver-eyed devil from earlier! He looked even more devilish now as the subdued candlelight illuminating the hallway threw that scar upon his cheek into sharp relief and his black jacket and white linen only added to the rawness of the power that seemed to emanate from him.
Caro took another step backwards. ‘What is it you wished to speak to me about?’
Dominic deliberately schooled his expression to reveal none of the shock he had felt as he looked at Caro Morton for the first time without the benefit of that concealing jewelled mask. Or the ebony-coloured wig, which had apparently concealed her own long and gloriously golden curls. Those curls now framed sea-green, almond-shaped eyes, set in a delicate, heart-shaped face of such beauty it took his breath away.
An occurrence, if she were indeed a disobedient daughter or—worse—a runaway wife, that did not please him in the slightest. ‘Invite me inside, Miss Morton,’ he demanded dictatorially.
Long-lashed lids blinked nervously before she ar rested the movement and her pointed chin rose proudly. ‘As I have already explained, sir, I am resting until my next performance.’
Dominic’s mouth hardened. ‘Which I understand from Drew does not take place for another hour.’
The slenderness of her throat moved convulsively, drawing his attention to the bare expanse of creamy-white skin revealed by the plunging neckline of her robe. His hooded gaze moved lower still, to where the silky material draped down over small, pointed breasts. Her waist was so slender that he was sure his hands could easily span its circumference. He also privately acknowledged, with an unlooked for stirring of his arousal, that his hands could easily cup her tiny breasts before lowering to the smooth roundness of her bottom and lifting her against him for her to wrap those long, slender legs about his waist …
Caro found she did not much care for the way Dominic
Vaughn was looking at her. Almost as if he could see beneath her robe to the naked flesh beneath. Her cheeks became flushed as she straightened her shoulders determinedly. ‘I would prefer that you remain exactly where you are, sir.’
That silver gaze returned to her face. ‘My lord.’
She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He introduced himself. ‘I am Lord Dominic Vaughn, Earl of Blackstone.’
Caro felt a tightness in her chest as she realised this man was a member of the ton, a man no doubt as arrogant as her recently acquired guardian. ‘If that is meant to impress me—my lord—then I am afraid it has failed utterly.’
He raised dark brows as he ignored the sarcasm in her tone. ‘I believe it is the usual custom at this point for the introduction to be reciprocated?’
Her cheeks burned at the intended rebuke. ‘If, as you claim, you have spoken to Mr Butler, then you must already know that my name is Caro Morton.’
He looked at her shrewdly. ‘Is it?’
Her gaze sharpened. ‘I have just said as much, my lord.’
‘Ah, if only the saying of something made it true,’ he jeered.
That tightness in Caro’s chest increased. ‘Do you doubt my word, sir?’
‘I am afraid I am of an age and experience, my dear Caro, when I doubt everything I am told until proven otherwise.’
There was no doubting that the cynicism and mockery of this man’s expression gave him a world-weary appearance, and that scar upon his left cheek an air of danger, but even so she would not have placed him at more than eight or nine and twenty. Not so much older than her own twenty years.
Nor was she his ‘dear’ anything! ‘How very sad for you.’
Not the response Dominic had expected. Or one he wanted, either; the wealthy and eligible Earl of Blackstone did not desire or need anyone’s pity. Least of all that of a woman who hid her real appearance behind a jewelled mask and ebony wig.
Could Butler’s assessment of her be the correct one? Had this young woman run away to London to hide from possibly an overbearing father, or a brutish and bullying husband? She was of such a tiny and delicate appearance that Dominic found the latter possibility too distasteful to contemplate.
Whatever the mystery surrounding this woman, he was of the opinion that neither he, nor his gambling club, was in need of the trouble she might bring banging upon the door. ‘Are you even of an age to be in a gambling club, Caro?’
She looked startled. ‘My lord?’
‘I simply wondered as to your age.’
‘A gentleman should never ask a lady her age,’ she retorted primly.
Dominic slowly allowed his gaze to move from the top of that golden head, over the slenderness of her body, the delicacy of her tiny wrists and slender hands, to the bareness of her feet, before just as slowly returning to her now flushed and slightly resentful face. ‘As far as I am aware, ladies are always accompanied by a maid or companion; nor do they cavort upon the stage of a gentlemen’s gaming club.’
Her little pointed chin rose once more. ‘I do not cavort, my lord, but simply lie upon a chaise,’ she bit out tartly. ‘I also fail to see what business it is of yours whether or not I have a maid or companion.’
Dominic glanced into the room behind her, noting the tray on the dressing table, with its bowl of some rich and still-steaming stew and a platter of bread beside it, a plump and tempting orange upon another plate, obviously intended as her dessert. No doubt that ‘bite to eat’ Butler had mentioned providing for her.
‘I appear to have interrupted your supper,’ he acknowledged smoothly. ‘I suggest that we finish this conversation later tonight when I, and not Ben, act as your escort home.’
Her eyes widened in alarm before she gave a firm shake of her head. ‘That will not be possible, I am afraid.’
‘Oh?’
This was not a man used to receiving no for an answer, Caro realised ruefully as she took in the glittering arrogance in those silver eyes beneath one autocratically raised brow. And her lack of maid or companion was easily explained—if she had felt inclined to offer this man any explanation, which she did not! To have brought either maid or companion with her when she fled Hampshire two weeks ago would have placed them in the position of having abetted her in that flight, and she was in enough trouble already, without involving anyone else in her plight.
‘No,’ she reaffirmed evenly now. ‘It would hurt Ben’s feelings terribly if he were not allowed to walk me home. Besides,’ she added as his lordship would have dismissed that excuse for exactly what it was, ‘I do not allow gentlemen I do not know to escort me to my home.’ A man she had no wish to know, either, Caro could have added.
Mocking humour glittered briefly in those pale grey eyes. ‘Even if Drew Butler were to vouch for this gentleman?’
‘I have yet to hear him do so. Now, if you will excuse me? I wish to eat my supper before it becomes too cool.’ Caro’s attempt to close the door in Dominic Vaughn’s face was thwarted by the tactical placing of one of his booted feet against the door jam. Her eyes flashed a warning as she slowly reopened the door. ‘Please do not force me to call upon Ben’s help in having you removed from the premises.’
A threat that did not seem to bother the arrogant Dominic Vaughn in the slightest as he continued to smile down at her confidently. ‘That would be an … interesting experience.’
Caro eyed him uncertainly. Ben was as tall as the earl, and obviously more heavily built, but there was an underlying air of danger lurking beneath this man’s outward show of fashionable elegance. An aura of power that implied he could best any man against whom he chose to pit the strength of those wide shoulders and tall, lithely muscled body. Besides which, Caro very much doubted that the Earl of Blackstone had received that scar upon his face by sitting comfortably at home by his fireside!
She forced the tension from her shoulders as she smiled up at him. ‘Perhaps we might defer discussing your offer to escort me home until after I have spoken to Mr Butler?’
And perhaps, Dominic guessed, this young lady would choose to absent herself without so much as bothering to talk to Drew Butler. ‘I will be waiting outside for you when you have finished your next performance.’
The irritated darkening of those beautiful sea-green eyes told him that he had guessed correctly. ‘You are very persistent, sir!’
‘Just anxious to acquaint myself with one of my own employees.’
She gasped, those sea-green eyes wide with alarm. ‘Your … ? Did you say your employee?’
Dominic gave an affirmative nod, and took great pleasure in noting the way the colour drained from the delicacy of her cheeks, as she obviously realised he did indeed have the power to ensure she never performed at Nick’s again. ‘Until later then, Miss Morton.’ He bowed elegantly before returning to the gaming rooms, a smile of satisfaction curving his lips.

Chapter Two


‘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.
A lover!
When Caro’s father had been so averse to any of his three daughters appearing in London society that he had not even allowed any of them to have so much as a Season, but instead had kept them all secluded at his estate in Hampshire. Had ensured his daughters were so overprotected that Caro had never even been alone with a young gentleman until now.
Although that description was hardly appropriate in regard to the arrogant Dominic Vaughn; that scar upon his otherwise handsome face, and the mockery that glittered now in those narrowed silver-coloured eyes, proclaimed him to be a gentleman in possession of a cynicism and experience that far exceeded his calendar years …
‘I believe it would not be merely my company that would be of interest in such an arrangement, my lord.’ She arched pert blonde brows.
Dominic was beginning to wish that he had never broached this particular subject. Indeed, he had no idea why he was taking such an interest in the fate of this particular young woman. Perhaps his sense of chivalry was not as dead as he had believed it to be? ‘Surely the attentions of one man would be preferable to being undressed, mentally at least, by dozens of men, night after night?’ he bit out harshly.
Her gasp was audible. ‘You are attempting to shock me, sir!’
Yes, he was. Deliberately. ‘I am attempting to stress, madam, how foolishly you are behaving by repeatedly placing yourself in such a vulnerable position.’
Her eyes widened indignantly. ‘I assure you, sir, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I am in absolutely no danger—’ Dominic put an end to this ridiculous claim by the simple act of pulling her effortlessly into his arms and taking masterful possession of the surprised parting of her lips.
He did it as a way of demonstrating the vulnerability of which he spoke. As a way of showing Caro how easily a man—any man—could take advantage of her delicacy. How the slenderness of her tiny body was no match for a man bent on stealing a kiss. Or worse!
He curved that willowy body against his much harder one as he took possession of the softness of those parted lips. With deliberate sensuality, his tongue swept moistly across her bottom lip before exploring farther, his hands moving in a light caress down the slenderness of her back before cupping her bottom and pulling her even more firmly against him as that marauding tongue took possession of the hot cavern of her mouth. Thrusting. Jousting. Demanding her response.
Nothing in Caro’s previous life, not the twenty years spent in seclusion in Hampshire, or these past two weeks in London, had prepared her for the rush of sensations that now assaulted her and caused her to cling to Dominic Vaughn’s wide and powerful shoulders rather than faint at his feet.
She was suffused with a heart-pounding heat, accompanied by a wild, tingling that began in her breasts, causing them to swell beneath her gown and the tips to harden so that they felt uncomfortable and sensitised as they chafed against her shift, that heat centring, pooling between her thighs, in a way she had never imagined before let alone experienced. She—
‘What ho, lads!’
‘Don’t keep her all to yourself, old chap!’
‘Give us all a go!’
Caro found those hard lips removed from her own with a suddenness that made her gasp, the earl’s hands hard about her waist as those silver-coloured eyes glittered down at her briefly before he put her firmly away from him. He turned and bent the fierceness of that gaze upon the three young gentlemen walking slightly unsteadily towards them.
Caro staggered slightly once released, knowing herself badly shaken by the searing intensity of Dominic Vaughn’s kiss—a punishing, demanding assault upon her lips and senses that in no way resembled any of her previous youthful imaginings of what a kiss should be. There had been none of the gentleness she had ex pected. None of the shy thrill of emotions. Only that heart-pounding heat and the wild tingling in her breasts and thighs.
Emotions not reflected in the hard intensity of his lordship’s expression as he signalled to his coachman and groom that he was as in control of this present situation as he had obviously been whilst kissing her!
The young gentlemen had come to an abrupt and wary halt as they suddenly found themselves the focus of Dominic’s glittering silver gaze, the three of them backing up slightly at the chilling anger they obviously recognised in his expression, that savage slash of scar running the length of his left cheek adding to the impression of impending danger.
‘We meant no offence, old chap,’ the obvious ringleader of the trio offered in mumbled apology.
‘A little too much to drink, I expect,’ the second one excused nervously.
‘We’ll just be on our way.’ The third member of the group grabbed a friend by each arm before turning and staggering back in the direction they had just come.
Leaving a still-trembling Caro to the far from tender mercies of Dominic Vaughn!
That trembling increased as he turned the focus of his glowering attention back on to her. ‘I believe you were assuring me that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself and that you believe yourself to be in absolutely no danger from any man’s unwanted attentions?’
Caro felt a shiver run the length of her spine as she looked up into that harshly forbidding face; no wonder those three young gentlemen had decided that retreat was the best and safest course of action. She felt like retreating herself as she recalled how demanding and yet arousing that firmly sculptured mouth had felt against her own …
Her shoulders straightened determinedly. ‘You kissed me deliberately, my lord, purely in an effort to demonstrate your superior strength over me.’
His nostrils flared as that silver gaze raked over her. ‘In an effort to demonstrate how any man’s strength would be superior to your own—even those three drunken young pups who just ran away with their tails between their legs.’
Caro raised a haughty brow. ‘You exaggerate, sir—’
‘On the contrary, Miss Morton,’ he snapped coldly, ‘I believe myself to be better acquainted than you with the lusts of my own sex.’ His mouth twisted in distaste. ‘And if I had not been here to protect you just now then I guarantee you would now find yourself in an alley somewhere with your skirts up about your waist whilst one of those young bucks rutted between your thighs and the other two awaited their turn!’
Caro felt herself pale and the nausea churn in her stomach at the vividness of the picture he painted. A vividness surely designed to shock and frighten her—and succeeding? Those three young gentlemen had obviously over-imbibed this evening, and were feeling more than a little playful, but surely they would not have behaved as shockingly as the earl suggested?
She looked at him in challenge. ‘Then it is a pity that there was no one here to protect me from your own unwanted attentions, was it not?’
Dominic drew in a swift breath at the accusation. In the circumstances, it was a perfectly justified accusation, he allowed fairly. He had meant only to teach a lesson, to demonstrate her vulnerability by taking advantage of her himself. Instead he had found he enjoyed the honeyed taste of her as he explored the heat of her mouth, as well as the feel of her slender curves pressed against his much harder ones. To the extent that he had taken the kiss far beyond what he had originally intended.
He straightened, the expression in his eyes now hidden behind hooded lids. ‘I meant only to demonstrate how exposing yourself on a stage night after night has left you open to physical as well as verbal abuse.’
‘You are being ridiculous,’ she dismissed briskly. ‘Neither am I a complete ninny. It was for the very reason of protecting my reputation that I donned the mask and wig at Nick’s. Indeed, I doubt that anyone would ever recognise the woman I am now as the masked and ebony-haired woman who sings in a gambling club each evening.’
There was some truth in that; Dominic had barely recognised Caro himself when she had joined him earlier. Even so … ‘The fact that you are masked, and your own blonde curls hidden beneath those false ebony tresses, would, I am afraid, only protect your identity as far as the bedroom.’
Her throat moved convulsively as she continued to look up at him proudly. ‘My … identity?’
Dominic gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Your voice and manner proclaim you as being a lady—’
‘Or a disgraced lady’s maid,’ she put in quickly.
‘Perhaps,’ Dominic allowed tersely. ‘I have no idea what your reasons are for taking the action you have—and I doubt you are about to enlighten me, are you?’
Her mouth firmed. ‘No.’
‘As I thought.’ He gave an abrupt nod. ‘Of course, the simplest answer to this predicament would be for me to simply terminate your employment. At least then I would not feel honour bound to take responsibility for your welfare.’
She gave an inelegant snort. ‘That would only solve the problem for you, my lord; I would still need to find the means with which to earn my own living.’
She was right, Dominic allowed sourly. But there was another alternative … He could offer to become her protector himself—his enjoyment of their kiss earlier proved that his senses, at least, were not averse to the idea. And no doubt, with a little coaching as to his physical preferences, Caro would be more than capable of satisfying his needs.
But in the ten years since Dominic had first appeared in town he had never once taken a permanent mistress, as many of his male acquaintances chose to do, preferring instead to take his pleasures whenever and with what women he pleased. He had no wish to change that arrangement by making the spirited and outspoken Caro Morton his mistress.
‘Of course, if you were to decide to terminate my employment then you would leave me with no choice but to seek the same position elsewhere.’ She shrugged those slender shoulders. ‘Something that should not prove too difficult now that the masked lady has, as you say, gained something of a … male following,’ she added.
It was a solution, of course. Except at Nick’s, whether the chit was aware of it or not, Caro at least had the protection of the attentive Drew and Ben. And, apparently, now Dominic himself. ‘If it is only question of money—’
‘And if it were?’ Caro had immediately bristled haughtily.
His mouth thinned. ‘In those circumstances I might perhaps see my way clear to advancing you sufficient funds to take you back to wherever it is you originate from.’
‘No!’ Those sea-green eyes sparkled up at him rebelliously. ‘I have no intention of leaving London yet.’
Dominic was unsure as to whether Caro’s vehemence was due to his offer to advance her money, or his suggestion that she use that money to take herself home, so he decided to probe further. ‘Is the situation at home so intolerable, then?’
She attempted to repress a shudder and failed. ‘At present, yes.’
Dominic studied her through narrowed lids, noting the shadows that had appeared in those sea-green eyes, and the pallor of her cheeks. ‘That remark would seem to imply that the situation may change some time in the future?’
‘It is to be hoped so, yes,’ she confirmed with feeling.
‘But until it does, it is your intention to remain in London, whether or not I continue to employ you at Nick’s?’
Her mouth set firmly. ‘It is.’
‘You are very stubborn, madam.’
‘I am decisive, sir, which is completely different.’
Dominic sighed heavily, not wishing to send Caro back to a situation she obviously found so unpleasant, but also well able to imagine the scrapes this reckless young woman would get herself into, if she were once again let loose to roam the streets of London seeking employment. ‘Then I believe, for the moment, we must leave things as they are.’ He looked away. ‘Shall we continue to walk to your lodgings?’
Caro shot him a triumphant glance. ‘We have been standing outside them for some minutes, my lord!’
Dominic gave her an irritated scowl before glancing at the house behind them. It was a three-storied building so typical of an area that had once been fashionable, but which was no longer so, and as such had fallen into genteel decay. Although the owner of this particular lodging had at least attempted to keep up a veneer of respectability, the outside being neat and cared for, and the curtains at the windows also appearing clean.
He turned back to Caro. ‘In that case it remains only for me to bid you goodnight.’
She gave an abrupt curtsy. ‘My lord.’
‘Miss Morton.’ He nodded curtly.
Caro gazed up at Dominic quizzically as he made no move to depart for his waiting carriage. ‘There is no need for you to wait to leave until you are assured I have entered the house, my lord.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘In the same way you were in “absolutely no danger” earlier on?’
Her cheeks coloured prettily. ‘I find your manner extremely vexing, my lord!’
‘No more so than I do your own, I assure you, Miss Morton.’
Caro had never before met anyone remotely like Dominic Vaughn. Had never dreamed that men like him existed, so tall and fashionably handsome, so aristocratic. So arrogantly sure of themselves!
Admittedly her contact with male acquaintances had been severely limited before she came to London, usually only consisting of the few sons of the local gentry, and occasionally her father’s lawyer when he came from London to discuss business matters.
Even so, Caro knew from Drew Butler’s respectful attitude towards the earl earlier this evening, and the hasty departure of those three young gentlemen just minutes ago, that Dominic Vaughn was a man whose very presence demanded respect and obedience.
Except, after years of having no choice but to do as she was told, Caro no longer wished to obey any man. Not least of all the guardian she had so recently acquired …
She flashed the earl a bright meaningless smile before turning to walk to the front door of her lodgings, not even glancing back to see if he still watched as she quietly let herself inside with the key the landlady had provided for Caro’s personal use when she had taken the rooms two weeks ago.
She waited several heartbeats before daring to look out through the lace-covered window beside the front door. Just in time to see the earl climbing inside his carriage before the groom closed the door behind him and hopped neatly on to the back of the vehicle as it was driven away.
But before it did so Caro saw the pale oval of Dominic Vaughn’s grimly set face at the carriage window as he glanced towards where she stood hidden. She moved away quickly to lean back against the wall, her hands clutched against her rapidly beating heart.
No, being kissed by the Earl of Blackstone had been nothing at all as she imagined a kiss would be.
It had been far, far more exciting …
‘So, where did you get to last night, Dom?’ Nathaniel Thorne, Earl of Osbourne, prompted lazily the following evening, the two men lounging in opposite wing-chairs beside the fireplace in one of the larger rooms at White’s.
‘I was … unavoidably detained.’ Dominic evaded answering his friend’s query directly. The two men had arranged to meet late the previous evening, an appointment Dominic obviously had not kept as he had instead been occupied with seeing Caro Morton safely delivered back to her lodgings. For all the thanks he had received for his trouble!
Nathaniel raised a blond brow. ‘I trust she was as insatiable as she was beautiful?’
‘Beautiful—yes. Insatiable? I have no idea.’ In truth, hours later, Dominic still had no idea what to make of Caro Morton, of who and what she was. He had taken the trouble, however, to send word to Drew Butler to continue feeding her, as well as arranging for Ben Jackson to escort her home at the end of each night’s work; Caro might have no care for her own welfare, but whilst she continued working for Dominic, he had every intention of ensuring that no harm befell her.
‘Yet,’ Nathaniel drawled knowingly.
Both of Dominic’s parents had died years ago, and he had no siblings, either, making Nathaniel Thorne and Gabriel Faulkner the closest thing he had to a family; the years they had all spent at school together, and then in the army, never knowing whether they would survive the next battle, had made them as close as brothers. Even so, Dominic could have wished at that moment that Nathaniel did not know him quite as well as he did.
Thankfully he had the perfect diversion from his lack of appearance the night before. ‘I received a note from Gabriel today. He expects to arrive in England by the end of the week.’ He lifted his glass of brandy and took an appreciative sip.
‘I received one, too,’ Nathaniel revealed. ‘Can you imagine the looks on the faces of the ton when Gabe makes his entrance back into society?’
‘He reaffirmed it was his intention to first go to Shoreley Park and confront the Copeland sisters,’ Dominic reminded him.
Osbourne snorted. ‘We both know that will only take two minutes of his time. By the time Gabriel returns to town, past scandal or not, I have no doubt that all three of the silly chits will be clamouring to marry him!’ Nathaniel made a silent toast of appreciation to their absent friend.
It was a fact that Gabriel’s years of banishment to the Continent and the army had in no way affected his conquests in the bedchamber; one look at that raven-black hair, those dark indigo eyes and his firmly muscled physique, and women of all ages simply dropped at Gabriel’s feet. Or, more accurately, into his bed! No doubt the Copeland sisters would find themselves equally as smitten.
‘What shall we do with the rest of the night?’ After the dissatisfaction he had felt at the end of the previous evening, Dominic knew himself to be in the mood to drink too much before falling into bed with a woman who was as inventive as she was willing.
Nathaniel eyed him speculatively. ‘I have heard that there is a mysterious beauty currently performing at Nick’s …’
As close as the three men were, Dominic knew that some things were best kept to oneself—and his meeting with Caro Morton the previous night, his uncharacteristic, unfathomable sense of protectiveness where she was concerned, was certainly one of them! Although Dominic could not say that he was at all pleased that she was already so great a source of gossip at the gentlemen’s clubs after only a week of appearing at his.
He grimaced. ‘I believe the only reason she is considered such a mystery is because she wears a jewelled mask whilst performing.’
‘Oh.’ The other man’s mouth turned down. ‘No doubt to hide the fact that she’s scarred from the pox.’
‘Possibly,’ Dominic dismissed in a bored voice, having no intention of saying anything that would increase his friend’s curiosity where Caro was concerned.
Nate sighed. ‘In which case, I believe I will leave the choice of tonight’s entertainment to you.’
That choice involved visiting several gambling clubs before ending the evening at the brightly lit but nevertheless discreet house where several beautiful and accomplished ladies of the demi-monde made it only too obvious they would be pleased to offer amusement and companionship to two such handsome young gentlemen.
So it was all the more surprising when those same two gentlemen took their leave only an hour or so later, neither having taken advantage of that willingness. ‘Perhaps we should have gone to view the mysterious beauty at Nick’s, after all.’ Osbourne repressed a bored yawn.
‘Scarred from the pox or not, I doubt I could find her any less appealing than the ladies we have just wasted our time with!’
Dominic frowned, knowing that to demur a second time would definitely incur Nate’s curiosity. ‘Perhaps we are becoming too jaded in our tastes, Nate?’ he murmured drily as he tapped on the roof of the carriage and gave his driver fresh instructions.
The other man raised a questioning brow. ‘Do you ever miss the excitement of our five years in the army?’
Did Dominic miss the horror and the bloodshed of war? The never knowing whether he would survive the next battle or if it was his turn to meet death at the end of a French sword? The comradeship with his fellow officers that arose from experiencing that very danger? He missed it like the very devil!
‘Not to the point of wanting to renew my commission, no. You?’
Osbourne shrugged. ‘It is a fact that civilian life can be tedious as well as damned repetitious.’
Dominic felt relieved to know that he was not the only one to miss those years of feeling as if one walked constantly on the knife edge of danger. ‘I am told that participating in a London Season often resembles a battlefield,’ he mused.
‘Do not even mention the Season to me,’ the other man groaned. ‘My Aunt Gertrude has taken it into her head that it is high time I took myself a wife,’ he explained at Dominic’s questioning look. ‘As such she is insisting that I escort her to several balls and soirées during the next few weeks. No doubt with the expectation of finding a young woman she believes will make me a suitable Countess.’
‘Ah.’ Dominic began to understand his friend’s restlessness this evening; Mrs Gertrude Wilson was Osbourne’s closest relative, and one, moreover, of whom he was extremely fond. She reciprocated by taking a great interest in her nephew’s life. To the point, it seemed, that she was now attempting to find him a wife. Reason enough for Dominic to be grateful for his own lack of female relations! ‘I take it that you are not in agreement with her wishes?’
‘In agreement with the idea of shackling myself for life to some mealy-mouthed chit who has no doubt been taught to lie back and think of king and country when we are in bed together? Certainly not!’ Osbourne barely suppressed his shiver of revulsion. ‘I cannot think what Gabriel is about even contemplating such a fate.’
It was a fact that all three gentlemen would one day have to take a wife and produce the necessary heir to their respective earldoms. Fortunately, it seemed that Osbourne, at least, was as averse to accepting that fate as Dominic was. Although there was no doubting that Mrs Gertrude Wilson was a force to be reckoned with!
Dominic’s humour at his friend’s situation faded, his mouth tightening in disapproval, as the two gentlemen stepped down from his carriage minutes later and he saw that Ben Jackson was once again absent from his position at the entrance to Nick’s; obviously they had arrived in time for Nathaniel to witness Caro Morton’s second performance of the evening.
However, the sound of shouting, breaking glass and the crashing of furniture coming from the direction of the main gaming room as they stepped into the spacious hallway of the club in no way resembled the awed silence Dominic had experienced on his arrival the previous evening.
Especially when it was accompanied by the sound of a woman’s screams!

Chapter Three


Caro had never been as frightened in her life as she was at that moment. Even with Ben and two other men standing protectively in front of her, and keeping the worst of the fighting at bay, it was still possible for her to see men’s fists flying, the blood freely flowing from noses and cut faces as chairs, tables and bottles were also brought into play.
In truth, she had no idea how the fighting had even begun. One moment she had been singing as usual, and the next a gentleman had tried to step on to the stage and grab hold of her. At first Caro had believed the second gentleman to step forwards was attempting to come to her aid, until he pushed the first man aside and also lunged towards where she had half-risen from the chaise in alarm.
After that all bedlam had broken loose, it seemed, with a dozen or more men fighting off the first two with fists and any item of furniture that came readily to hand. And through it all, every terrifying moment of it, Caro had been humiliatingly aware of Lord Dominic Vaughn’s dire warnings of the night before …
‘Care to join in?’ Osbourne invited with glee as the two men stood in the doorway of the gaming room still hatted and cloaked.
Dominic’s narrowed gaze had taken stock of the situation at a glance. Thirty or so gentlemen fighting in earnest. Several of the brocade-covered chairs broken. Tables overturned, and shattered glasses and bottles crunching underfoot. Drew Butler was caught in the middle of it all as he tried to call a halt to the fighting. And on the raised stage, Ben Jackson stood immovable in front of where a head of ebony curls was just visible above and behind the chaise.
‘Head towards the stage,’ Dominic directed Osbourne grimly as he threw his hat aside. ‘If we can get the girl out of here, I believe the fighting will come to an end.’
‘I sincerely hope it does not!’ Nathaniel grinned roguishly as he stepped purposefully into the mêlée.
Most of the gentlemen fighting seemed to be enjoying themselves as much as Osbourne, despite having bloody noses, the occasional lost tooth and several eyes that would no doubt be black come morning. It was the three or four gentlemen closest to Ben Jackson, and their dogged determination to lay hands on Caro as she crouched down behind the chaise, that concerned Dominic the most. Although to give Ben his due, he had so far managed to keep them all at arm’s length, and even managed to shoot Dominic and Osbourne an appreciative grin as they stepped up beside him.
At which point Caro Morton emerged from behind the chaise and launched herself into his arms. ‘Thank goodness you are come, Dominic!’
Osborne grinned knowingly at the spectacle. ‘You take the girl, Dom; this is the most fun I’ve had in years!’ He swung a fist and knocked one of the men from the stage with a telling crunch of flesh against teeth.
At that moment Dominic was so angry that he wanted nothing more than to break a few bones for himself. A satisfaction he knew he would have to forgo as Caro’s arms tightened about his neck, a pair of widely terrified sea-green eyes visible through the slits in the jewelled mask as she looked up at him.
Dominic’s gaze darkened as he saw that her gold gown was ripped in several places. ‘Did I not warn you?’ Dominic’s voice was chilling as he pulled her arms from about his neck and swung off his cloak to cover her in it before bending down to place his arm at the back of her knees and toss her up on to his shoulder as he straightened.
‘I— What— Put me down this instant!’ Tiny fists pummelled against his back.
‘I believe now would be as good a time as any for you to learn when it is wiser to remain silent,’ Dominic rasped grimly as several male heads turned his way to watch jealously as he carried her from the stage and out to the private area at the back of the club.
The last thing that Caro had needed in the midst of that nightmare was for Lord Dominic Vaughn to tell her ‘I told you so’. She had already been terrified enough for one evening without the added humiliation of being thrown over this man’s shoulder as if she were no more than a sack of potatoes or a bail of straw on her father’s estate!
Caro struggled to be released as soon as they reached the relative safety of the deserted hallway. ‘You will put me down this instant!’ she instructed furiously as her struggles resulted only in her becoming even more hot and bad-tempered.
‘Gladly.’ Dominic slid her unceremoniously down the hard length of his body before lowering her bare feet on to the cold stone floor.
‘I do not believe I have ever met a man more ill mannered than you!’ Caro looked up at him accusingly even as her flustered fingers tried to secure the engulfing cloak about her shoulders and hold the soft silk folds about her trembling body.
‘After I have tried to save you from harm?’ His voice was silky soft as those silver eyes glittered down at her in warning.
‘After you have manhandled me, sir!’ Caro was unrepentant as she tried to bring some semblance of order to the tangled ebony curls, all the time marvelling at how the jewelled mask and ebony wig had managed to stay in place at all. ‘Your own anger a few minutes ago seemed to imply that you believe I am to blame for what just took place—’
‘You are to blame.’
‘Do not be ridiculous!’ Caro gave him a scornful glance. ‘Every woman knows that men—even so-called gentlemen—will find any excuse to fight.’
She might very well be in the right of it there, Dominic acknowledged as he remembered Osbourne’s glee before he launched himself into the midst of the fighting. But that did not change the fact that this particular fight had broken out because Caro had refused to see the danger of flaunting herself night after night before a roomful of intoxicated men.
As it was, Dominic had no idea whether to beat her or kiss her senseless for her naïvety. ‘I have a good mind to take out the cost of this evening’s damages on your backside!’ he grated instead.
Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed a fiery red even as her chin rose in challenge. ‘You would not dare!’
Dominic gave a disgusted snort. ‘Do not tempt me, Caro.’
Caro gave up all attempt to bring order to those loosely flowing locks and instead removed the jewelled mask in order to glare at him. ‘I believe you are just looking for an excuse to beat me.’
Dominic stilled, his gaze narrowing searchingly on her angrily defiant face. Just the thought of some nameless, faceless man ever laying hands on this delicately lovely woman in anger was enough to rouse Dominic’s own fury. Yet at this particular moment in time, he totally understood the impulse; he badly wanted to tan Caro’s backside so hard that she would not be able to sit down for a week! ‘I assure you, where you are concerned, no excuse is necessary,’ he growled.
‘Oh!’ she gasped her indignation. ‘You, sir, are the most overbearing, arrogant, insulting man it has ever been my misfortune to meet!’
‘And you, madam, are the most stubborn, wilfully stupid—’
‘Stupid?’ she echoed furiously.
‘Wilfully stupid,’ Dominic repeated unrepentantly as he glared back at her.
Caro had never been so incensed. Never felt so much like punching a man on his arrogant, aristocratic nose!
As if aware of the violence of her thoughts those sculptured lips turned up into a mocking smile. ‘It would be most unwise, Caro.’ His warning was silkily soft and all the more dangerous because of it.
Sea-green eyes clashed with silver for long, challenging moments. A challenge she was almost—almost!—feeling brave enough to accept when an amused voice broke into the tension. ‘I came to tell you that Butler and his heavies have thrown out the last of the patrons and are now attempting to clean up the mess, but I can come back later if now is not a convenient time … ?’
Dominic was standing directly in Caro’s line of vision and she had to lean to one side to see around him to where a tall, elegantly dressed man leant casually against the wall of the hallway. His arms were folded across the width of his chest as he watched them with interest, only the ruffled disarray of his blond and fashionably long hair about the handsomeness of his face to show that he had only moments ago been caught up in the thick of the fighting.
‘I believe our earlier assessment of the … situation to have been at fault, Blackstone.’ The other man gave Dominic an appreciative smile before turning his dark gaze back to pointedly roam over the unblemished, obviously pox-free skin of Caro’s beautiful face.
It was a remark she did not even begin to understand, let alone why he was looking at her so intently! ‘To answer your earlier question, sir—I believe Lord Vaughn and I have finished our conversation.’
‘Not by a long way.’ One of Dominic’s hands reached out, the fingers curling about Caro’s wrist like a band of steel, as she would have brushed past him. ‘I trust not too many heads were broken, Osbourne?’
The blond-haired man shrugged. ‘None that did not deserve it.’ He straightened away from the wall. ‘Care to introduce me, Blackstone?’ A merry brown gaze briefly met his friend’s before he looked at Caro with open admiration.
‘Caro Morton, Lord Nathaniel Thorne, Earl of Osbourne,’ Dominic said coldly.
‘Your servant, ma’am.’ Lord Thorne gave an elegant bow.
‘My lord.’ Really, did every man she met in London have to be a lord and an earl? she wondered crossly as she pondered the ridiculousness of formally curtsying to a gentleman under such circumstances.
‘If you were thinking of leaving too now all the excitement is over, Osbourne, then by all means do so,’ Dominic said. ‘I fear I will not be free to leave for some time yet.’
His gaze hardened as he glanced down pointedly at Caro Morton, his mouth thinning as those sea-green eyes once more stared back at him in silent rebellion.
She broke that gaze to turn and smile graciously at the other man. ‘Perhaps, if you are leaving, I might prevail on you to take me with you, Lord Thorne?’
To all intents and purposes, Dominic recognised impatiently, as if she were a lady making conversation in her drawing room! As if a fight had not just broken out over who was to share her bed tonight. As if Dominic’s own property had not been destroyed in that mêlée.
As if she were not standing before two elegant gentlemen of the ton dressed only in a ripped gown, and with her ebony wig slightly askew!
Dominic gave a frustrated sigh. ‘I think not.’
Those sea-green eyes flashed up at him with annoyance before Caro ignored him to turn once again to Nathaniel. ‘I would very much appreciate it if you would agree to escort me home, Lord Thorne.’ A siren could not have sounded or looked any more sweetly persuasive!
Dominic easily read the uncertainty in his friend’s expression; a gentleman through and through, Osbourne never had been able to resist the appeal of a seeming damsel in distress. Seeming, in Dominic’s estimation, being a correct assessment in regard to Caro Morton. The woman was an absolute menace and had become a veritable thorn in Dominic’s side since the moment he’d set eyes upon her.
‘I am afraid that is not possible,’ Dominic answered smoothly on the other man’s behalf.
Those delicate cheeks flushed red. ‘I believe my request was made to Lord Thorne and not to you!’
Dominic allowed some of the tension to ease from his shoulders, aware that he had been in one state of tension or another since first meeting her. ‘Lord Thorne is gentleman enough, however, to accept a prior claim, are you not, Osbourne?’
Osbourne’s eyes widened. As well they might, damn it; Dominic had as good as denied all knowledge of this woman earlier tonight, a denial that had been made a complete nonsense of the moment Caro had launched herself into his arms and, in her agitation, called him by his given name.
Hell and damnation!
‘I believe you were quite correct in your assertion earlier, Blackstone,’ Osbourne’s drawled comment interrupted Dominic’s displeasing thoughts. ‘Personally I would say exquisite rather than beautiful!’
Dominic nodded irritably. ‘Just so.’
‘That being the case, Blackstone, I believe I will join Butler and Ben and enjoy a reviving brandy before I leave. My respects, Miss Morton.’ Osbourne gave a lazy inclination of his head before leaving the two of them alone.
Caro blinked at the suddenness of Lord Thorne’s departure. ‘I do not understand.’ Neither did she have any idea what tacit agreement had passed between the two men in the last few moments. But something most certainly had for the gentlemanly Lord Thorne to have just abandoned her like that.
Dominic released her wrist before stepping away from her. ‘You should go to your room now and change. I will be waiting in Drew Butler’s office when you are ready to leave.’
Caro frowned. ‘But—’
‘Could you, for once, just do as I ask without argument, Caro?’ The scar on Dominic’s cheek showed in stark relief against his clenched jaw.
She looked up into that ruthlessly hard face, repressing a shiver of apprehension as she saw the dangerous glitter in those pale silver eyes. Of course—this man had already told her that he held her responsible for the occurrence of the fight and the damages to his property, and he had also threatened to take out the cost of those damages on her backside!
Never, in all of her twenty years, had Caro been spoken to in the way the arrogant Dominic Vaughn spoke to her. So familiarly. So—so … intimately. A gentleman should not even refer to a lady’s bottom, let alone threaten to inflict harm upon it!
Her chin rose haughtily. ‘I am very tired, my lord, and would prefer to go straight home once I am dressed.’
‘And I would prefer that you join me in Butler’s office first so that we might continue our conversation.’
‘I had thought it finished.’
‘Caro, I have already been involved in a brawl not of my making, and my property has been extensively damaged. As such, I am really in no mood to tolerate any more of your stubbornness this evening.’ His hands had clenched at his sides in an effort to control his exasperation.
‘Really?’ She arched innocent brows. ‘My own patience with your impossible arrogance ended some minutes ago.’
Yes, Dominic acknowledged ruefully, this young woman was undoubtedly as feisty as she was beautiful. To his own annoyance, he had also spent far too much time today allowing his thoughts to dwell on how delicious Caro’s mouth had tasted beneath his the night before.
‘Would you be any more amenable to the suggestion if I were to say please?’
She eyed him warily, distrustfully. ‘It would be a start, certainly.’
He regarded her for several seconds before nodding. ‘Very well. I insist that you join me in Butler’s office shortly so that we might continue this conversation. Please.’
A second request that was intended to be no more gracious than the first! ‘Then I agree to join you in Mr Butler’s office shortly, my lord. But only for a few minutes,’ Caro added firmly as she saw the glitter of triumph that lit those pale silver eyes. ‘It is late and I really am very tired.’
‘Understandably.’ He gave a mocking bow. ‘I will only require a few more minutes of your time this evening.’
That last remark almost had the tone of a threat, Caro realised worriedly as she made her way slowly to her dressing-room to change. And for all that she had so defiantly told Dominic Vaughn the previous evening that she would simply seek employment elsewhere if he chose to dismiss her, after this evening’s disaster she could not even bear the thought of remaining in London without the protection of Drew and Ben.
She had been completely truthful the evening before when she’d assured Dominic that she had every intention of returning home as soon as she felt it was safe for her to do so. Unfortunately, Caro did not believe that time had come quite yet …
Dominic made no attempt to hide his pained wince as he looked at the dull green gown Caro was wearing when she joined him in Drew’s office some minutes later; it was neither that intriguing sea-green of her eyes, or of a style in the least complimentary to her graceful slenderness. Rather, that unbecoming colour dulled the brightness of her eyes to the same unattractive green, and gave the pale translucence of her skin an almost sallow look. The fact that the gown was also buttoned up to her throat, and her blonde curls pulled tightly back into a bun at her nape as she stood before the desk with her hands demurely folded together, gave her the all appearance and appeal of a nun.
Dominic stood up and stepped lithely around the desk before leaning back against it as he continued to regard her critically. ‘You appear none the worse for your ordeal.’
Then her appearance was deceptive, Caro acknowledged with an inner tremor. Reaction to the horrors of this evening’s fighting had begun in earnest once she had reached the safety and peace of her dressing-room, to the extent that she had not been able to stop herself trembling for some time. It had all happened so suddenly, so violently, and the earl’s rescue effected so efficiently—if high-handedly—that at the time, Caro had not had opportunity to think beyond that.
She was still shaking slightly now, and it was the reason her hands were clasped so tightly together in front of her; she would not, for any reason, show the arrogant Dominic Vaughn any sign of weakness. ‘I did not have opportunity to thank you earlier, my lord, for your timely intervention. I do so now.’ She gave a stiff inclination of her head.
Dominic barely repressed his smile at this show of grudging gratitude. ‘You are welcome, I am sure,’ he replied. ‘Obviously it is going to take several days, possibly a week, to effect the repairs to the main salon—’
‘I have no money to spare to pay for those repairs, if that is to be your next suggestion,’ she instantly protested.
Dominic looked at her from underneath lowered lids, seeing beyond that defiant and nunlike appearance to the young woman beneath. Those sea-green eyes were still slightly shadowed, her cheeks pale, her hands slightly trembling, all of those things evidence that Caro had been more disturbed by the violence she had witnessed earlier than she wished anyone—very likely most especially him—to be aware of.
He found that he admired that quality in her. Just as he admired her pride and the dignity she’d shown when faced with a situation so obviously beyond her previous experience.
Did that inexperience extend to the bedchamber? he could not help but wonder. After her initial surprise the previous evening, she had most definitely returned the passion of his kiss. But then afterwards she had appeared completely unaware of the danger those three young bucks had represented to her welfare.
Just as she had seemed innocent of the rising lusts of the men who returned night after night to watch her performance at Nick’s. Perhaps an indication that she was inexperienced to the vagaries of men, at least?
Caro Morton was fast becoming a puzzle that Dominic found himself wishing to unravel. Almost as much, he realised with an inward wince, as he wished to peel her out of that unbecoming green gown before exploring every inch of her delectably naked body …
‘It was not,’ he answered. ‘I was merely pointing out that Nick’s will probably have to be closed for several days whilst repairs and other refurbishments are carried out. A closure that will obviously result in your being unable to perform here for the same amount of time.’
She looked at him blankly for several moments, and then her eyes widened as the full import of what he was saying became clear to her. She licked suddenly dry lips. ‘But you believe it will only be for a few days?’
Dominic studied her closely. ‘Possibly a week.’
‘A week?’ Her echo was distraught.
Alerting him to the fact that she was in all probability completely financially reliant upon the money she earned each night at the gambling club—her clothes certainly indicated as much! It also proved, along with her determination to remain in London ‘for the present’, that her situation at home must be dire indeed … ‘There is no reason for you to look so concerned, Caro,’ he assured her. ‘Whether you wish it or not, for the moment, it would appear you are now under my protection.’
Her eyes went wide with indignation. ‘I have absolutely no intention of becoming your mistress!’
Any more than it was Dominic’s wish to take her—or any other woman—as his mistress …
His parents had both died when he was but twelve years old. Neither had there been any kindly aunt to take an interest in him as there had with Nathaniel. Instead Dominic’s guardianship had been placed in the hands of his father’s firm of lawyers until he came of age at twenty-one. During those intervening years, when he was not away at school, Dominic had lived alone at Blackstone Park in Berkshire, cared for only by the impersonal kindness of servants.
It would have been all too easy once he reached his majority, and was at last allowed to manage his own affairs, to have been drawn into the false warmth of affection given by a paid mistress. Instead, he had been content with the friendship he’d received from and felt for both Gabriel and Nathaniel. He knew their affection for him, at least, to be without ulterior motive. The same could not be said of a mistress.
‘I said protector, Caro, not lover. Although I am sure that most of the gentlemen here tonight now believe me to already have that dubious honour,’ he pointed out.
She stiffened at the insult in his tone. ‘How so?’
‘Several of them witnessed you throwing yourself into my arms earlier—’
‘I was in fear of my life!’ Two indignant spots of colour had appeared in the pallor of her cheeks.
Dominic waved a dismissive hand. ‘The why of it is not important. The facts are that a masked lady is employed at my gambling club, and tonight that lady threw herself into my arms with a familiarity that was only confirmed when she called out my name for all to hear.’ He shrugged. ‘Those things are enough for most men to have come to the conclusion that the lady has decided on her protector. That she is now, in all probability, the exclusive property of the Earl of Blackstone.’
If it were possible, Caro’s cheeks became even paler!

Chapter Four


For possibly the first time in her life, Caro was rendered bereft of speech. Not only was it perfectly shocking that many of the male members of society believed her to be the exclusive property of Lord Dominic Vaughn, but her older sister, Diana, would be incensed if such a falsehood were ever related to her in connection with her runaway sister, Caroline!
Caro had left a note on her bed telling her sisters not to worry about her, of course, but other than that she had not confided her plan of going to London to either Diana or her younger sister, Elizabeth, before fleeing the family home in Hampshire two weeks ago, before their guardian could arrive to take control of all their lives. A man none of the Copeland sisters had met before, but who had nevertheless chosen to inform them, through his lawyer, that he believed himself to be in a position to insist that one of them become his wife!
What sort of man did that? Caro had questioned in outraged disbelief. How monstrous could Lord Gabriel Faulkner, the new Earl of Westbourne, be that he sent his lawyer in his stead to offer marriage to whichever of the previous earl’s daughters was willing to accept him? And if none chose willingly, to insist upon it!
Never having been allowed to mix with London society, none of the Copeland sisters had any previous knowledge of their father’s heir and second cousin, Lord Gabriel Faulkner. But several of their close neighbours had, and they were only too happy to regale the sisters with the knowledge—if not the details—of his lordship’s banishment to the Continent eight years previously following a tremendous scandal, with talk of his having settled in Venice some years later. Other than that, none of the sisters had ever heard or seen anything of the man before being informed that not only was he their father’s heir, but also their guardian.
They had all known and accepted that a daughter could not inherit the title, of course, but it was only when their father’s will was read out after his funeral that the three sisters learnt they were also completely without finances of their own, and as such their futures were completely dependent upon the whim and mercy of the new Earl of Westbourne.
But as the weeks, and then months, passed, with no sign of the new earl arriving to take possession of either the Shoreley Hall estate, or to establish any guardianship over the three sisters other than the allowance sent to them by the man’s lawyer each month, they had begun to relax, to believe that their lives could continue without interference from their new guardian.
Until, that is, the earl’s lawyer had arrived at Shoreley Hall three weeks ago to inform them that the new Earl of Westbourne was very generously prepared to offer marriage to one of the penniless sisters. An offer, the lawyer had informed them sternly, that as their guardian, the earl could insist—and indeed, would insist—that one of them accept.

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