.
She averted her eyes. ‘We have told them they are Miss Moore’s nieces.’
His stern look returned. ‘They will not believe it. The girls have different accents and look nothing like each other.’
She cautiously faced him. ‘I fear you are right. Miss Moore believes she has settled the matter by saying they are not sisters but cousins, but it sounds far-fetched to me. I fear Mr Cripps, the butler, is not fooled at all.’
His worried expression contained no censure this time. ‘Let me think upon a solution. The servants must not talk or you will be discovered.’
She gazed at him in wonder. How good it felt not to be alone in managing this scheme.
‘Another matter.’ His grey eyes were intent. ‘You must not allow the girls to appear on Bond Street or St James’s or any other place where they might be recognised. And you must not be seen in their company.’
She had not thought at all on matters such as this. ‘Why not?’
‘Your Mrs Rice wants her girls back. That fellow from the park and others will be searching for them.’
‘The man from the park?’ He’d wanted Lucy. What did he have to do with Mrs Rice? ‘How do you know this?’
He leaned closer, his eyes taking on a hard edge. ‘I know. You will obey me in this, Morgana.’
The use of her given name made his demand seem even more sinister. ‘As you wish, Mr Sloane.’
His expression softened. He lifted his hand and for a brief moment she thought he would caress her face. A foolish thought, because he drew it away again.
He gave her a raffish grin instead. ‘Call me Sloane. If we are to be conspirators in your little venture, formality between us is hypocritical, is it not?’
Her own smile tickled the corner of her mouth. She presented her hand to shake. ‘Then I give you permission to address me as Morgana.’
He did not miss her quip. Laughing, he accepted her hand. The contact of his warm, rough hand in hers, bare skin to bare skin, only intensified this new intimacy between them.
Breathless, she murmured, ‘Thank you, Sloane.’
His laughter ceased and his expression turned serious again. He released her hand. ‘You may not thank me in the end, Morgana. This is a foolhardy and dangerous business we are engaged in. Who knows what will come of it?’
With that he opened the door and left, but for quite a while afterwards Morgana stood still as a statue, gazing after him.
* * *
That evening’s must-attend entertainment was a ball given to announce the latest ton engagement, a merger guaranteed to please the families, if not the young man and woman involved. Everyone was present, including Morgana.
Sloane spied her across the room, standing with her aunt. Her eyes caught his for a mere second, but he felt the exhilaration of intrigue. There were dangerous secrets between them and care must be taken that no one discover this change in their relationship. He held his breath that Morgana would do nothing to reveal it.
She did not fail him. After the brief contact with their eyes, she turned back to her aunt as if she’d not seen him at all.
Almost disappointed, he kept up his part of the pretence, but this secret between them, and the risk of discovery, heightened his enjoyment of the ball. It put his senses on alert.
He took care not to neglect Lady Hannah, engaging her in one early dance as she would expect of him. Suddenly his behaviour towards Hannah had become part of the subterfuge, making it easier to take part in the inconsequential chatter that passed as conversation between them. After the dance, he left her to her other suitors, whose number had increased of late. His nephew David joined the growing throng.
Sloane sauntered into the room where the refreshments were set out. Another gentleman joined him. The Marquess of Heronvale.
‘You are Mr Sloane, are you not?’ the tall, taciturn marquess asked.
‘I am, sir.’ He gave an inward groan.
A few months ago, because of a foolish wager, Sloane had threatened to expose the nefarious past of this powerful man’s sister-in-law. She’d been the Mysterious Miss M. in the days Sloane had known her, the prize in a gaming hell. The threat had been nothing but a drunken bluff on his part, but no one knew he had never meant to carry it out. Certainly not the marquess.
Sloane braced himself. Heronvale looked at him intently.
Here it comes, Sloane thought, envisioning all his efforts to restore his reputation sinking into a cesspool.
Heronvale gave a slight nod. ‘I hear you are a man of your word.’
Sloane released a relieved breath. He had given this man’s brother his word that he would not disclose the damaging information. Sloane gave Heronvale a frank stare. ‘I am many things, sir, among them a man of my word.’
The marquess smiled approvingly. ‘I admire that. Tell me, are you carrying refreshment to anyone?’
‘Merely seeing to my own thirst,’ Sloane admitted.
‘Excellent.’ Heronvale nodded again. ‘Sit with me for a moment and share a drink. I would value your company.’
Sloane sat with the Marquess of Heronvale, conversing over wine glasses, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The marquess told Sloane duty had brought him to London that season. He came for Parliament, reluctantly leaving his wife and newborn son in the country. By the end of their conversation, Heronvale had invited Sloane to dine with him at White’s the following evening, at which time they could discuss politics and what role Sloane might play in it.
After the men shook hands and parted, Sloane nearly danced a jig. The Marquess of Heronvale thought he might play a role in politics? By God, if Sloane had Heronvale’s endorsement, what man would dare question his reputation? He felt triumphant!
He returned to the ballroom where a set was forming. Scanning the room, he found Morgana unattached. She was the one person in the room he wanted to be with at the moment. As casually as he could manage, he crossed the room and asked her to dance with him.
‘You look happy,’ she said when the country dance brought them together.
It was a simple observation, without any teasing flirtation attached. ‘I am indeed.’
The figures separated them. When they came close again, she asked, ‘Why so?’
He halfway considered giving her some bantering, evasive answer. It is what any other partner would expect. But this was Morgana with whom he shared many secrets. Why not share his good fortune with her as well?
‘I have had a brief chat with Heronvale and I’m engaged to dine with him tomorrow.’
She looked perplexed. ‘This is the source of your happiness?’
They had to complete the figures again before he could explain.
‘Heronvale will make a powerful ally.’
‘I see.’ She glanced over to where Heronvale stood conversing with Castlereagh. She frowned. ‘Will he make a good friend, though?’
A friend? Such a notion was unfamiliar indeed. It took him aback. ‘Yes. I do believe I would like him for a friend.’
She smiled and the dance separated them once more.
At the end of the set, he was reluctant to leave her side, but he forced himself to circulate, even asking Hannah for a second set. Hannah’s conversation was as gay as usual, but the set seemed unusually long.
Sloane declined her invitation to share the Cowdlin carriage for the trip home. He left the ball early, another errand to perform. Walking out into the night