Chapter One

Several soft silk sheets tangled around a pair of muscled, quite hairy, and very definitely male legs.

Fighting back the urge to curse and kick himself free, the man held back a sigh, and unwound the delicate linens, easing himself from the high four-poster, then dressing as quickly as possible without making a sound that might wake the woman who was now snuffling on the other side of the bed.

To his mild amusement, she snored. Not something he would have considered in the normal course of events, but the evening had ended up in a more intimate fashion than he had intended, and it was, without a doubt, time to leave.

“Your hat, my Lord...” The butler eyed the gentleman as he crossed the hall.

“Thank you, Barclay.” The answer came along with a gleaming coin—well deserved, as it was barely six o’clock in the morning and the butler seemed to be the only member of the staff who was awake.

“You are most kind, my Lord. Will you be requiring a conveyance?”

“No—I think I shall walk.”

“Very good, my Lord...good day, my Lord.”

The doors closed behind the departing gentleman, as he settled his hat more comfortably on his head and stepped out onto the damp pavement.

The few people abroad at this hour paid him little attention. They didn’t notice the dark hair with the light dusting of silver that glistened just above his ears, nor did they see the strong shoulders beneath the elegant evening cape.

The striking blue eyes, which were presently lowered to the pavement, might not have attracted attention, even though they were at least six feet above the well-polished boots that trod firmly down the street. Early risers probably wouldn’t have noticed the deep breaths the gentleman took as he turned his head toward the rising sun, nor the brisk tread that led him away from the elegant mansion. Above all, these unobserving passers-by would have completely overlooked the expression of relief on this gentleman’s face, as if an unpleasant experience was now behind him.

In fact, the gentleman himself would have had difficulty explaining why he felt as if a load had just been lifted from his shoulders. Lady Blanche Fawcett had been everything that was charming and obliging, catering to his every whim almost before he was aware of it himself.

That he should sense a certain practised calculation in the lady’s seductive enticements, and the light of lust rather than affection in her eyes, was probably the result of too much brandy after the sumptuous meal they had enjoyed, and he tried quite hard to convince himself that he had experienced a pleasurable evening’s entertainment.

But in all honesty, he realised that he was extremely glad to be free of the cloying fragrance of gardenia that lingered on her skin and from the languorous demands of the woman herself, who, his common sense told him bluntly, was only too aware of every sensual move she made and of their effects upon her partner. He felt a pang of pity for her husband, absent for many months at a time on diplomatic business on the continent.

Yes, the gentleman mused to himself, it was time to say farewell to Lady Blanche—she was not what he was looking for. If only he knew what that elusive something was.

It certainly wasn’t an elegant mistress, greedily accepting jewellery, horses, and whatever else she could talk him into, and he doubted that a less-discriminating woman, who would expect a small but convenient house of her own for the duration of their relationship, would fill his needs. Reluctantly, he admitted he wasn’t sure what he wanted—he just knew he hadn’t found it yet.

So Phillip Wensley Allenbridge, Baron of Wensley Mere, also Viscount Riverton, and Holder of the Three Demesnes, made his way on foot to Bridgeford House, an elegant residence befitting its owner’s position as one of the Nonpareils of the Ton.

Pip Allenbridge, as his few close friends affectionately knew him, had it all. Not that he didn’t deserve it, because he had shown that hard work and a shrewd mind could indeed turn a mere competence into a downright wealthy estate. It was common knowledge that before he had inherited the title, young Pip had been a hellion and sown more than his fair share of wild oats.

But the death of his younger sister and her husband, followed too soon by the loss of his father, had deepened the lines around the handsome mouth and stilled much of the sparkle in those devastating blue eyes.

The Ton held that his acceptance of the responsibilities thrust upon him—twin orphaned nieces and an estate barely keeping its head above water—marked him as most truly the noble gentleman, and many a lovely lady sighed, privately acknowledging her willingness to share a life of difficulty if only it included such a handsome partner.

The subject of marriage had arisen from time to time, but had never been one of Pip’s priorities, busy as he had been rebuilding his estate, managing his lands, and enjoying every minute of the challenge. Pip was no dilettante aristocrat, caring only for his horses and the style of his cravat.Far from it. In fact, for the past few years, he had actually missed the thrill of watching his work pay off—not that he was bored, but the stimulating and exciting moments he’d experienced earlier now seemed few and far between.

Certainly no woman could provide that sort of wild ride. His lips curved wryly at his own ironic pun—Lady Blanche had done her best the night before.

He knew that he owed it to his title, his estate, and everything he’d worked so hard to build, to marry and produce an heir at some point, but reassured himself that “point” hadn’t yet arrived. It was to an empty home that his Lordship was returning on this early spring morning, and he was quite content with that state of affairs.

“Welcome, my Lord.” His own butler diplomatically avoided any mention of the hour or the circumstances as he swung the door wide.

“Thank you, Runcorn.” Pip looked appreciatively around his own hall as if seeing it for the first time. “I hope you didn’t wait up?”

“Not at all, my Lord.I like to see the world early on, just after washing, as they say,” answered Runcorn. Pip had no idea that the man had actually slept in a small room off the hall, determined to be available for his Lordship no matter what the hour.

“You know, you may have a point. The world does look rather clean at this hour, doesn’t it? And the customary odours have not yet wafted this far...” He took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to take advantage of this well-scrubbed morning. Would you have my horse brought around? I’ll just run up and change and then I’m going to blow some cobwebs away.”

He mounted the wide staircase two steps at a time, leaving Runcorn shaking his head at his Lordship’s constitution. Within ten minutes, a sleepy groom was throwing Pip into the saddle.

“Thanks, my lad...go and get yourself some breakfast.” he called, grasping the reins firmly. His horse responded and set off at a brisk trot, giving his Lordship to understand that if a good gallop should be required, this particular fellow was more than equal to the task.

They headed away from the still-quiet city streets towards a nice stretch of parkland scarcely more than a mile from the Bridgeford House front door. As the brilliant green of the spring trees came into sight, Pip once again blessed his father for having the foresight to buy a town house near enough to the country to enjoy a ride. Of course, he’d had the devil of a job trying to keep it in the early days of his succession to the title, but he’d managed it, and found himself thanking his lucky stars for that fact on a pretty regular basis.

His horse sniffed the morning air and twitched its ears. His rider also sniffed the morning air and touched his heels lightly against the horse’s flank. With a remarkably similar expression of pleasure, the pair bounded off across the field and into the first rays of the rising sun.

A couple of hours later, each was happily tired, having expended their excess energies in a manner most satisfactory to both. As Lord Allenbridge turned towards home, he let his hands drop the reins slightly and the chestnut slowed to a walk, giving his rider the chance to collect his thoughts.

Uppermost amongst these was the fact that his house was about to be invaded by children.

Oh, not his own, he’d been too careful for that, he hoped, but the two nieces who had become his responsibility at such an early age in their young lives. Although it had been many years since Pip had lost his sister, he still felt an emptiness and some anger at the futility of it all—two people with such potential cut short by a stupid accident. His lips tightened as he recalled that terrible time.

There had been no one else to take care of the girls—his father already ill, his mother gone, and no paternal relations on this side of the Irish Sea at all. He had known less than nothing about children, especially girl-children, and there had been a period where his frazzled housekeeper had been forced to double as a nurse, nanny, and governess, while he managed his business interests and waited for his favourite aunt to return from her trip to the continent.

Trying to help two small girls weather the loss of their loving parents had been a painful and agonising task for the young man Pip had been at the time, and he’d learned more than he’d realised about love, death, pain, and survival. It had worked out, thanks to Aunt Sophia, but she was correct in her most recent letter that told Pip in no uncertain terms that it was time for him to bring the girls out. Her health was failing, and she simply wasn’t up to the job.

Bring the girls out. Dear God, it didn’t seem possible that they were in their late teens already, let alone ready to be introduced to the Ton, with the eventual aim, of course, of finding themselves suitable husbands.

“And what the devil do I know about that?” Lord Allenbridge spoke aloud, making his horse’s ears flatten with concern. “After all—I’ve spent the last several years avoiding that very thing.”

The absurdity of the situation struck him, and a wry smile played around his mouth. It was short-lived, however, as he accepted that something must be done—his well-developed sense of responsibility took over again—and he reviewed the upcoming Season in a clinical fashion.

First, there would be the inevitable need for the very latest in clothing. Most women seemed to spend inordinate hours thinking about, discussing, trying on, and buying, dresses. Luckily, his account would stand the ready. If Lady Blanche was anything to go by, then clothing for the twins would be less expensive than her choice of jewellery.

A sour taste crept into his mouth, and it dawned on him that he had absolutely no interest in seeing her again. Well, a nice parting gift should do it, and it would save money, which he could then spend on the girls. He’d probably need every penny of it, too.

The girls had been raised in the aristocratic world of their Aunt Sophia and Miss Millington’s Academy for Young Ladies, so were likely to be the possessors of good taste, especially if they had inherited any of their mother’s genes. He refused to introduce his nieces to the Ton dressed as dowds.

Hard on the heels of this thought, another struck him. He had no idea what they looked like now—he’d last seen them a couple of years ago—they seemed pretty young things, but coltish and immature. One simply couldn’t tell at that age what sort of adult would develop from the child. Heavens, supposing they were less than attractive?

“They may be positive antidotes...” Horse and rider stopped dead upon the path, the rider gazing blindly ahead, and the horse nickering slightly while helping himself to some choice morsels of grass. “Oh God, it couldn’t be that bad...”

Suddenly, an image of his sister flashed vividly through Pip’s mind. Her pert nose and laughing eyes invited the world to share her excitement and her joy in her husband. Patrick Sullivan (or “Sir Patrick” as he’d hated to be called) had been a dashing Irishman with more than a touch of the blarney, yet he was lost the minute he saw Susan Allenbridge.

They had made a dramatic pair—she with the darkest hair and bluest eyes, and he with the unusually blond locks—a Viking throwback, he used to say. The blond hair had been his legacy to his daughters, while Susan had given them those devastating eyes. Grief circled his heart as he pulled out the pain of this tragedy from his past, looked at it, and then resolutely put it away again. He could do nothing about yesterday, but today and tomorrow were his to command.

Pip clicked the reins and resumed his course. The girls were from excellent stock—they couldn’t help but be attractive. Besides, whispered that annoying little voice in Pip’s head, the world will soon know that they have an independence from the Sullivan Trust, not to mention what I will settle on them.

His lips curled slightly. His greatest problem would not be in getting the girls married—it would be in keeping them single. At least until the right men asked for their hands. Of course, as uncle and guardian, it would be up to him to make the best selection possible. He reviewed his acquaintances briefly, dismissing most of them as either inappropriate companions for young girls, or too set in their ways to consider marriage.

This train of thought occupied him for most of the ride home until the unpleasant realisation dawned that he himself was not the most appropriate of companions and he was most certainly rather set in his ways. He suddenly thought of the death-defying schedule of balls, routs, dinners, card-parties, afternoon teas, morning visits, and so on, which were the foundation of the Season.

His eyebrows drew together as he remembered his leisurely evenings of whist at his club, or in the arms of some willing lady, and contrasted them with—dear God—Almack’s.

He realised that he had absolutely no recourse but to find a suitable chaperone—a chore that had so far been shelved under “things to do at another time”. It was looking more and more like “another time” was now. However, the immediate relief he’d felt at the idea of someone else handling all this fuss and bother reassured him that it was an excellent notion.

Pip’s hands tensed on the reins, and he urged his horse to a trot as if to escape this entire line of thought. He consoled himself by repeating over and over again, “they are my nieces and will see things my way.” Perhaps they would even be quiet girls, content with just a few balls at the houses of some of his married friends, and the occasional afternoon tea or visit.Pip felt he could reasonably fit that sort of program into his schedule.

So for the second time that morning, Lord Allenbridge returned to his own home, appetite sharpened, and optimistic that things would work themselves out.

As he rounded the corner towards Bridgeford House, he became aware of a flurry of noise and activity in the street ahead of him. Before his own front door, in fact.

A dusty travelling carriage had pulled up, but carelessly, with one wheel on the curb. Several of his servants were attempting to carry large quantities of luggage into his house, but constantly stopped to listen to the heated exchange taking place between a fashionably hatted young lady and the coachman.

A second fashionably hatted young lady was sitting on the low wall that bordered the steps and, apparently oblivious to the surrounding uproar, was murmuring to something black and grubby in her lap.

“And another thing, you ignorant oaf...” A clear, educated voice pierced the morning air. “Your driving skills are miserable. You have no idea how to handle a team—although I am forced to use that word loosely for these poor creatures.” Her tone hardened. “You use the whip far too often, and it’s time someone told you that one’s sleeve is not to be used as a handkerchief.”

“Nah look ‘ere, mort...” The large and rather belligerent coachman made ready to come down from his perch.

“May I be of some assistance?” inquired Pip politely. He’d taken in as much of the scene as he needed, and now had some suspicions of his own brewing. He moved to the carriage next to the lead horse and casually rested a hand on the broad flank.

The man took a long look at his Lordship and missed neither the strength of the solid thighs encased in riding breeches, nor the width of the shoulders beneath the well-tailored jacket. He hastily gathered up the reins and touched his forelock with the other.

“No problem, Gov’, no ‘arm done... I’ll just be on me way...” The coach awkwardly lumbered off the curb away from the young woman who watched it leave with arms akimbo.

“Well, did you ever...?” She turned to see who had precipitated the end to her fight. A light dawned in her eyes and Lord Allenbridge’s worst suspicions were confirmed.

“Uncle Pip, Uncle Pip.” she cried. “Penelope, see? It’s him, it’s Uncle Pip.” She ran to him and hugged him enthusiastically.

At these words, the other young lady handed her ball of dirt to nearby Runcorn, and ran to Pip, throwing her arms around whatever part of him she could reach.

“Oh, Uncle Pip, thank goodness. I am so happy to see you, we have been travelling forever and with such a horrid coachman on the last leg.”

“I’m so glad we’re finally here,” said the other twin. “But Uncle Pip, I could have handled that idiot myself, you know.” Sapphire blue eyes gazed reproachfully at him.

Lord Allenbridge couldn’t help it—he gulped.

I’m definitely going to need assistance with these two.

The thought jumped around his brain as he put his arms round both girls and led them into the house, leaving Runcorn on the steps, looking down in surprise at his hands where the ball of grubby dust had resolved itself into what was, by this time, a very irate kitten.