Earlier this month, she and the prince had attended a house party at the duke’s estate. While there, enemies of Batavaria had attempted to stop the prince and his brother from cementing a place in King George’s regard. Everyone had pitched in to help stop the villains. Tuny’s part, to wait and watch with Matty, then to shoot a flaming arrow into the sky to warn the others their enemy was on the move, had seemed small to her, but it had been exciting sneaking around in the dark, knowing she was part of making history.

  “It was nothing,” she told him. “No more than a lark.”

  Leo shook his head as if he disagreed. “Even before that, you gave me and Fritz sound advice.”

  “I gave you a piece of my mind, more like,” Tuny reminded him. “And I ought to again. Me, a baroness? No one will believe that.”

  Leo drew himself up. “I am the representative for the King of Batavaria in England. I have his authority to grant honors and favors. I know of no one more deserving.”

  The door from the reception opened, and Larissa and another of the Imperial Guards came out. Tuny recognized Mr. Huber, whom she had also met at the house party. He inclined his head in greeting, brunette hair catching the light from the chandelier overhead.

  “Tuny’s elevation is the talk of the room, just as you’d hoped,” Larissa told Leo as she joined him, Mr. Huber staying at a discreet distance. “Have you told her yet?”

  Something hitched inside her. She should have known being elevated couldn’t be this easy.

  “Told me what?” Tuny asked, glancing from her friend to Leo.

  “As a member of my court, you may be called upon you from time to time to continue your support,” Leo said.

  Oh, was that all? She already provided support to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals by arranging benefits and mailing pamphlets. “Anything for a friend,” Tuny said.

  “You might not say that when you hear him out,” Larissa warned with a look to Leo.

  Leo squared his shoulders as if about to march into battle. “You are aware that King George has appointed a group of respected lords to advise him on whether to support our cause?”

  Tuny nodded. “Lord Wellmanton, the Foreign Secretary Lord Canning, and others. It was in The Times.”

  “We are aware that Lord Wellmanton and Lord Canning are against the idea,” Leo told her. “Some of the others are more supportive. Still, they remain fairly evenly divided. The final decision may well depend on the advice of one lord.”

  “Lord Ashforde,” Larissa said, as if determined that Tuny understand.

  Her stomach sank. “Lord Ashforde?”

  Leo nodded. “Given that you are known and respected by his lordship, we were hoping you could convince him to see things our way.”

  Once more panic approached, this time so swift and hard that Tuny took a step back.

  “What you mean is that you want me to turn him up sweet!” she cried. “You really are mad!”

  ^^^

  Lord Ashforde meandered about the reception hall, greeting this acquaintance and chatting with that. All the while he kept the doors through which Petunia Bateman had exited in view. Ever since returning from the house party given by the Duke of Wey, he had looked for opportunities to engage her in conversation. Perhaps, if he could manage a private word, he could apologize for the tension that now held them apart.

  Especially since that tension had been all his fault.

  “Lady Moselle,” Mrs. Richmond moaned as he passed. “As if that family needed another reason to gloat.”

  “Indeed,” Ash said, pausing beside the white-haired matron who herself was once removed from a banking family. “Intelligent, devoted to one another, contributors to the church and their community. They are to be envied.”

  Mrs. Richmond drew herself up and stomped off, obviously looking for someone who would agree with her dismal assessment of the Bateman family’s progress into Society.

  She wasn’t likely to find many, especially here. The prince and his brother were obviously admirers. Most of the Englishmen and women in the room would know the story.

  Ash had been newly home from university when the Beast of Birmingham, a legendary pugilist, had saved the life of the Prince Regent and been made Sir Matthew Bateman. His marriage to Charlotte Worthington, sister to Viscount Worthington, had been reported in the gossip rags Ash’s father had left lying about. But the marriage of Sir Matthew’s oldest sister, Ivy, to the Marquess of Kendall had quickly eclipsed that news.

  Since then, thanks to the auspices of Lord and Lady Belfort, the Batemans had become friends with the Duke and Duchess of Wey and their family and were well known to the Earl and Countess of Carrolton and Sir Harry and Lady Orwell. The family was fortunate indeed in its acquaintances.

  And Petunia Bateman, now Lady Moselle, was no exception, even if she was exceptional.

  That thought was not reflected in the cool smile he directed at the next group of people who sought conversation. For three years, he had been trying to convince himself, without success, that there must be another lady on the ton her equal. He could name her attractions. With her sleek dark-blond hair and wide, warm brown eyes, she had a pleasing face. She was nearly tall enough to look him in the eye, and she wasn’t afraid to do so. She had a quip for every occasion, a handy trait when having to converse with strangers ready to censor her for her family antecedents. She was unrelentingly loyal to those she called friends.

  But the emotions she raised in him were nothing short of dangerous to his plans. And so, he had told himself to look elsewhere for a bride. A decided shame that no other lady had yet to rise to her stature.

  She hurried through the doors now, face white and steps unsteady. He was moving closer before he could stop himself.

  “Miss Bateman, Lady Moselle, are you all right?” he asked, hand cupping her elbow.

  She yanked back out of reach. “Fine. Perfect. Never better.” Her smile was a ghastly parody of its usual warmth. “Enjoying the evening, my lord?”

  Until this moment, immensely. There was something right and good about her being given her due. He could only applaud the prince for his decision to elevate her.

  “A fine soiree,” he assured her, careful to keep his voice level. “Allow me to offer you my congratulations on your elevation.”

  “My demotion, more like,” she said with a glance back the way she had come.

  Ash stiffened. “If His Royal Highness has in any way discomforted you, I would be happy to take him to task.”

  Where had that come from? There came that urge again, to gather her close with one arm and brandish a sword at her foes with the other. He wasn’t some barbarian! He was an English lord, one who prided himself on his composure, his logic.

  She rallied. “No need, my lord. I can take care of myself. Excuse me. I should find my family.”

  She hurried away, head down and coronet slipping.

  That had been the longest conversation they’d had since the evening three years ago, when he’d told her he would not be making an offer for her hand. It had been the worst decision of his life, one he’d paid for with sleepless nights and endless days. This Season, he’d told himself to look closer, reconsider his decision. Perhaps it might be possible to rebuild the friendship they had once had. Such a friendship might lead to marriage. It was all very logical.

  But something wasn’t right with the new Lady Moselle. Even the night he had rejected her, she’d shown more spirit, more fire. The prince had said something to her that had caused her to pull even farther away from him.

  He owed it to himself, and her, to discover the truth.

  Learn more.

  About the Author

  Regina Scott started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t sell her first novel until she learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages including Dutch, German, Italian, and Portuguese. Never Romance a Rogue marks her sixtieth work of warm, witty romance.

  Alas, she cannot have a cat of her own, as her husband is allergic to them. Fortune the cat belongs to her critique partner and dear friend Kristy J. Manhattan, who supports pet rescue groups and spoils her four-footed family members. If Fortune resembles any cat you know, credit Kristy.

  Regina Scott and her husband of 30 years reside in the Puget Sound area of Washington State. She has dressed as a Regency dandy, driven four-in-hand, learned to fence, and sailed on a tall ship, all in the name of research, of course. Learn more about her at her website.

 

 

  Regina Scott, Never Romance a Rogue

 

 

  Thank you for reading books on GrayCity.Net
Share this book with friends