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When Drew returned from his ride, a large carriage was standing outside The Albany. Pembroke’s coat of arms was emblazoned on the side, and its brass trim shone in the sunshine. It had been there a while because two grooms in the Pembroke livery held the heads of four glossy black horses.

What did Pembroke want? Drew’s patience was paper-thin. One wrong word would be all it took and he would slam Pembroke up against a wall.

Drew entered the apartment without knocking; these were his rooms. But Pembroke was not there. Mary, her mother and an aunt, the Duchess of Wiltshire, looked at him.

They had sent the women to do battle again.

It was extremely early to be calling. They must be trying to find out how well he kept her.

He looked at the table. A second used plate stood beside the remains of their breakfast. At least Mary had eaten. He may be angry with her and wish to hold her at arm’s length, but he still cared and she would make herself ill if she did not eat.

He lifted his hat and bowed to the women.

Lady Marlow stood. ‘Good morning, Lord Framlington. I am glad you returned, we thought we might miss you. We came to invite Mary to accompany us to the Duchess of Bradford’s garden party this afternoon.’

Her aunt stood too. ‘I am on my way to Margaret’s and thought it would be nice to call in rather than send a message.’

What nonsense! Mary’s cousin lived streets away and Drew’s apartment was not en route. They had come to spy.

Drew looked at Mary, wondering what she had told them. That I am an ignorant monster, probably; incapable of loving her and unable to be loved.

But he was not cowed. Mary may not have extravagance and excess here, but she had everything she needed – if she chose to ask for it, that was. Joseph told him this morning that Mary had eaten neither luncheon nor dinner the day before. That was when he had decided to take control of everything. The decision also eased his conscience. Employing servants to care for her meant he could withdraw without fear or guilt.

‘Does my home live up to your expectations, Lady Marlow?’ he asked.

‘It is not my expectations that matter, is it?’ Her answer was shrewish.

‘No, it is Mary’s, and she has everything she needs,’ he said. Except a man she can love.

‘Except a husband who can apply restraint, Lord Framlington.’

‘Mama.’ Mary stood, but not in defence of her mother. She walked across the room and stood beside him. As though he might care what her mother thought. But it made it obvious that Mary had not told them the man she married was a hell-born bastard.

‘Your mother is right,’ her aunt said. ‘Your behaviour last night, Lord Framlington, was unforgivable.’

Mary’s chin lifted.

Drew sighed. He did not want her to argue with her family on his behalf. The time for that had passed. She needed her family, not him. ‘You’re quite right, Your Grace, Lady Marlow. I am sorry I spoiled the evening, but it is water under the bridge today, and as you can see, I do not feed Mary gruel or lock her up, so you may report back that all is well here.’

Both women stared at him, their pale-blue eyes the spit of Mary’s. With the same ability to freeze a man with an icy cool glare.

‘You are not amusing,’ her mother stated.

‘Yes, you told me that before, Lady Marlow. I shall try to remember in future that you do not appreciate my humour.’

Mary held his arm, warning him to be kind.

‘Should we call for you after luncheon, Mary?’ her aunt asked.

‘I will deliver her,’ he said. Her aunt’s and mother’s eyebrows rose. ‘Have no fear, I will not stay. I imagine I am not invited.’

‘I will meet you there,’ Mary said.

The women stood still, as if they were afraid to leave her here. He would let them stay longer.

‘Did you call for tea, Mary?’ He looked at her, then he could not stop his devil speaking to her mother. ‘Or I can offer you a brandy to help you suffer my company.’

‘There is no need for spite,’ the Duchess of Arundel stated.

‘My sentiments exactly,’ he replied.

Mary’s fingernails dug into the fabric of his coat.

‘Very well, ladies, as I am unwelcome here, I shall withdraw and leave you with Mary. Your servant.’ He bowed to one then the other as Mary’s fingers slipped from his arm, and a moment later he walked back downstairs, with nowhere to go. It was too early to go to Tattersall’s. He went to the stables, spoke to his horses and told the grooms to prepare the phaeton for the time he needed it. Then leaning against one side of the entrance arch, he smoked a thin cigar as he watched the front door of The Albany, waiting for the women to leave.

A smile pulled at one side of his lips as he noticed the little street sweep, Timmy, hovering around the horses. The boy had smelt the wealth in the air, probably in the wax polish on the shining coach.

It was not long before they came out.

‘Can I open the door for you, ma’am?’ he heard Timmy say, even though the women had footmen.

He could not see the women ascend from this side, but he heard the door close, and then Timmy walked around the corner staring at a coin in his hand.

It made Drew feel as though he was even lower in Lady Marlow’s esteem than a street sweep.

I do not care!

The carriage rolled away, and he crossed the street, taking an opportunity to knock Timmy’s hat off. ‘You don’t need my pennies today, lad.’

The boy laughed.

When he entered the parlour, Mary was seated in an armchair, with a small pile of letters in her lap, one of them open in her hand. She looked up. ‘Mama brought my post.’

‘Who are they from?’

‘My cousins, and this…’ she held up the letter she had just opened, ‘is from my younger brother Robbie.’ Her concentration returned to the letter and her face lit up as she read.

It was impossible not to love her. But he had to stop, because he could not bear it when the time came that she would succumb to a better man.

Drew put his hat and gloves down, took off his riding coat and hung it on a peg. Then walked over to collect the newspaper that had been left in the other armchair. He sat down and opened it at the page he had been reading, only to realise Mary had stopped reading the letter and was reading him.

She looked extremely pretty in the dusky pink muslin dress she had chosen to wear today. The dress had embroidered rose buds at the hems of her sleeves and skirt.

‘You did not have to be rude to my mother.’

‘She came here to spy.’

‘She came to see if I was well. Which I was, until yesterday.’

Until she met his parents and discovered he was a worthless bastard. He would not wish to be married to himself. He shrugged and raised the open newspaper, deliberately covering his face.

‘And now you hide from me.’

Coward. ‘Persist and I will go out,’ he responded from behind the newspaper.

‘Again?’

‘If I wish to, yes. I can do as I please, as can you.’

He heard the fabric of her dress stirring as she stood, and her light footsteps, then the newspaper was crushed down. Her blue eyes flashed fire. ‘So, is this it? You will not even claim to love me anymore.’

Oh, I love you, but I know your love will wither and die. Because I was wrong. We are not made for one another.

Her hands settled on her hips. His little firecracker. Not mine, some other man’s . It hurt to think it, but he must.

‘I love you,’ she said angrily.

‘You have no business doing so.’ He schooled his gaze, closing the shutters on his emotions. ‘Your family have it right, Mary. I am sorry I disappointed you.’

‘And you discovered this yesterday…?’

God, the woman could be clever. ‘I discovered it last night.’

‘Because I let your friend, who you told me I should trust, escort me to a ball in your stead and dance with me.’

He folded the newspaper and threw it aside, standing as he did so. She stepped back. ‘I was only ever pretending, and as you are determined to pursue an argument, I will go out.’ He walked around her, picked up his hat and put it back on his head.

‘You have a letter too. Joseph brought it up,’ she said as he pulled on his gloves.

The folded letter struck his sleeve and fell onto the floorboards.

He squatted down and picked it up. It was from Caro. His younger sister’s hasty handwriting formed his name in sharp strokes. It had no seal because she would want the letter to remain private. He took the letter with him as he left and stopped to read it in the street. She was confined to her bed. Kilbride had beaten her severely and she had lost a third child.

Drew was never sure which came first, the beating or the loss of a child.

He sighed. It had to end either way. He was unable to help himself, but he could help Caro. He would organise somewhere for her to run to, where she could live anonymously.