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Mary paced across the sitting room for the thousandth time. There was no sign of her errant husband.

Her stomach churned with anxiety. It was empty, of course. She had not eaten luncheon, nor dinner, but she hoped to eat supper at the ball they were supposed to be attending.

She looked at the clock, as she had every few minutes. It was nearly ten. She would have to come up with a lie for her father again if Andrew did not take her to the ball. She had changed into her evening dress a long time ago. She managed with the buttons by spinning the dress around, but tying the lacing of her stays was impossible. That garment lay discarded on the bed.

Footsteps ran up the hall stairs. They weren’t Andrew’s, she knew the sound of his steps.

Where is he?

The footsteps stopped outside their door. A knock hit the wood.

‘Drew, old devil, are you in?’ It was Lord Brooke. ‘You are forever closeted away with that wife of yours, and your old friend needs you.’

Mary had assumed Andrew was with his friends, so, if Lord Brooke was here, where was Andrew?

She opened the door, a blush heating her cheeks. ‘L-L-Lord Brooke. A-A-Andrew is not at home. I thought he was with you.’

‘I have not seen him for a couple of days. May I wait for him?’ He walked past her, without waiting for her invitation, and headed to Andrew’s brandy decanter.

‘I do not know how long he will be. He had to go out unexpectedly.’ Uncertain what to do, she closed the door. She had never been alone in a room with any man other than her family or Andrew.

He helped himself to a drink. ‘No matter.’ He turned. ‘As you have dressed for the evening, I assume you do expect him back.’

‘I thought I would dress in case, but I am not sure… We were meeting my parents at a ball.’ Mary kept her distance, her fingers on the door handle behind her back.

His dark brown eyes danced with humour as he drank from the glass. ‘But he has left you at home, a damsel in distress.’ He smiled, but the smile fell when he caught sight of the chessboard.

Mary had righted the table, placed the board back on it and reset the pieces, but the board was broken in two.

‘Where were you going?’ he asked.

‘To the Caldecotts’.’

He smiled, drank the rest of the brandy and put the glass down. ‘Lady Framlington, as Drew’s friend I believe it is my duty, and it shall also be my pleasure, to see you safely to the Caldecotts’ ball. If you will allow it?’ He bowed briefly, but not insultingly.

Her mind whirled in a turmoil. If she went with Lord Brooke her father would be less likely to think something was amiss. But what about Andrew? He knew they had agreed to meet her parents – he would know where to find her.

‘Yes, thank you, Lord Brooke, I would appreciate your escort, if it will not disrupt your night.’

‘It will not. My carriage is here, so it will not take long to reach the Caldecotts’.’

‘I will fetch my cloak.’ She hurried into the bedchamber, her heartbeat thumping.

Her cloak hung over one of her trunks. She picked it up and turn?—

Lord Brooke stood at the bedchamber door. ‘Let me,’ he said, entering and taking the cloak from her hands.

She turned so he could lay it on her shoulders.

She secured the buttons at the front, her fingers shaking.

Perhaps it was madness accepting Lord Brooke’s escort, a man she only knew by his awful reputation. Yet he was Andrew’s friend and she trusted Andrew’s judgement. A lesson she wished she had recognised this morning when he told her she would not want to meet his parents.

When she faced Lord Brooke, she was met with a broad, roguish grin. Her heart lurched as the smile reminded her of Andrew’s brazen expressions.

Where is he? Should I wait? He could be ten minutes from home, or playing cards somewhere with no intent to return. Waiting here would make her more maudlin and her father angrier. No, it was better she went and shielded him from her father’s response to his absence. After all, he had left her here, so he could hardly complain about her going.

Lord Brooke offered his arm. She nervously laid her fingers on it. ‘Thank you, Lord Brooke.’

‘Call me Peter, my dear, if we are to be friends, which I hope we are.’ He patted her hand.

She smiled. ‘Call me Mary then.’

During the carriage ride to the Caldecotts’, he kept talking, flirting, but not in a threatening way; as though he realised she was nervous being in a confined space with him.

Outside the Caldecotts’ house, the carriage rocked as Lord Brooke’s groom jumped from the perch at the rear. The door opened.

Lord Brooke descended then took her hand and helped her.

Her fingers shook furiously when she queued to be acknowledged by the receiving line.

‘Lady Framlington and Lord Brooke,’ the footman informed Lady Caldecott.

Lady Caldecott’s eyes shone with unspoken questions as Mary curtsied and Peter bowed. Mary bobbed another curtsy to Lord Caldecott, then she was past them and walking the few yards to reach her parents.

Mary’s gaze focused on her father. He saw her and frowned as she approached.

‘Papa,’ she said immediately, pre-empting his questions. ‘Andrew was not able to come; something urgent arose. Lord Brooke kindly offered to escort me instead.’ Mary looked back at Lord Brooke. ‘Thank you, Peter, it was very kind of you to volunteer.’

He bowed graciously, and she hoped, ungraciously, he would go away.

Her father’s eyebrows lifted in criticism of Lord Brooke.

The orchestra struck up the tune of a waltz. Instantly Peter bowed. ‘Mary, my dear, would you do me the honour?’

Nausea tumbled through Mary’s stomach. He was being gallant but she did not want to dance. Yet, if she refused, her father would think she felt unsafe with Lord Brooke.

‘Thank you.’ She accepted Lord Brooke’s hand, without even having said good evening to her mother. It did not feel right.

His hand closed around hers, and he embraced her, as couples began to circle the floor. It felt too intimate. She had not even danced a waltz with Andrew…