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Marcus could feel that Amelia would have sprung instantly away from his embrace when they were so rudely interrupted, but he let her go only slowly, reluctantly.

Their goose was cooked. It was not as though there was much point in pretending that they hadn’t been locked in each other’s arms when they plainly had.

He said, with what he thought was reasonable composure for a man with a most inconvenient and damnably persistent erection, ‘Lady Wyverne, Lady Keswick, I trust you will both pardon me. The fault is all mine, but Lady Amelia has just consented to be my wife, so perhaps on this occasion, I may be forgiven.’

‘Do you have her brother’s consent to address my niece, sir?

’ the Dowager asked awfully. He had not been called ‘sir’ in a way that intimidated him so much since he had left school; he could only be glad that Lady Keswick, unlike his schoolmasters, didn’t appear to be currently in possession of a cane or strap.

It was hard to know what she might do or say next, but he was still standing on his feet, so it could have been worse.

He’d been wounded in battle and survived it. He could do this.

‘I do, ma’am,’ he responded readily. ‘He was good enough to give it a day or two ago, when we discussed the matter. I have his permission. So I am not quite lost to all decency, I assure you.’

‘Hmm,’ she huffed enigmatically. And then she said, ‘Well, it is highly irregular, but one must make allowances, I suppose, for natural ardour and… so forth. Congratulations, Lord Thornfalcon, you have shown good judgement in your choice of bride. I am pleased for you too, Amelia. And you will recall, child, I am sure, the advice I gave you a little while ago about the inadvisability of long engagements. What I have seen today in this room makes my opinions even more pertinent. Don’t you agree, Lady Wyverne? ’

The Marchioness appeared to be imperfectly stifling mirth, but she responded promptly enough.

‘Of course I do, Lady Keswick. You are always so wise. I am sure you will recall that my own engagement was of extremely short duration: only as long as was needed for the banns to be called, in fact.’ Though Marcus supposed that this was true or the lady would not have said it, he didn’t find it to be a particularly helpful comment in the circumstances, and from a glance at Amelia’s horrified face, he thought she must be feeling the same.

A moment ago, he’d suggested a protracted engagement, and she’d tacitly agreed, or at least raised no objection.

A betrothal lasting several months – to the end of the Season and beyond – would benefit both of them, surely.

But now matters appeared to be getting out of hand with alarming speed.

Lady Keswick nodded in majestic agreement.

‘Three weeks is a perfectly adequate length of time, I consider, if there is no impediment to a marriage. And if there is some impediment, three years will not be long enough. I trust, Thornfalcon – since we are to be related, I am sure there can be no objection to me addressing you thus – that there is no such impediment. It would have been unwise and unkind in you to offer for my niece’s hand, let alone subject her to your incontinent embraces, if matters were otherwise. ’

The appalling old besom means Lavinia, he realised. Lavinia might be said to be a pretty substantial impediment – she’d certainly think so herself.

‘No,’ he said rather hollowly. ‘There is no impediment. And I am confident my mother and my sister will be very glad when they hear the news.’

If he had hoped to draw her away with this red herring, he was to be disappointed.

‘Judith has always been a woman of tolerable good sense,’ Lady Keswick said, ‘except when she married your father, of course, Thornfalcon, for he was a man who would neither be driven nor led, but I suppose the match was made by your grandparents with worldly considerations in mind, so one cannot blame her for it. I am sure she will agree that your betrothal need not be of unnecessarily long duration. For several excellent reasons.’

I’ll wager she would , thought Marcus, one of the reasons subsiding at last, to his great relief.

He had once, when dazed and lightly wounded as a young soldier in Portugal, been a helpless passenger in a wagon overloaded and poorly managed, which had escaped from the control of its incompetent driver and terrified horses – mercifully for the poor beasts, at least, the traces had broken – and careered down a hill at enormous speed to crash into some obstacle at last and overturn in great noise and confusion.

Bones had been broken, and heads cracked.

He had just the same sensation of utter powerlessness and impending disaster now, though he wasn’t sure if Lady Keswick was the hill or the wagon. Or the wall at the bottom.

Rather surprisingly, the unpredictable Lady Wyverne came to their rescue; his new fiancée, most uncharacteristically, had still not uttered so much as a word.

‘No doubt you are right, ma’am,’ she said cordially.

‘We are all most grateful for the kind interest you take in Amelia’s well-being.

But perhaps such an important detail is more correctly a matter for Lord Thornfalcon to discuss with Amelia and with my husband, who is after all her guardian, at a more convenient date. ’

It was as neat and elegant a set-down as he’d ever seen given, and Lady Keswick did not so much as blink as she digested it.

She had good fighting bottom, he’d give her that.

It must be years since someone had been bold enough to take her on and best her in such a fashion, let alone a slip of a Frenchwoman.

He had not been in the way of seeing any of the famous boxing matches of recent years, since he had been abroad about his duties, but he had a feeling that he and Amelia were now privileged to witness a bout as worthy of celebration as Cribb versus Molineaux.

‘You are quite right to reprove me, Lady Wyverne,’ the older lady said with magnificent carelessness.

‘It is none of my affair, of course, as a mere aunt .’ Only a complete nodcock would believe that she meant these words with any seriousness.

‘I only wished to offer the benefit of my many years of experience of the world.’

‘I would not dream of reproving you, ma’am,’ Sophie replied.

‘I am sure that nobody would ever think to describe you in such an impertinent manner. You do yourself so much less than justice.’ She appeared to be enjoying herself, and it was possible, Marcus thought as he watched, fascinated, that the two mighty combatants – the wily old champion and the cocksure young challenger for the title – had already forgotten that he and Amelia were still in the room.

Perhaps they could sneak away and leave them to it.

Perhaps they could take up where they had left off.

He became aware that he was holding his betrothed’s warm little hand – he wasn’t sure if he had taken it just now without realising that he was doing so, or if she had slipped hers into his in unconscious search for comfort.

Probably it didn’t matter which. He squeezed it in silent communication, and she returned the pressure.

But she had plainly had enough of whatever it was that they were all caught up in.

‘I’m sorry, Aunt,’ she said, pressing his hand again and then discreetly letting it drop.

‘I know your words were prompted by nothing other than loving concern for me and for my future, and I will always be grateful for it. But Sophie is quite right – we shouldn’t discuss such matters without Rafe’s presence.

He is my guardian, after all. It must be for him to decide what is best for me, not anyone else, until I pass into the authority of my dear husband, of course. ’

This was doing it rather too brown, Marcus thought.

She was looking perfectly meek and saintly now, long, dark lashes lowered to hide those bright eyes, which were probably gleaming with mischief, could he but see.

She had very much the appearance of one who was submissively willing to do whatever her wise male relatives might command, however unreasonable it might be.

But she was not generally anywhere near so biddable, and her aunt must know it.

He became aware of a great bubble of laughter welling up inside him; he felt strangely intoxicated, he realised.

‘Hmm,’ Lady Keswick said again, her voice heavy with scepticism. ‘ The authority of your husband , indeed. I wish I might live to see it.’

‘Surely you of all people can’t mean that, ma’am,’ said Sophie sweetly. Since the late Lord Keswick had been well known to live under the cat’s foot, this too was a shrewd hit.

Lady Keswick’s bosom swelled in indignation, and she lost her self-control in spectacular fashion.

‘I can see that I am being disgracefully mocked,’ she pronounced.

‘I do not know what young women are coming to these days. You both deserve to be soundly spanked.’ She gathered the folds of her gown about her in high dudgeon, and was clearly about to leave on this surprising statement, which Marcus thought was both interesting, as suggestions went, and unanswerable, but Sophie, game as a pebble, would not let her opponent have the last word. Not on her own home ground.

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she answered ambiguously.

‘You so often are. I will go and find Rafe directly!’ And she held open the door for her adversary, winking at Amelia and Marcus as she obliged her to leave the room, and followed close behind her.

The last they heard as the door closed was the Dowager protesting that the engaged couple should by no means be left alone, after what had so recently occurred, and Sophie’s outrageous reply: ‘I thought you wanted him to spank her? I find you most inconsistent, ma’am! ’