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It was all surprisingly straightforward.

If Sophie had been present, Amelia might have told her where she was going, as a form of insurance against any mishap, but she was not – she and Rafe had taken little Louis out of London for a night or two, to visit Rafe’s mother’s family in Essex.

The Marquess had had very little contact with any of his maternal relatives in the past, but one of his cousins had recently reached out to him to mend fences, and, as Lord Wyverne had said drily, they had few enough presentable connections to be glad of it, and to accept the unexpected invitation.

Amelia and Charlie had no blood ties to these people, and as a result had not been included.

They dined alone, chatting over indifferent topics, and soon after dinner, she pleaded the headache and went up to bed; nothing could be easier.

Charlie, bless the boy, was the least suspicious person in nature.

* * *

The hands of the silver clock in her bedchamber moved agonisingly slowly as she paced the room, but at last it was time to make her way very carefully and quietly down the back stairs.

Her maid had been bribed again, this time by her, and was waiting for her by the entrance to the area, holding the dark-red domino.

Amelia had worn this once before, to a ball a few weeks ago, and could only assume that Lavinia – it must be Lavinia – had been paying attention.

Perhaps she even knew through her spying of Sophie’s absence, which was an uncomfortable thought.

The abigail had called up a hackney carriage, as they had arranged, and assured her mistress that it was waiting a little way down the street.

The girl didn’t appear to be nervous – she seemed quite astonishingly practised at clandestine behaviour, which she had certainly not learned in Amelia’s employ.

I could have been meeting secretly with Marcus all this time , she thought dully.

We could have been spending time together.

But probably, he would not have wanted to – he showed no signs of it. And it is too late now.

Amelia made her way up the steps and along the pavement to the vehicle, and climbed swiftly in, feeling enormously conspicuous.

But nobody spoke to her or tried to stop her, and soon they were rattling away over the cobbles towards Covent Garden.

She had no idea how she’d get home from such a highly unsafe area for a woman alone, even in daylight, but she could not allow that to deter her.

She had a mask clutched tightly in her hand – a plain black loo mask – and she put it on, fumbling with the strings.

How was it possible to feel horribly nervous and perfectly ridiculous at the same time?

She had some money in her purse. She realised now that she didn’t know if one was supposed to obtain tickets for the masquerade in advance – how could she know this sort of detail, when she had never been?

But surely, if someone urgently wanted her there, they would have thought of that, and perhaps paid for her to enter.

And it seemed they had, for when she reached the impressive building, just on the appointed hour, she was admitted by a burly attendant, who shot her a penetrating glance and waved her in without question.

There was no point scanning the throng for slim women of medium height who were also masked and wearing dominoes; that description would cover a large proportion of the people present, any one of whom could be Lavinia Thornfalcon in disguise.

The note had said that her correspondent would find her – very well, let her do so.

Amelia stood to one side in the entrance hall and waited. What else could she do?

It was a busy, lively crowd. Those who did not sport dominoes were elaborately costumed in all manner of inventive and colourful ways, and people were laughing and calling to each other in a manner that would be considered not at all the thing at a gathering of the haut ton, where aristocratic indifference generally prevailed.

Perhaps such open enjoyment was vulgar – Amelia could very easily imagine what her Aunt Keswick would have to say about it all, and her face while she said it – but it also looked to be enormous fun, at least at this early stage of the evening.

No doubt, like an event at Vauxhall Gardens, it would be unsafe and rowdy later, and one would need protection from unwelcome advances.

Amelia had thought of this while dressing, and had worn her sturdy shoes and once more concealed pins about her person, including the long, wickedly sharp ones in her hair.

It had been a long time since she’d felt the need to equip herself thus, and she’d wondered if, after all her scheming, she would be obliged to do so again, forever, once she was no longer betrothed.

But that was a pointless reflection, and she had done her best to banish it.

It would be a sad thing indeed if these weeks as Marcus’s false fiancée had served only to make her less brave than she had been before she met him.

A voice said in her ear, making her start, ‘I am glad to see you took the note you received seriously, Lady Amelia.’

She turned swiftly, a sudden lurch in her stomach assailing her.

She knew, even before she saw the tall, statuesque woman who stood beside her, smiling down at her with painted lips, that that rich, melodious voice did not belong to Lavinia Thornfalcon.

It was a complete stranger who had accosted her and who somehow knew her identity.

They regarded each other in tense silence for a moment.

The woman had a black domino thrown back a little over her shoulders to display a fiery red, shockingly low-cut gown and a barely covered, magnificent bosom.

Her hood was up, but still gave a glimpse of rich blonde curls at her brow.

She was beautiful – the mask did not conceal this – and not young, perhaps in her forties or fifties, her face skilfully painted.

Amelia was sure she had never laid eyes on her before, and yet…

‘I would offer to unmask,’ the stranger said, ‘but there would be little point, because I’ve realised you don’t know me from Eve. And that’s a shocking thing, isn’t it, my dear, when you consider that I’m your own stepmama?’

‘Lady Wyverne!’ Amelia gasped. And then she asked in puzzlement, ‘Was it you who wrote to me, then? I had thought it was another.’

‘Oh, it was,’ Rosanna said, still smiling rather maliciously. ‘I have a nickname for her, which perhaps I won’t share with you, but you know her as Lady Thornfalcon. Lavinia. And I must tell you that she brought you here tonight on purpose to ruin you.’

‘I thought she might have done,’ said Amelia steadily, since this was not news to her, but merely confirmation of her suspicions.

‘But I don’t know what you’re doing here, and why you seem to know all about her plan – unless you’re her accomplice?

Do you intend to participate in my ruin?

’ A few weeks ago, this fresh disaster would have horrified her; now she was just vaguely interested.

‘She thinks I am to be the instrument of it,’ Rosanna Wyverne replied, her fine eyes sparkling behind the mask. ‘She came to me because she understood that I might well want revenge on your family for the way I have been treated.’

‘Have you been treated badly? I am sorry if this is so. I know I have never harmed you, though perhaps I have spoken carelessly of you in private – not in public – when I should not have done, since I don’t know you.

I’ve fast been learning how pernicious gossip is – all gossip.

But as far as Rafe is concerned, I think he showed you a fair amount of forbearance, and you might acknowledge it.

After all, you spread a shocking story about him that was untrue, and that damaged him greatly.

To be thought the lover of his stepmother when he was little more than a boy was dreadful for him. ’

‘Has he told you of it, his innocent little sister? I am somewhat surprised, but I can’t deny I was first responsible for the rumour, though others spread it with great abandon afterwards.

’ Was that regret in the woman’s voice? It seemed unlikely.

‘But we should not stay here in idle chat, where anyone can see us. Let us go apart and talk, but make it quick. If we remain in such a public place, that woman who loathes you so much will be able to carry out her plan and it will be too late to stop her.’

‘I don’t understand. Don’t you mean to help her?’

‘I did intend to, I won’t lie. And she has certainly paid me handsomely – in advance, as I insisted – and even bought me this fine gown so I might present a suitable figure here.

But no, I don’t, as it happens. I have been persuaded by an old friend to think better of it.

Now come away, girl, before she sees us! ’

Rosanna took her arm in a strong grip and hurried her out of the vestibule into one of the long corridors that led to the boxes.

People were passing, laughing and chattering as they made their way to their places, but nobody paid them any attention; Lady Wyverne angled their position so that her own back, clad in sober black, was to the passing crowd, and Amelia’s bright domino was somewhat concealed behind her body.