Chapter One

      Two weeks later

      Afternoon sun, diffused to a soft glow by the sheer curtains at the window, cast a flattering light over the face and figure of the voluptuous blonde in the diaphanous dressing gown. As Christopher crossed the sitting room to the couch on which she reclined, the lady stretched out an arm, a diamond bracelet dangling from her fingers. ‘Christopher, darling, what a pleasant surprise! Fasten this for me, won’t you? The clasp is troublesome.’

      With an indulgent smile, Christopher bent to perform that task, tweaking one blonde curl after he finished. ‘Troublesome, like its owner?’ he teased.

      China-blue eyes widening in reproach, she pursed full pink lips in a pout. ‘That’s no way to talk to your mama.’

      ‘Maybe not. But the usual rules of filial behaviour don’t apply when your mother is a Beauty who still twists men around her little finger and looks more like a sister than a parent.’

      A fact that, depending on the day, inspired him alternately with pride, amusement or chagrin.

      ‘Where did you get that new bauble? Henderson?’ he asked, naming the most assiduous of her current admirers.

      She waved a hand. ‘Yes. Henderson positively begged to be allowed to send me a small token of his esteem, so I at last relented. The bracelet is lovely,’ she observed, lifting her arm to admire its sparkle. ‘However, I think I must dismiss him. He’s becoming quite tiresomely possessive, and you know I can’t tolerate that.’

      If she did send him packing, it wouldn’t be because Christopher’s father—or rather, the man who legally filled that role—objected. Lord Vraux and his Lady had gone their separate ways for years, and everyone knew it. Just as they all whispered about the identity of Christopher’s real father and that of his sisters, his elder brother Gregory being the only one of the ‘Vraux Miscellany’ believed to be his lordship’s legitimate offspring.

      ‘Have you already someone in mind to replace him?’ he asked as he took the seat beside her. ‘Chernworth would happily claim his place. Then there’s that new puppy—Lord Rogers?—following you about, writing execrable verse in your honour.’

      ‘He’s just a boy,’ his mother said, shaking her head dismissively. ‘Chernworth’s amusing enough, but Kennington has become quite sharp of late. Really, I’m thinking of giving them all up. Retiring to the country, perhaps.’

      ‘Retiring to the country?’ he echoed. ‘You can’t be serious! Without the shops, theatres and entertainments of London, you’d expire of boredom in a week. And so would Society, without you to sparkle on its stage.’

      ‘Without me to scandalise and fuel its gossip, you mean,’ she retorted good-naturedly. ‘Still, it might be better to leave that stage while I’m still sought after. Before my beauty fades, and the admirers drift away.’

      His charming, effervescent mother looked almost...sad. Surprised, Christopher said, ‘What brought on this green melancholy?’

      Picking up a mirror from the table beside her, she inspected her face. ‘See, that wrinkle there?’ she pointed. ‘Kennington teased me about it last night.’

      Christopher bent to peer at his mother. ‘That? It’s barely noticeable. Kennington’s an ass. You’ve more than a few good years left before you’re in your dotage! Besides, the girls still need to be settled.’

      ‘You’d have me attend those dreadful parties full of insipid virgins and their matchmaking mamas?’ His mother shuddered. ‘In any event, I wouldn’t be much help in getting your sisters respectably married. You know all those society beldames detest me.’

      He couldn’t dispute that claim. Lady Vraux was much admired—by the masculine members of the ton. Jealous of her beauty, charm and the mesmerising effect she had on men, society’s women were less appreciative. Though her birth and position guaranteed his mama invitations to most society entertainments—as well as to others far less respectable—her successful flaunting of the standards of proper feminine behaviour had won her few female friends.

      She shrugged an elegant shoulder. ‘If those women devoted a fraction of the time they spend criticising me to enticing their men, they wouldn’t have to worry about my charms. In any event, I’ll probably call upon your Aunt Augusta to ferry the girls about when the time comes.’

      ‘Gussie would excel at it,’ Christopher agreed. ‘She thrives on keeping track of who’s pursuing whom and who’s the biggest prize on the Marriage Mart.’ He paused. ‘Maybe I ought to enlist her help. I’ve been thinking...’ He hesitated, not sure, given her probable reaction, he wanted to divulge his intent. ‘Perhaps it’s time I found a wife.’

      Shocked silence reigned for a moment before his mother burst out laughing. ‘You, married?’ she said when she’d recovered herself. ‘What nonsense!’

      ‘No, Mama, I’m serious,’ he protested.

      She fixed him with a penetrating look. ‘You’re just lonely, with all your closest friends wed now. Which is hardly a good reason to get yourself leg-shackled. But then, you’re well aware of my opinion on marriage.’

      ‘I miss my friends, it’s true,’ Christopher admitted. Especially Ben Tawny, who’d been his carousing partner on many occasions—until he met and married his lady. ‘Despite your view of the institution, all the Hellions have found wives who make marriage look quite attractive.’

      His mother waved a dismissive hand. ‘But they are all virtually newlyweds, aren’t they? If they remain happy, they will be luckier than most.’

      Luckier than she’d been, Christopher knew. His beautiful mother had been married off by her financially hard-pressed father to the highest bidder—Lord Vraux. A connoisseur of all things lovely, the years-older baron had been mad to add to his collection the most dazzling girl of her debut Season. Cold, withdrawn, and remote, he had never been able to give his passionate, outgoing, demonstrative wife the affection or companionship she craved.

      Whatever the beldames thought of her morals, none could dispute that she’d been a devoted mother. Especially to Christopher, son of the man rumour said had been the love of her life.

      ‘You are serious, then?’ his mother demanded, after studying him as he’d sat silent, lost in thought. ‘Have you a candidate in mind?’

      ‘No. Which is why I need Aunt Augusta. I’m hardly a romantic, Mama. I’m not expecting to discover a woman who inspires me to write bad verse, like Lord Rogers.’

      Even if his friends did seem to have found such joy, he thought, the loneliness that had dogged him of late deepened by a wistful envy.

      ‘All I require is a respectable young lady of good birth who can manage my household and give me heirs. Not a chit right from the schoolroom, of course; even a young widow would do. Although that’s not absolutely