“I’m afraid it has, Mr Pope. But we will meet again tomorrow at the auction,” Viola added as the front doorbell rang. Julian got to his feet.
“That will be Lord Simon,” Mrs Dean trilled excitedly, jumping up. “Hurry, child! You mustn’t keep his lordship waiting. Go upstairs and put on your bonnet, there’s a good girl. Lord Simon Ascot,” Mrs Dean clarified for Julian’s benefit. “The younger son of the Duke of Berkshire. He’s taking Mary for a drive in his high-perch phaeton. Of all your admirers, Mary, I believe I like his lordship the best.” She flung open the doors and ran out.
“Shall I envy him for being Auntie’s favorite?” Julian murmured.
“By all means,” Viola answered, laughing. Then, almost before she knew what was happening, he had slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. His voice was deep in her ear, saying urgently, “You’re in grave danger, Yorkshire. Meet me tonight at nine o’clock at the lamppost across the street. I’ll explain everything then. Yes?”
Viola drew back, scoffing. “Danger! What on earth can you mean?”
“Please, you must trust me,” he urged. “I am concerned for your welfare.”
“I was born in Yorkshire, Mr Pope,” she said coldly, “but it was not a recent event. You must think me a fool! Will I meet you? I’ll meet you in China in twenty years, if you like.”
She flung his arm from her, saying, “Good day to you, sir!”
“But I just got here,” said Lord Simon Ascot, striding into the room. Attired in the full dress uniform of a Horse Guard, he looked like some strange cross between a medieval knight and a special messenger. Being wholly preoccupied with Viola, he took no notice of the other man. “As you can see, I come to you straight from the parade ground, Mary. Am I not a fine fellow, and a credit to the Blues?”
Viola had to concede that he was indeed a fine fellow. His face was, perhaps, a little too harshly featured to be handsome, but it was a strong, attractive face nonetheless. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore his uniform with distinction. His steel cuirass gleamed like a mirror. His white leather riding breeches clung to him like a second skin. His thigh-high black boots, complete with jingling spurs, had been polished to such a high sheen that when Viola drew near him, they reflected her striped dress as truly as a mirror. His sword was buckled at his side, and he carried his tall silver and brass helmet under one arm. The helmet’s crest, composed of a horse’s long tail which had been dyed blood red, trailed almost to the floor.
Viola cleared her throat. “Lord Simon, may I present Mr Pope?”
The big Guardsman whirled around to see Julian for the first time. “I beg your pardon, sir!” he said angrily. “I did not see you there.”
“It’s this cursed invisibility,” Julian kindly explained. “It comes and goes.”
“Mr Pope!” Viola rebuked him. “Have some respect for your betters. This gentleman is Lieutenant-Colonel Lord Simon Ascot of the Royal Horse Guards Blue.”
Lord Simon smiled at her warmly. “That’s very good, Miss Andrews,” he congratulated her. “Most females get my ranks and titles hopelessly muddled. Just the other day, a viscountess introduced me as ‘My Lord-Lieutenant Ascot.’”
When he looked at Julian, Lord Simon’s smile grew colder and did not extend to his eyes, which were pale green, in contrast with his bronzed skin and dark hair. “You should have made your presence known, sir,” he said crisply.
“Mr Pope was just leaving,” Viola said firmly. “Weren’t you, Mr Pope?”
“On the contrary,” said Julian. Parting the tails of his plain black coat, he sat down again on the purple sofa. “You were just about to ring for more tea, weren’t you, Miss Andrews?” Viola glared at the smiling young man. Audacity, she was discovering, was a quality best admired in theory. In real life, it was vastly annoying when men did not do as they were told. “You are confused, Mr Pope,” she said angrily. “I was not about to ring for more tea. I was about to go for a drive in the park with Lord Simon, and you were on your way to–to China, was it not? I understand there’s plenty of tea there!”
“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t leave England just yet,” Julian replied smoothly. “Not until I know the Mall is quite secure,” he added, turning to Lord Simon with mocking concern. “No fatalities in today’s exercises, I trust, my lord? No one injured on parade?”
“Injured? Don’t be ridiculous,” Lord Simon sniffed. “Go and put on your bonnet, my dear,” he told Viola. “Wait until you see the cunning little ponies I have just bought.”
With infinite care, Julian selected a macaroon from the plate. “I’m glad no one was hurt,” he said. “It’s almost impossible to replace a Guardsman, you know. Real soldiers just aren’t pretty enough to put on parade.”
Viola gasped at the brazen insult, and Lord Simon saw at once that could no longer ignore the other man if he meant to keep the young woman’s esteem. Anger flashed in his green eyes. “And what was your regiment, sir?” he sneered.
Julian told him.
“Ah, yes. Infantry,” Lord Simon sniffed. “Out of Sussex, I believe.”
“That’s right. Nothing succeeds like Sussex.”
Viola could not help but smile at such an arrogant motto.
Lord Simon’s eyes narrowed as he studied his opponent. His lips curved in a thin smile. “I know you, don’t I?” he said suddenly.
“No,” said Julian, frowning.
“Yes, I do,” said Lord Simon, still smiling his thin smile. “Someone pointed you out to me in White’s Club. You were dining with the Duke of Fanshawe. You’re the blackguard who broke Lady Jersey’s bank. Can you deny it?”
For the first time, the young man seemed discomfited. Lord Simon smiled triumphantly. “You are no better than a thief, sir. If there were any justice, Miss Andrews, this upstart would be in prison, but there is a loophole in the law, or so I understand.”
Viola had larger concerns than justice. “Are you acquainted with the Duke of Fanshawe, Mr Pope?” she demanded.
“His name is not Pope,” said Lord Simon. “It’s something like ‘Devilish’ or ‘Devious.’”
“Devize!” Viola exclaimed in dismay. Her legs felt unsteady, and she was forced to sit down. “You are Mr Devize? You told me your name was Pope!” she accused him angrily.
“No, I didn’t,” said Julian. “I told you my brother’s name was Pope.”
Her dark eyes blazed. “And from that I should have inferred that your name was, in fact, Devize?” she cried, outraged. “Oh! How stupid of me!”
Julian had the grace to look ashamed. “Miss Andrews, I can explain,” he began.
“No, don’t, please,” she said quickly. “Don’t explain.”
Viola did not believe in coincidence, or even in fate. There could only be one reason for Mr Devize’s presence here: Dickon must have sent him to find her.
Viola blushed hotly as she recalled Mr Devize’s voice in her ear, urging her to meet him later that night. She had thought he was attempting to seduce her, when, of course, all he had in mind was restoring her to her brother’s custody. She had protested just like the heroine of a melodrama. What a conceited little fool he must think her!
“I understand perfectly, Mr Devize,” she said as calmly as she could. “There’s no need to explain. Please don’t say anything more.”
To her grateful relief, Mr Devize did not expose her true identity.
“All the world knows of your crimes, sir,” said