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She should lean away from him, but her body refused to move. “You know, I have had suitors before.” She was not as green as he supposed.

“Have you?” He pulled the wool garment from around her throat.

“Once, the woodcutter’s son asked my father what price he would accept for me. And another time the neighborhood widower who raised pigeons on his roof told my father that the sight of me in our courtyard had inspired him to think of marriage again.”

“How is a fellow to impress a woman of such vast experience, I wonder?” She could hear the laughter in his voice. And felt the change in him when the laughter died.

He lowered his head and leaned forward across the narrow space where their breath already mingled in the frigid air. Then he kissed her.

At first it was a lazy, teasing kiss, lips meeting in a touch as light and airy as words and wit. It coaxed her along, floating lightly on the tide of their wordless exchange, until she was far out from shore, not anchored any more to the bench of a rocking carriage rolling through London. A deeper current of feeling welled up and knocked her off-balance. She clung to him more. He was solid and real.

His mouth took firm and unyielding possession of hers. The kiss became a question about who she truly was, the husband hunter she claimed to be, or a daring woman who would put her trust in a stranger who was still a mystery to her yet who seemed to understand her as no one ever had. The dark, rocking coach seemed made for their encounter. He slid so that his body angled down and made a hard slope against which she lay, held in place by his arm around the small of her back and his mouth on hers.

As long as she kept the little book secure, and as long as no one else discovered the map, her actions would not endanger her father. As soon as the thought occurred, she broke away, her breath warm and ragged, her body vibrating with sensation. “Thank you for the lesson. It was most instructive. I will know how to avoid being alone with any government protocol officer trying to persuade me to steal a painting from one of his majesty’s subjects.”

Their carriage halted. They had reached the hotel. She scrambled back on to the seat, rearranging her disordered skirts. It was time to break free of the hold he had on her, to remember that she had only one purpose in London, and it was not to find a husband but a father.

* * * *

An hour after the last guests had left, Clive found his mother at her dressing table as her maid undid her coiffure. At forty-six, Phoebe Walhouse had no reliance on dyes. What silver had invaded her gold curls was disguised in the intricate arrangements her expert dresser created.

Clive seated himself and waited for a flushed Allegra to finish recounting the attentions she had received from eligible admirers. As impatient as he was to keep his evening appointment with Pamela, he felt the fresh recital of Allegra’s triumphs would dispose his mother to favor his request.

When Phoebe dismissed her maid and Allegra yawned, he brought the matter up. “Mother, don’t you think we should invite Jane Fawkener to make her home with us this Season?”

“Her home?” Allegra squeaked. “Mother, you wouldn’t. It’s my season.”

Clive countered, “So it is, dear sister, but you wouldn’t want anything said against you when your cousin is received elsewhere and people wonder why we haven’t taken her in.”

Allegra opened her mouth, but Phoebe silenced her with a look. “Really, Clive, Jane Fawkener is no concern of yours. If your father is not troubled about the girl, you need not be either.”

“Mother, what could be the harm in having Jane with us for a few weeks? The Season proper hasn’t even begun yet, and there’s no danger of Jane poaching any of Allegra’s beaux.”

“She kept Eversley to herself all night,” Allegra protested.

Clive shrugged. “You don’t want Eversley.”

“That’s not the point. He’s my beau not hers.”

“Children, this squabble is absurd.” Phoebe waved her maid away. “The girl is plain enough. She makes a good foil for Allegra’s brilliance. I distrust her eyes though. I think she has an unbecoming habit of judging for herself.”

Clive thought about it. “She’s merely ignorant and cautious.”

Phoebe took a jar of cream in her hands and removed the lid. “Perhaps. I’m sure her father never taught her anything useful. And he certainly never taught her to regard family as she ought. You can’t expect the Walhouses to do a great deal for her, Clive. After all, it is Allegra’s season to shine.”

“We could put her up in the spare room next to Annabel’s for the Season? She’d be in nobody’s way there. Her father did ask.”

“You saw that letter, did you? I’m sure Fawkener never expected us to take her in. He never did the least thing for your father when he had difficulties.”

“I thought they went to Eton together.”

Phoebe gave him a condescending look. “Really, that old school ties thing is passé.”

A rustling from under the bed made Allegra jump. Clive turned to see the bed skirts sticking out.

Allegra held her wrapper tight about her. “Mother, what is it?”

“It’s me.” Annabel wriggled out from under the bed in her night rail with a blue counterpane wrapped around her shoulders. “Couldn’t we have Jane? I like her.”