Page 1 of Sinfully Daring

Chapter 1

Dearest Aggie,

Papa has agreed we may host a grand garden party this summer, here at Dern. He hardly ever likes to entertain here, so this is a remarkable occurrence. Even better, I have secured invitations for you and your guardian! I can’t wait.

I am so excited for you to be here, for it is to be a lavish affair with everyone invited, even Lord Kilbane! Papa refused to let him come but Mama insists we cannot be so rude as to cut him for it will cause a stir. Papa says he’s perfectly content to cause a stir, but Mama told him he must not. He scowled an awful lot until mother promised to make it up to him. I suggested she have the kitchens make his favourite biscuits, but she just smiled and said to leave Papa to her.

―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ Barrington (daughter of Lucian and Matilda Barrington, The Most Hon’ble Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu) to her friend, Miss Agatha Smith.

4th June 1842, The Fashionable Hour, Hyde Park, London.

Rosamund reached down and patted her mare’s smooth neck. Melody preened under her touch and shook her glossy head. She had every right to look smug, however, for she was a beautiful creature, jet black save for a white star on her forehead, and she was behaving impeccably, which was more than could be said for some.

“If people do not have the decency to learn to ride properly and pick a mount that suits their abilities, they ought not be allowed out,” her father grumbled beside her as they walked their mounts down Rotten Row.

On a fine June afternoon during the Fashionable Hour, the entire ton seemed to have come out to enjoy the sunshine, to chatter and pose and feel well pleased with themselves.

Rosamund followed his gaze to where a slender young man was struggling to control a large bay gelding. The beast was sweating and prancing about, clearly unused to the crowds and the man on his back was not helping the situation by shouting at the poor creature.

“Look at that blasted fool. He ought never to have brought that poor animal out in this throng.”

“He or the horse are going to get hurt,” Rosamund fretted, noticing how the animal’s anxiety was upsetting others around it

“Sir. I say, you there!” her father bellowed, until the young man stopped berating his horse long enough to look up. He paled dramatically upon seeing who had addressed him. Well, a duke had that effect on people, even when he wasn’t looking irritated. “Take that poor animal back home. He’s too much for you and you’re going to get yourself killed, or some other poor blighter. Go on. Off with you!”

Rosamund kept her eyes firmly on the path ahead of her, mortified on behalf of the foolish young man. He hardly needed to be humiliated further by seeing her watching him too.

“Papa,” she admonished as they rode on. “Could you not have been a little more discreet?”

“No,” he said shortly. “The fellow needs to know he can’t act in such a reckless fashion without consequences. Perhaps next time he’ll think twice.”

“Well said, your grace,” said an amused voice from beside them. “Lady Rosamund, a pleasure.”

Rosamund turned, pleased to see Viscount Hargreaves on a handsome chestnut gelding.

“Good day to you, my lord.”

Hargreaves smiled, tipping his hat to her before turning back to her father. “I am grateful you stepped in, for you saved me the trouble. The fool is my cousin and a great favourite of my wife’s. It would not have gone down well if I had been the one to tear him off a strip yet again.”

“Well met, Hargreaves,” her father said with a nod. “And I am happy to be of assistance. Can you not find a more suitable mount for the idiot?”

Lord Hargreaves grimaced. “I have provided several more suitable mounts, to no avail. Sadly, he insists on pretending he can handle a highly strung devil like Baron there. I have intervened frequently but my most diplomatic attempts at good advice only seem to make matters worse.”

“Hmph,” Papa replied, disgruntled. “Ah, there’s St Clair. Excuse me, Hargreaves, I must have a word.”

Papa cantered ahead to catch up with the earl, leaving Rosamund with Lord Hargreaves.

“Well, this is fortuitous,” he said, his brown eyes twinkling. “I despaired of ever finding you in this melee.”

Rosamund looked at him in surprise. “You were looking for me?”

Hargreaves nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Your quarry is here, my lady.”

“My…?” Rosamund’s mouth dropped open, and she felt herself turn pink.

He was speaking of the Marquess of Montagu’s eldest son, Lord Ashburton.

His lordship chuckled. “Oh, come, come. I’m only teasing you. The object of every well-bred young lady is to find a suitable husband. I’m quite certain you would rather be off doing something more interesting, but there’s no denying the truth. Your father brought you here to be seen and admired by all the eligible young men, did he not?”