Laura knew it wasn't easy for her father to give up on anything. Even with Richard's door closed against him, Laura feared he would attempt to approach her in public places, or by subterfuge gain entry to her home. For some weeks, this fear haunted her, until it was suddenly relieved when, riding in the park, she turned a corner and came suddenly upon her father, walking with a friend of his.

For a moment, she almost reined her horse in, and, sensing her distraction, it lazily slowed. Then she dug her heels into its sides and it trotted reluctantly on again, but not before she heard her father's companion say:

"Isn't that your daughter, my lord?"

And her father's cold reply: "You are mistaken. I have no daughter."

It was a relief and a humiliation for Laura to hear it. What had decided her father to cut her, she did not know. Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he had learned to give up. Or, more likely, he had come to believe it served him better to distance himself from her and Albroke than to continue his attempt to persuade them to marry. But either way, the next few times she accidentally ran into him in public, she had the relief and satisfaction of seeing him turn away and pretend not to see her.

By now, the season was progressing, and Laura was becoming used to being a sensation just as people were beginning to grow bored of her. She no longer caused a stir when she walked into a room — that privilege was reserved for a certain young actress who had married an elderly duke, or for a continental princess who had, it was whispered, murdered her three husbands and come to London to find a fourth. With fewer eyes upon her now, Laura found she could even enjoy society, in her own small way. She liked dancing, for one thing. Richard did not dance, nor did she have entrée into any of London's exclusive clubs, but a private ball offered partners enough and the music was no worse there than at Almack's. Plus, there was an intriguing and gratifying novelty in dancing with another man with the approval of her own. Richard liked seeing her dance and had none of Maidstone's obsessive jealousy to poison her enjoyment of it.

Conversation, too, when it was not about her, began to have some appeal. Laura could not deny she was curious about the continental princess or the clever actress herself. And there were the usual joys of London shopping and play and park and museum, which she had the freedom and finances to fully exploit for the first time in her life.

One rainy day in late June, she was idling amongst some stone tablets in the museum when, coming around a display, she came face to face with Lady Elizabeth, who was leading a little girl and a little boy either side of her and followed behind by a nursemaid loaded with umbrellas and parcels.

Laura said hello, not expecting any reply, but Elizabeth surprised her by saying, rather archly,

"Good afternoon, Lady Laura." She then nodded her head at her children. "My son, Frederick, and my daughter, Margaret."

"It's nice to meet you," Laura said, curtsying helplessly before the two ivory-faced children.

The little girl executed a perfectly formed curtsy and the boy a stiffly angled bow. Neither said anything, and their eyes stared glassily back at Laura. They looked exactly like little china dolls. Not a curl was out of place. Not a wrinkle on their stiff white clothing.

"How very... well behaved they are," she said helplessly, thinking it was the compliment Elizabeth would like best.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, with grave pride. But the interview was not over yet. She dropped her children's hands. "Go with Nanny around the displays, children," she said, as a general might to an army, and the children stepped away from her side and dutifully started to march around the displays with their nanny shuffling after them. Laura noticed that they stared at the inscriptions for several minutes each, though she was sure the boy was too young yet to read.

"I'm glad I chanced upon you," Elizabeth said, directing Laura into a little alcove near a window, where the light trickled in greyishly through the rain. "I have decided for my children's sake that I cannot visit Richard's house while you are there, but there is no one to see us here so we might have a little chat."

From Elizabeth, this was downright friendly. Laura eyed her suspiciously.

"If you wanted to talk to me we might have arranged a meeting."

"Oh no, quite impossible." Elizabeth shook her head. "I must think of my children. And your reputation. Really, my lady, you've quite barred my own brother from me."

"He would come if you sent for him."

"But you have him quite under your thumb." Elizabeth gave her a knowing, unpleasant smile. "I've never seen him so took in before. I always thought he was the clever one. But it seems, every man has his weakness. Only women are immune."

"From being taken in by men?" Laura laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty stone hall. "Hardly."

There was an intelligent, interested look in Elizabeth's eyes, like she was filing that laugh away for later. Laura grew cautious again.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about? I hope you're not going to try to persuade me to leave him. I won't, you know."

"I wouldn't be so crude." Elizabeth looked over at her children, out of earshot on the other side of the hall. "They were supposed to be hers, you know, when she came of age."

"What were?" Laura asked, puzzled.

"The sapphires." Elizabeth looked jealously at Laura's bare neck. "Did he say he's given them to you? He can't. They belong to the family, you know. Not to him alone."

"They're only paste," Laura said defensively.

"Paste!" Elizabeth scoffed. "No one in my family has ever worn paste! Don't tell me that."

It wasn't a surprise somehow. Perhaps Laura had always suspected it. There was something a little too convenient about Richard having paste jewellery lying about his home.

"It's one thing for you to spend his money," Elizabeth said, in a low, threatening voice, "but I won't have you taking from my children what is their due. As long as Richard is unmarried and childless, my daughters have certain rights, certain expectations from their uncle. I want you to know that. Richard seems to have forgotten."

Laura bit her lip. Elizabeth, looking her up and down with contemptuous, knowing eyes, seemed to see her point had gone home.

"He's at the time of life when a man begins to make stupid decisions," she said, in an almost confidential, amicable tone. "I don't really mind, you know, since you're not as bad as if it were, well, what Neil did. You're at least of our class. But I want you to know there is a limit. You may run his house, you may head his dinner table, sleep in his bed, spend his money, wind him around your clever little fingers, but don't touch my daughter's inheritance. I won't let you."

"Can you even stop me?" Laura asked automatically, but she was seeing the honest look in Richard's eyes as he murmured 'they're only paste' and wondering what else he was lying to her about.

"I'll find a way. I look out for my daughters." Elizabeth stepped out of the alcove. "You have been warned."

Elizabeth's footsteps echoed across the stone floor, and a moment later, she and her doll-like children and the trailing nanny had gone through into the next room. Laura stayed by the window, watching until the rain slowed to a drip, and then walked home. Richard was in his study with a visitor when she got back. She waited in the dining room until she heard his guest leave and then came through to see him. He looked up from his desk with a smile that faded when he saw her expression.

"What's wrong?"

"I want you to take the jewellery back."

Richard stiffened. "What?"

"The pearls. The chains. The jet. The garnets. And the sapphires." She squared her palms on the edge of his desk and looked down at him. "I know they're real. You lied. I wouldn't have worn them if I had known."

By the flash of guilt on his face, she knew he had intended to deceive her.

"I'm sorry."

"It was indecent, Richard. It made me look like a—"

Mistress. Which she was. But.

The silence hung in the air for some time. Then Richard broke it with a sigh.

"You're right. I shouldn't have done it. But these things don't mean the same to a man. I didn't see any harm in it."

Elizabeth's words had hurt her more than she knew. Laura looked away unhappily. The sapphires belonged to the Armiger family. To Richard's wife. And even if she didn't yet exist, that didn't make it right. She could imagine what people had thought. It must have looked grasping, covetous.

"I'm sorry," Richard said softly, getting up and coming round the desk to touch her cheek. "I didn't mean any harm."

She nodded slowly and let him kiss her. He drew back and looked into her eyes. Then he raised his hands to her ears and gently prised off the pearl earrings she'd forgotten she was wearing. She rolled a chain from her wrist and dropped it in the palm of his hand. His fingers closed over it.

"Keep them for your nieces," she said. "I don't want what's theirs."

"What about something that's all yours?" he said, with a small smile. "Before we go to Albroke for the summer, will you allow me to buy you something of your own?"

"You pay me a stipend."

"This would be a gift." He dropped the jewellery on the desk behind him and kissed her again. "Let me give you something. I want to give you something." He spoke between kisses, his lips close against her flesh. Despite her dark mood, Laura felt the familiar tug of want rising inside her.

"You already give me so much," Laura protested, turning her face away.

Undeterred, he kissed her hair, and then her cheek, his hands running lightly up and down her waist and leaving a weightless, sparkling sensation where they passed. "But how many presents have I ever given you? None. I want to give you a present. From a— friend. To a very good friend."

Somehow, her face was towards his again. He kissed her persuasively. The ache of want swelled within her. He locked his hands behind her and pulled her suddenly close against him, making her gasp.

She clutched at him, the desire flaring through her whole body. It wasn't fair, she thought with distant rationality, that she was his mistress yet he seemed so entirely to be the master of her body and senses. She traced her finger down the line of his cheek, her breath coming fast, though he'd stopped kissing her and was only holding her now — very, very close.

"Friend?" she said dizzily, seeking any attempt to distance herself, to take back the control which he seemed to have in his lips and the tips of his fingers. "No, Richard, we're not friends, we're—" his face suddenly fell and she reversed her intent "—we're lovers."

The word seemed perhaps too strong to her, too intimate, but there was no taking it back now. Besides, what else could she call it? His hips were square against hers and she was almost painful with the desire to have him inside her. That was not the desire of a mistress. A mistress was supposed to please, not be pleased, not be struck senseless by her master's pleasuring of her.

"And lovers can never be friends?" he teased, a sudden smile on his face. He kept one hand behind her, locking her in place against him, and with the other arrested her own, which were attempting, seemingly of their own accord, to undo the buttons of his trousers. "Now what are you doing with that, my love?"

"Making friends with it," she said stubbornly.

He burst out laughing and she found herself smiling despite herself. She gave up and kissed his hand.

"Buy me a present then," she said, her bad mood blowing away. "From to friend to friend or lover to lover as you please."

"Oh?" He sobered and kissed her again, more urgently this time. "Thank you. But I insist on being both, my dear."