The Jacobite's Return (The Georgian Rebel Series) by Jane Godman Page A

keep his hands from Sheridan’s throat. Perhaps Sir William was right. Jack did not believe he would ever love again, but maybe in time he could offer his hand to another woman. Someone who would understand and make no romantic demands on him. In exchange he would provide her with a title and an undemanding husband. The thought made him grimace. It was far from how he had pictured his married life with Rosie.
    In the meantime, the more he reflected on that scene in Her Grace of Rotherham’s ballroom, the more he knew Sir William was wrong about one thing. In one respect at least, Rosie hadn’t moved on. Although he had only seen her with Sheridan for minutes, Jack’s instincts told him Rosie’s marriage wasn’t happy. Anyone who didn’t know her as well as Jack did would be fooled. Not me. Under that veneer of serenity, she loathes Sheridan as much as she ever did. Of that Jack was absolutely sure. So why the hell did she marry him?
    Swearing to keep his distance was all very well. No matter how much he wanted to protect his own heart from further damage, when you cared for someone the way he had once cared for Rosie—still cared for Rosie— you didn’t walk away if you suspected they might be in trouble. Not if you were Jack Lindsey.
    There was only one person who could provide the answers to his questions. Despite his vow to the contrary, Jack needed to speak to Rosie.
    * * *
    The masquerade was well attended, and New Spring Gardens provided a spectacular setting for the brilliant occasion. Illuminated by thousands of globe lamps festooned from branch to branch amongst the dense foliage of the trees, the revellers—their identities protected by masks and domino cloaks—danced and partook of supper in their booths or strolled along the avenues and walks. Lady Drummond, who had not accompanied the party that evening, had impressed upon Rosie the significance of being seen with Clive at such a public event.
    “’Twill be quite delightful when the unmasking ceremony takes place at midnight and all our acquaintance are able to observe you together,” she explained, forever seeking an opportunity to promote Clive as a loving family man.
    She had also lectured Rosie extensively on the importance of keeping to the main avenues at Vauxhall and never, ever allowing herself to stray into the infamous dark walks.
    “For ’tis there, my love, that loose women and wild bucks engage in their assignations. Any lady seen among those walks would be considered fast , and that, as you know, will never do for one with a name as noble as ‘my Lady Sheridan’.” Her tone sounded hushed, scandalised and intrigued all at the same time.
    Mrs. Henderson, Lady Drummond’s dearest friend, had invited a party of young people to join her and partake of wafer-thin ham shavings and heady arrack punch, a liquor made from mixing grains of the benjamin flower with rum. Their hostess was an indifferent chaperone, being far too busy eyeing the company through her lorgnette and attempting to guess the identity of various masqueraders. The booth was bustling with Mrs. Henderson’s own party and various visiting acquaintances. It was impossible to keep track of the comings and goings as groups and couples left to dance or walk, and returned later to partake of refreshments. Clive, after remaining particularly taciturn throughout dinner, promptly abandoned Rosie to her fate and went off in search of other amusement. Since she was glad to be relieved of his company, she did not enquire what form his chosen entertainment might take. She was content to remain in the booth and watch the polite world enjoy its pleasures.
    Rosie noticed Perry immediately, since no mask or domino could disguise his willowy elegance or the sartorial glory of his outfit. His companion, a less eye-catching figure in a dark-grey domino, also drew her gaze, but for very different reasons. Jack could never disguise himself from her. She decided he did not look like a man