But... hedidwant this final season of masquerades to be the most memorable he had ever thrown.
Miss Thorne’s expression was earnest. “All you need... is a lady’s touch.”
He snorted. “Are you a lady?”
“A woman’s touch,” she amended, unperturbed by the dig.
It wasn’t a dig, he realized. It was truth. Only someone of his class would be offended at being considered lower than a lord or lady. Miss Thorne was nothing at all like—
Nothing like him.
Intriguing.
He had not sought an outside opinion, but he could not find one further afield from peers and peeresses than the red-lipped woman standing in the middle of his parlor.
“What if I told you this was my last year for masquerades?” he said. “Perhaps I am no longer interested in such indecorous amusements because I am on the hunt for a wife.”
She shrugged. “What if I told you that you might find your future wife under this very roof, smitten thanks to the improvements we’re about to undertake?”
“I would laugh at your naivety,” he said, and did just that. “The kind of lady I’m looking for would never attend such saturnalia.”
“I laugh atyournaivety,” she said, and made an equal show of doing so. “I thought you said these were ton parties. Perhaps only a handful of guests have bowed before the Queen, but why would you assume that one’s comportment whilst anonymous is the same as when promenading with your precious peers? Whatever kind of woman you want your wife to be, she can be thatandattend a masquerade at the same time.”
No. She would not be innocent and pure after attending one of Julian’s masquerades. But did hewantinnocent and pure? Or did he want a wife he might have something in common with? A marriage in which both parties could tolerate each other’s company?
The option had not occurred to him.
He’d had an intended once. Long ago. He hadn’t picked her. Their fathers had declared the match. Julian had been eight years old. Too young to understand about marriage, but old enough to know he didn’t wantthatgirl with the runny nose and the tendency to knock over all of his belongings.
One day, instead of going on a picnic with the two families, Julian had thrown an unholy fit instead. Father had locked him in his bedchamber and told Julian he was to be deprived of all future entertainments until he got control of himself.
Sudden rainfall and the unexpected collapse of an old bridge prevented the others from ever coming home. Eight-year-old Julian’s wish to make his own decisions was granted at the cost of his family.
He got control of himself.
Eventually.
And then never, ever relinquished that control again.
He would wrest control of this situation, too. He could grant Miss Thorne an invitation. What harm would it do? He could rescind her welcome at any time. If he did not like what she had to say, he did not have to listen.Hewas the one with the power. Just as he liked it.
“Tomorrow night,” he said. “Ten o’clock. My night butler will be expecting you.”
“Tomorrow and every Saturday,” she countered. “I am talented, but not a miracle worker. I will need time to familiarize myself with every detail before I can be expected to—”
“Tomorrow night. Ten o’clock,” he enunciated. “Your continued presence will be determined on a minute-by-minute basis. Our agreement ends the day I’m betrothed or the moment you disappoint me, whichever comes first.”
She stared at him.
Speechless? Miss Thorne? He was glad to see something could achieve it. “I suppose you expect to be paid for your so-called ‘expertise’ overseeing a party you’ve never attended?”
“First night free,” she said quickly, having found her voice again. “To prove to you I possess the skills I claim to have. After that, I think a weekly rate of...”
She named a number that was laughably small for him, but he supposed comparable to what an accomplished courtesan might gather in monthly presents from her patrons. Miss Thorne intended to take advantage of his wealth, but not extort it. Asking just enough for it to be a windfall for her, whilst being negligible to him.
She was clever. He would give her that. And presumptuous, which was a less positive trait. Whether she would prove herself any good to him remained to be seen.
“Not a minute past ten o’clock or your name will be crossed from the list.” He turned on his heel. “Barnaby will show you out.”
