“Oh! I’ll look like—”
“A widow after tender meat.”
“A tender wastrel, even. People will think me a complete fool. Or a predatory harpy. Harriette, he’s eight years younger than I am!”
“I was eight years younger than Cedric.”
“It’s not the same.” Maria sucked in a deep breath. “I have to do it, though. Maurice swindled his father out of that money. Ruined him, and pushed him to suicide. I have to put it right, at any cost.”
She leaned her head back against the satin squabs. “Did I mention that he is beautiful? Hair the color of primroses. Classic bones. Lips so perfect they could have been carved. A mess, of course, after the wild life he’s led recently, and scarred. But still, Lord Vandeimen is the most beautiful young man I ever stood face to face with.”
And the world would think her turned idiot because of it.
Harriette squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, dear. While you’re pulling him back from the brink, I’ll look around for a suitable young lady for him, one with a strength of character and a generous dowry.”
Maria smiled. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She firmly ignored a betraying stir of dissatisfaction with that plan.
Chapter Two
Van woke when the clock persistently chimed. Damn it, he’d drifted into a daze or a doze. He sank his head into his hands. Wine and a sleepless night had given him a tantalizing dream. Twenty thousand pounds. If only it were true.
He suddenly looked around the room. Had it been a dream?
His pistol still lay on the table, but then, he’d taken it from her and put it there. She hadn’t conveniently left her shawl, or a glass slipper.
The Golden Lily. Could his imagination really have conjured up a flesh-and-blood woman of such distinctive appearance? That long, sleekly curved elegance and smooth oval face. That creamy skin which flushed so delicately when another woman would have been beet red, and gone waxy with fear.
Hell. He’d deliberately frightened her!
But no one was mad enough to offer twenty thousand pounds for nothing. It must have been a dream.
But what if—?
He was trying to sift truth from fantasy when someone tapped tentatively on his door. His heart suddenly raced. Was she back, but more cautious now?
“Yes?”
The door creaked open, and his valet, Noons, peered around it. His ex-valet.
Disappointment swept through him like a chill. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Wizened Noons smiled tentatively. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but I went as you ordered. But I got to thinking about how you’d manage alone. You know you’re no hand with your clothes, my lord. I’d be more than happy to stay with you until things come right again. And then stay on,” he added hastily. “Begging your lordship’s pardon...”
Van closed his eyes. If his pistol had worked, poor Noons would have returned to find the body, and after he’d dismissed him specifically to avoid that.
Or no. Mrs. Celestin would have. Bad planning, Van. Very bad. You should at least have locked the door.
He opened his eyes to see that the weatherbeaten creases on Noon’s face were crumpling even further. The man thought Van would dismiss him again.
Making an impulsive decision, he surged to his feet. “I was just going to set the Runners to find you, Noons! Our fortunes are reversed. I have hopes of a rich widow, but I can hardly go a-courting without you to turn me out well, can I?”
He’d go to Perry’s Bank. If the money was there, he’d have a start. If it wasn’t, he’d complete what Mrs. Celestin had interrupted. Somehow without hurting Noons more than he had to.
Misery switched to blinding joy in the valet’s face. “My lord! My lord! Oh, this is such good news! I was so afraid... I won’t tell you what I was afraid of—”
His eyes, glancing around, had found the pistol.
