The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

An Invitation To Scandal Lorraine Heath

London — 1820

Your presence is requested for a private dinner at midnight at the home of Miss Arianna Vernon. A carriage will be sent at half past ten.

Sitting in his library, which had once housed hundreds of books and now sported only empty shelves, Nicholas Wynter, the Earl of Harteley, squinted at the words inscribed on the invitation that had been delivered by a dark-haired lad barely out of short pants. He had hammered at the door until Harteley had been given no choice except to answer in order to stop the sound from echoing through the hollow hallways. He had few possessions left to absorb the impact of noise. Even his own footsteps had begun to grate on his nerves and slice into the dull ache in his head that constantly accompanied him as he sought to finish off what remained of his father’s fine spirits.

The cheeky little bugger, dressed in purple livery that looked as though it had been newly stitched, had curled up his lip in disgust, obviously mistaking Harteley for a maggot rather than a recently anointed lord. Harteley’s black hair had grown unfashionably long and he’d not shaved in three days. With no servants to tend to his needs, he saw little point in maintaining appearances while in residence. He’d discarded his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat.

“Give this to yer master immediately,” the lad had ordered, extending the invitation.

Harteley had merely laughed and begun closing the door. The boy had blocked his actions by placing his foot, protected by a well-made boot, in the doorway. It irked that this urchin appeared more aristocratic than Harteley, that he possessed confidence and didn’t cower from his task.

“It’s me mistress’ business. It’s important.” He’d shoved the invitation and a crown into Harteley’s hand. “Fer yer trouble.”

That had stopped Harteley’s laughter with such force that he’d nearly choked, stopped it because his fingers had closed around the coin as a drowning man might latch on to a rope tossed his way. He’d watched the lad scamper to a waiting coach and leap up to take his position at its rear, thought he’d seen a curtain at the window billow slightly before the driver had urged on the matching greys.

Now Harteley slowly savoured his whisky and wondered who the deuce was Miss Arianna Vernon. Such an unusual name. Not one he’d easily forget. But forget it he had — if he’d ever known it. He tapped the gilded invitation against his tan-clad thigh. It wasn’t uncommon for women to seek his company, but never was it handled so formally.

A woman who began a dalliance with an invitation would no doubt be cold in bed. Probably the reason she sought him out. He had a reputation for melting the most solid of ice. He actually enjoyed it, took pride in his prowess. He had little enough to offer the world.

But of late, he’d grown bored. Women were too easy. Everything had become too easy — except survival and maintaining the last shreds of his dignity. It had been almost a year since he’d inherited the title and the crumbling estate that came with it. He wasn’t certain how much longer he could retain the London residence. The debt collectors were knocking on his door with as much determination as had the lad with the invitation.

Through the blur of too much liquor, he again read the words. When the true state of his affairs became known — and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep them hidden — women would no doubt scorn and avoid him. He might as well take advantage while he still had the opportunity.

The coach arrived promptly at half past ten. Harteley had bathed, shaved and donned his most flattering clothes: blue tailcoat, white shirt, white cravat, white silk waistcoat, black trousers. Oddly he felt more himself than he had in days.

The lad had once again accompanied the coach. He didn’t seem surprised to discover that Harteley was the master of the house, although he did smirk.

“Have you a name?” Harteley asked, as he followed the boy to the coach where a taller and older footman opened the door.

“Jimmy,” the lad responded, just before his dark eyes widened as Harteley flipped him the crown.

“For your trouble.”

The lad tipped his hat. “Thanks, milord.” And he scrambled on to the back of the coach.

Harteley settled on the plush bench. He recognized good craftsmanship when he saw it. Miss Vernon was exceedingly well off. The horses lurched forwards, and he had to admit it was perhaps the smoothest riding coach in which he’d ever had the pleasure to travel. He was becoming more intrigued with the mysterious Arianna Vernon. Tonight promised to be anything but dull.

He was surprised to discover that her residence was located beyond London, hidden away behind wrought iron and towering elms. The driver and horses must have known the path well, for they barely slowed as they turned off the main road. Yet no torches lit the narrow dirt trail they travelled. Even with a full moon, little was visible before the mansion came into view.

It was as grand, if not grander, than the one Harteley had inherited. Even from a distance, it was evident that it required no repairs. Here, torches flickered to reveal the magnificent estate. In the moonlight, the lawn appeared immaculately groomed.

As soon as the coach rolled to a stop, a footman was opening the door. Harteley disembarked, his curiosity piqued. This could not be the residence of an unmarried lady, even if she did refer to herself as “Miss”. She was either married and in want of an affair, or her father was off tending to business and she was taking advantage. Then another thought occurred to him: perhaps she was an aging spinster, in want of a bit of fun while she was still able to enjoy it. He wasn’t bothered by the possibility. In the dark, the particulars of a woman were left to a man’s imagination. And he’d always possessed a grand imagination.

“If you’ll come along with me, milord,” the footman said.

He followed the footman up the steps and into the impressive manor. He had an eye for the finer things, and this home was filled with them: marble floors, candles flickering in crystal chandeliers, well-made furniture, statues, flower-filled vases, paintings created by the masters.

A butler stepped forwards and bowed slightly. “Milord, the mistress awaits you in the morning room.”

The morning room. Not the bedchamber. Was it possible that she truly was interested in only sharing dinner? He suspected not. She no doubt wanted to be charmed out of her clothing. While he’d begun the adventure with a bit of scepticism, he found he was suddenly very interested in this woman of mystery.

As the butler led the way down the wide hallways, Harteley took in his surroundings. Everything was perfection, nothing was overlooked. Yet he couldn’t help but feel that the elaborate surroundings were all for show, as though someone were striving to be impressive, to deflect interest away from something else. Considering what he’d inherited, he could certainly understand that desire. He’d held on to artwork as long as possible simply because it allowed him to feel civilized. As he’d been forced to sell each piece, so he’d felt as though he were whittling away at the core of who he was. He’d always known his place resided in the upper echelons. Falling from it was a painful and belittling process.

He had moments where he despised his father for his gambling habits, for his preference for selfish pleasures. But then Harteley was not so very different. It was the very reason he’d accepted the invitation. For a night of expected pleasure.

Another footman — good Lord, how many servants did she possess? — opened a door and the butler ushered Harteley inside. One wall and a portion of the ceiling were all glass. Moonlight whispered inside to shimmer along the figure standing near the far windowed corner. Her back was to him, but he was struck by the paleness of her hair, which rivalled the moon. It was caught up in a simple style that revealed the long, slender slope of her neck. He decided he would kiss her nape first and then trail his mouth along her delicate shoulders.

“Miss Vernon,” the butler said, reminding Harteley he was not yet alone with her, “Lord Harteley has arrived.”

She turned from her observation of the gardens, and he nearly stepped back from the unexpected beauty of her. And her youth. She was far too young for a man as jaded as he. Yet he could not deny the appeal of her innocence or the desire to regain his youth that swept through him. She reminded him of an earlier time when his life was filled with choices — and he’d chosen poorly. Why of a sudden these bothersome reminiscences when he’d astutely avoided them for years? Something about her was familiar. The high cheekbones, the delicate chin. He knew her, but from where?

“My Lord.” Her voice was that of a nightingale and so enthralled him that he almost didn’t notice her curtsey.

He couldn’t recall ever being so mesmerized. He bowed. “Miss Vernon. Tell me, have our paths crossed before?”

“We ’ve not been introduced.”

Which was not exactly a proper answer to his question. “You remind me of someone.”

“Do I? Who?”

He shook his head. “I’m not quite sure.”

She released a slight laugh. “Well, when you remember, I do hope you will share.” She indicated a round lace-covered table at the other end of the windows. “Please, let us not delay. Dinner awaits.”

“You’re very young, Miss Vernon.”

She was only momentarily flummoxed by his seemingly random statement. “Two and twenty,” she responded with her chin angled high. She possessed a great deal of pride. Perhaps as much as he once had.

“And I am not so young,” he pointed out, rather unnecessarily.

“Two and thirty.”

He fought not to reveal how it bothered him that she would know his age. It was a small thing, no secret, but he sensed she knew quite a bit more than that. Her next words confirmed it.

“Don’t look so surprised, My Lord. I know a great deal about you.”

“Then you must also know that I prefer women of experience.”

He recognized disappointment in her expression, and it made him feel like a cad. It had been a good long while since he’d given any care to another’s sentiments. Why did he care about hers?

“You are quite presumptuous, My Lord, to think my invitation included anything more than dinner.”

“The hour is late, Miss Vernon. A certain amount of secrecy accompanied my arrival here. It has all the makings of a clandestine meeting.”

She acquiesced with a slight nod. “I’d not expected you to object.”

“Then I have correctly discerned your purpose in sending for me.”

“Hardly. You see, My Lord, I am in need of a champion.”

Arianna could barely suppress her disappointment. He didn’t remember her. Not that she’d truly expected him to. It had been ten years. And she’d been a child. All of twelve. While he’d been a young man searching for an evening’s delight. He’d spoken to her only in passing, but it was enough to win her heart.

He’d been so dashing, so joyful, so handsome. Tonight he was less so on two counts. Still handsome, he now possessed a weariness. While they sat at the table as her butler, Jones, directed the servants who were arranging their dinner, she had an uncanny urge to reach across and massage the furrows from Harteley’s brow. His hair was the black of a moonless night, his eyes the blue of sapphires, rich and deep. Through the years, it had become her favourite gem because it reminded her of him.

If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never forget sitting on the stairs, waiting for her mother to finish with business so they could go to the theatre. He’d been on his way up, following a tart named Satin when he’d spotted Arianna and smiled. The wide grin, so white in the dark face that spoke of a man who possessed a preference for the outdoors, had caused her childish heart to gallop wildly in her chest.

“You’re a bit young for this establishment, aren’t you, poppet?” he’d asked.

She’d been so taken with him that her voice had refused to work. He’d laughed. A soft laugh, a comforting sound, as though he understood why she was so flummoxed. She amused him. Even then, she’d had little doubt that he was accustomed to attracting the attentions of the ladies, that he knew he was too handsome for his own good. He’d cast his spell over her.

“Come along, milord,” Satin had urged, rubbing her silk-clad body against his.

That was all it had taken for Arianna to lose his attention. She was determined not to lose it now.

“I’m hardly the champion sort,” he finally grumbled, after the servants left and Jones took his place across the room, in front of the door. She knew her butler didn’t favour her plan, and that he wouldn’t leave her alone with a man “the likes of Lord Harteley”.

“I believe you underestimate yourself.”

“I know myself very well, Miss Vernon.”

She watched as he wrapped long, tapered fingers around the bowl of his wine glass. That hand possessed strength, and she knew with little enough effort, he could crush the crystal. But instead he held it with a feigned gentleness. She could see in his eyes that he was not happy with this turn of events. He’d expected something quite different from her invitation. But then she’d known he would. It was the reason she’d sent it. The reason she’d not doubted that he’d come here tonight.

She knew a great deal about Nicholas Wynter, Lord Harteley. Her mother had kept accounts on every man who had frequented her establishment. Arianna had scoured them searching for any clues regarding her father. While her endeavours had proved fruitless in that regard, she had been rewarded with bits and pieces about Lord Harteley. An overwhelming relief had taken hold when she realized that he’d never once bedded the infamous Jewel.

She watched now as Harteley savoured his wine while glancing around.

“You are obviously a lady of means,” he said quietly. He pinned her with his blue gaze. “How did you acquire your wealth?”

“My mother. She is responsible for all of this. I grew up here with nannies, and governesses, and tutors.”

“And what of your father?” he asked, but she detected no curiosity in his tone.

A portion of the truth would have to be revealed now, and he would come to understand the formidable task she placed before him. “I have only the foggiest notion as to who he might be.”

And then only if he’d been one of her mother’s numerous paramours or gentleman callers. It was quite possible he’d held a special place in her heart and she’d never noted his name in her records. It was also possible that he was someone of whom she’d been incredibly ashamed and so she’d never written out his name.

A true gentleman, Harteley didn’t bring the question to his lips, but his unwavering gaze asked it just as loudly.

“They were never married,” she admitted.

She saw understanding enter the depths of his blue eyes. “So by champion … you seek a protector. I fear you have misjudged me. I have not the means to take or provide for a mistress — not that I don’t find you beautiful and utterly charming—”

“I care little how you find me, My Lord.” Lie. She cared deeply. She wanted him to be infatuated, to want her as she wanted him. “It is not a protector I seek, but a husband.”

“With your questionable background, you expect to entice a suitable gentleman into asking for your hand?”

She easily caught the rough edge of disbelief in his voice. She was illegitimate, born in shame, although her mother had never allowed her to feel that way. It was only as she’d grown into womanhood that she’d begun to understand her life would include the freedom to do as she wanted but never the respectability that her mother had tossed aside in order to survive. It was the very reason that she’d not asked Harteley outright to wed her. She’d fancied him since she was a child, caught glimpses of him over the years. He deserved a respectable lady. But if while in her company, he were to decide that he wanted more from her …

She would very likely cast aside respectability as her mother had. The heart, after all, could be far more convincing than society, and because she’d lived on the edge of society, she was more accustomed to listening to her heart. Even now it was urging her to cast aside her original plans, to take him as a lover.

The flames from the candles on the table cast a dancing mosaic of shadow and light over the rugged features of his face. He had grown into a handsomeness that was breathtaking, and yet there was a harshness to it, tempered by disappointment. She wondered if he’d known the extent of what he would inherit. So little. Mounting debt and no means to earn the coins needed to alleviate his burden.

“I intend more than that, My Lord. I intend to marry a titled gentleman.”

“You reach beyond your station, Miss Vernon.”

“I have coins aplenty,” she stated. “I know most marriages are based on what is held in the family coffers.”

“I should think you deserve better than that.”

It was the first comment he’d made that gave her hope that her true reason for inviting him here might not be in vain. “And you deserve better than what your father left you.”

His eyes narrowing, he leaned forwards. “How do you know of that?”

“He came to trouble by visiting the unsavoury parts of London, and I … well, I have some knowledge regarding those portions of town.”

“A true lady would not know of such things.”

“I never claimed to be a true lady. However, I wish to be, and I’m willing to do whatever is required. What of you, My Lord? What will you do to be free of debt?”

For the first time since they sat down to dinner, she could see a spark of interest in his expression. “Did you have something in mind, Miss Vernon?”

“Indeed, My Lord. I wish you to marry me.”

God help him, but he wanted to laugh. Instead he excused himself from the table and wandered to the corner where she’d been gazing when he’d first entered the room. He could see a fountain and a white gazebo. He had no reason not to accept her offer. She’d spoken true. A full coffer often married an empty one.

He could restore his estate to its splendour. He could maintain his London residence. His pride would take a bit of a bludgeoning as he’d not be marrying the daughter of a peer. He’d be marrying a woman who’d arrived in the world with a shady past.

He heard her soft footsteps. He slid his gaze towards her, almost becoming lost in her eyes. He’d not been able to tell their shade until they’d sat for dinner and the flames on the table had illuminated them. They were unusual, so pale that her eyes seemed to be little beyond brightness. He couldn’t explain it, but they reminded him of something.

“Must he remain while we discuss this?” he asked, indicating the stoic butler.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Jones, please leave us.”

“Miss—”

“I shall be fine.”

The butler grunted in obvious disapproval, before leaving the room, the door closing quietly in his wake. Harteley turned, pressed his shoulder to the window, and folded his arms across his chest. “You could have anyone. Why me?”

“I can’t have anyone. The circumstance of my birth ensures it.”

“Still, I am left with the impression that you’re not being totally honest with me regarding this arrangement.”

She nodded, glanced down, then lifted her gaze in what he was coming to recognize as her defiance against the world and its unfairness. “My mother is dying.”

He heard true sorrow and bereavement in her voice, and couldn’t prevent his tone from indicating the same. “My condolences.”

“She’s not yet dead. As I said, she’s provided all this for me. My entire life, she has strived to give me what she never had. She has very little time left. I want her to know that I am to marry above my station. I believe it will bring her … peace.”

“And you believe I can be easily bought?”

Her lips parted slightly, and not for the first time that evening he wondered what it might be like to press his against hers. He couldn’t deny that she appealed to him on a primal level. Sharing a marriage bed with her would certainly be no hardship. Lord, who was he striving to convince? Bedding her would be bloody marvellous. He’d want to take her here, in this room, with the sunlight streaming in. He’d have no reason to imagine her as anything other than the beauty she was.

“Have I judged you poorly?” she asked.

“Unfortunately for you, no.”

Her green eyes widened at that. “Why unfortunately?”

“I take after my father. I’m a selfish man who cares about only what benefits and satisfies me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Unfolding his arms, he took a step towards her. “You should, Miss Vernon. If I am to accept your offer for marriage, I believe it imperative that you understand exactly what you have bargained for.” With one hand, he cradled her face and stroked his thumb at the corner of her mouth. “I would not be denied.”

“I would never deny you,” she said on a soft breath.

“I would expect complete obedience.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, shook her head. He couldn’t prevent a corner of his mouth from curling up. “That you would deny me.”

“I cannot promise it, no. I fear I’ve been rather spoiled. I’m accustomed to having my own way.”

“Would you at least try?”

“I would try, but make no promises. What else would you require?”

Her breath was coming in short little gasps; her eyes had grown languid with each stroke of his thumb.

“I believe those are all my requirements,” he murmured. “What of yours? Surely you expect more from me than to simply parade me about as your husband.”

“In public, I would expect you to at least pretend to love me. And we must be seen in public. As soon as possible. My mother still has visitors. Some are men of influence. She must never know that I’ve paid for your … favours. It would break her heart, and I’ll not countenance that. If you cannot put on a good show for her benefit, there is no reason to go any further.”

“My dear Miss Vernon, I believe I have the acting skills necessary to play Romeo.” He held her gaze.

“How many men have you entertained?”

“None. I am still a virgin.” He believed her.

“Pay all my debts, and we shall announce our betrothal.”

“You’re accepting my offer then?”

“I would be a fool not to.” Before she could object or say more, he lowered his head and took possession of her mouth. It had teased him from the moment she’d first spoken. He preferred women of experience, but her innocence was an aphrodisiac. He felt within her quivering slender frame a hesitation and an eagerness. One of her arms wound around his neck, while the other formed a slight buffer between them, her hand clasping his waistcoat. She didn’t object to his questing tongue, rather she welcomed it with seeming abandon. She explored as much as he did. She tasted of wine, so much so that he wondered if she’d fortified herself before his arrival. But there was nothing in her speech or actions to indicate she’d imbibed too much.

Unexpected heat scored him. He’d feared that owing her for the relief her coins would provide would haunt him, would make him unable to desire her, but his fears had been for naught. He wanted her with a desperation that surprised him. Every woman he’d ever had had been held by other men before him. There was something both sweet and enticing to realize that she would come to him pure.

He pulled back from the kiss before he was tempted to take her there and then. He owed her that much at least, to wait until their wedding night. She came with enough scandalous baggage. He had no intention of adding to it.

“Will you secure a special licence?” she asked.

“If you wish.”

“I shall see that all your debtors are paid tomorrow.”

He furrowed his brow. “Are you certain this is the path you wish to take, Miss Vernon?”

“I’ve known since the first moment I set eyes on you.”

The night had gone much better than Arianna had ever dared dream. She’d prepared for bed, but she’d been unable to sleep. After that torrid kiss he’d given her, all she’d been able to do was think about Lord Harteley. She’d feared it was a childish fantasy, but now it would come true. She would marry him.

She arose early and prepared for her journey into town so she could see her solicitor and take care of all that was needed to bring this plan to fruition.

But first she needed to see her mother.

She strolled out of her room and down the hallway to the bedchamber at the end. She took a deep breath, fortifying herself, before opening the door. Morning light and a rose-scented breeze eased in through the windows. The companion who stayed with her mother through the night rose from her chair beside the bed.

“Good morning, Gladys.”

“Miss Vernon.”

“Please fetch us our breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

While Gladys’ heels clicked swiftly over the polished wooden floor, Arianna approached the bed, bent over and pressed a kiss to her mother’s warm brow. “How are you this morning?”

She’d learned not to ask others how her mother was doing. It brought out her mother’s temper. “Talk to me, girl. I’m not dead yet,” she’d lamented on more than one occasion.

“Not too bad,” her mother responded now in a weary voice.

“Are you in much pain?”

“The laudanum helps.”

Arianna sat on the edge of the bed and took her mother’s frail hand, wondering how it could be so cold when her brow was so warm. It had once caressed her back while she wept and swiped away her tears afterwards, with a gentleness that had caused more tears to form. From the moment she’d understood what her mother was, she’d not judged her. Her mother had done all in her power to protect her. Now it was Arianna’s turn to take care of her. She couldn’t cure her of the cancer. Lord knew she’d consulted enough physicians and taken her to the waters. For all the money her mother had accumulated, for all that would be passed on to Arianna, she would willingly give away every ha’penny if it would ease her mother’s suffering, if it would keep her with her.

But to plead for her mother to stay when she was in such pain was too cruel. So all she could do was relieve her worry.

“I’ve been keeping a secret from you,” Arianna said quietly.

“I doubt it, dearest. Even confined to my bed, I hear of a good many things.” Her mother’s once bright pale-green eyes were now dull. Her once glorious mane of hair was now thin and so faint a blonde as to be almost white.

Arianna concentrated on the blue veins lining her mother’s hand. “A gentleman has been calling on me. A lord. An earl. He’s asked to marry me.” She raised her eyes. “I said yes.”

She watched as a long-lost sparkle entered her mother’s eyes. “Who is he?”

“Lord Harteley.”

The sparkle dimmed somewhat. “You do realize in all likelihood he is marrying you for your money.”

Arianna smiled. “You do realize that in all likelihood most men would. You placed me at a disadvantage by providing me with all this wealth.”

“How selfish of me.”

She squeezed her mother’s hand. “I shall be a countess. I shall have entry into all the homes you were denied.”

“I want you to have love.”

Lifting her mother’s hand, she pressed a kiss to her fingertips. “It will come.”

“You were always such a dreamer.”

“Which is the reason you love me.”

“I love you, dearest, because you are mine.”

And now she would be Harteley’s. Surely in time he would come to love her as well.

He’d been swept away by possibilities, by a simple solution to a complicated problem. Before last night, he’d certainly considered marrying a woman who came with a nice dowry, but the thought had rankled. Yes, it was acceptable to marry for money, but still it left a sour taste in his mouth.

Or perhaps it was simply all the whisky he’d drunk after returning to his residence last night. He was in his library now, tipping up one empty bottle after another, searching for one last drop.

“I do hope you won’t imbibe to this extent once we are married.”

He swung around to see Miss Vernon standing in the doorway. Even from this distance, he could see the displeasure marring her lovely features. Perhaps marriage wouldn’t be such a simple solution after all. “What are you doing here?” The words were snapped and churlish.

She merely arched a finely shaped eyebrow and glided over to the window. “I went to see my solicitor. I wanted to let you know that I have made arrangements and all you need do is send him a list of your debts, and he shall see to them. I knocked but no one answered. The door was not locked and so here I am.” Sighing, she glanced around at empty bookshelves and clutter that was of no value. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“Reconsidering your proposal?”

She gave him a soft smile. “No. I told Mother the wonderful news this morning, and she was quite delighted. And relieved. I owe you for that. Whatever the cost, it is worth it.”

He wandered over to where she stood by the window and leaned against the wall. “And if the cost is your unhappiness?”

“Why would your purpose be to make me unhappy?”

“Not my purpose, but … ours is more a business arrangement than anything else.”

“Most marriages among the aristocracy are, from what I understand.”

“Don’t you wish for more?”

“Of course I do. Don’t you?”

He hadn’t meant to reach out to touch her, but she’d left some strands of hair to frame her face and he found himself toying with them, allowing his fingers to graze the soft curve of her cheek.

“Why me? I’ve been sitting here ever since I returned home last night wondering why me? There are other impoverished lords who’d have jumped at your offer. Why did you choose me?”

“Because all the others turned me down.”

His hand stilled, his gut clenched.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. The look on your face. No, no.” She was suddenly so near that he could feel her breath against his chin when she spoke. Her hands were roaming over his face, and he imagined them roaming elsewhere, ungloved, as they’d been the night before following dinner. “I’ve made you feel less than you are,” she said softly. “You are the only one I asked. The only one I would have asked.”

“Why?”

She turned away, and in the sunlight easing through the window, he could see the blush creeping along her face. “Now it is my turn to be hurt. You don’t remember me, but when I was younger, much, much younger, our paths crossed. You spoke to me and I took quite a fancy to you. I’ve heard tales about you over the years. I know your father didn’t treat you kindly and that you were at odds. I know that he cared only for his own pleasures and nothing for the legacy he was leaving you.”

“If you were a child, you viewed me through the eyes of a child. Surely, I have changed in all these years.”

She faced him and flattened her hand against his chest. “Not here, deep inside. I know it seems silly, but I’ve always felt something special where you are concerned. I can’t explain it, but perhaps it’s not meant to be explained.”

He glanced out at the briars and thickets. By the end of the week, he’d have gardeners to put matters to rights. He could hardly fathom how all this had come about. Who’d have thought he’d have a guardian angel?

“If we’re to make an announcement in The Times,” he said quietly, “it would do us in good stead to be seen at least once together. Would you care to take a turn about the park with me?”

Relief and joy lit her face. “I would be delighted.”

Because he didn’t have an open carriage, they took her coach to Hyde Park — after Harteley had made himself presentable — and disembarked to stroll among the greenery. She loved it. Had always loved it. Had loved the city, but her visits here had always been rare because her mother had sought to spare her from the mortification of her origins. She couldn’t help but notice how dashing Harteley was in his fine attire. Perhaps they’d live in his residence and she could visit the park every day.

“How did your mother come by the wealth she will leave to you?” he asked.

Her arm was intertwined with his. It was the only thing that stopped her from stumbling over her own feet. She’d known he’d ask eventually.

“I’m not sure.” It was a lie, of course. Not because she was ashamed of her mother or what she’d done to ensure Arianna had everything, but she knew he would find fault with it and, as a result, with her. Until they were actually married, she’d hold her secrets close. “She thought it crude to speak of money.”

“But surely you have some idea.”

“I never asked.” That was true. She’d never had to. Her mother had always been honest with her. It’s easier to face the truth than to run from it, she’d said. But for now, Arianna preferred to run.

“What is her name?”

“Jane Vernon.” Although her working name had been Jewel. Eventually she’d become the Jewel of London.

“Did she ever marry?”

“One man breaking her heart was enough for her.”

“Do you fear I will break yours?”

“It is worth the risk for her happiness.”

She could feel his gaze settling on her. “You will give everything for her happiness, and then she will leave you.”

“The leaving will hurt terribly, but I will find joy in knowing she goes in peace.”

He released a rough laugh. “I’d not have done the same for my father.”

She didn’t ask after his mother. She knew that she died giving birth to him. “Your father did not sell his … soul to see that you never went without. My mother sacrificed everything for me.”

“I thought you didn’t know what she did.”

“I said I didn’t know how she came to have her money, but I know what she did as a mother.”

“I can’t imagine such devotion.”

She fought not to be disappointed by his words. She still dreamed of a time when his heart would stir with feelings for her. Before she could think of any appropriate comment, a man cutting a dashing figure on a great black horse came to a stop before them.

“Harteley,” he said.

“Ambrose.”

While she’d never seen the fair-haired gentleman, she was familiar with his name. He was a marquess, one day to become a duke.

“Miss Arianna Vernon, allow me to introduce Lord Ambrose,” Harteley said.

“My Lord.”

He swept his hat from his head, his blond curls falling down to frame his elegant face. “Miss Vernon. I hope our paths will cross again. Good day.” With that, he settled his hat back on his head and galloped away.

“That was rather odd,” she said.

“He was trying to determine if your skirt is available for chasing.”

“What conclusion do you think he drew?”

“I’m not sure, but when I see him at the club I shall ensure it is the correct one.”

She squeezed his arm. “I knew I had selected the right man to be my champion.”

He didn’t feel like a champion. Why did she have such faith in him, and why did it suddenly seem so important that she did? The questions fluttered through his mind as he sat in the club slowly sipping a brandy.

It had been a week since the invitation. He’d taken her to the opera. He’d felt pride at having her beside him. She was beautiful and charming. Men had watched them, and he’d seen envy in so many gazes. Women had been curious. He’d seen envy there as well. As she’d promised, his debts — his father’s debts — had been paid. She’d given him a hundred pounds as proof of her faith in him. She’d hired servants for his residence and had a box of books delivered to him for his library.

Their announcement had appeared in The Times and he’d begun the process of obtaining a special licence. He couldn’t deny that he was anticipating the marriage, in particular the wedding night. He had the means now to visit various brothels but he refrained. He could argue that it was because he felt he owed her, but the truth was that no other woman interested him. No other had her smile, her belief in all things good, her loving heart. He’d never had any interest in owning a lady’s heart, but he found himself unexpectedly wanting to possess hers. She had so much love to give, and to have it directed his way—

He barely looked up when Ambrose sat beside him.

“Saw your announcement in The Times, old chap. Can’t believe you’re marrying the chit. Thought she was your mistress.”

Harteley levelled his gaze on him. “You thought incorrectly.”

Ambrose sneered. “She’ll be cuckolding you before the ink is dry on the church registry.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Her mother was quick enough to spread her legs.”

He felt a sickening sensation in his gut, a foreboding. Why would any woman of means need a champion? Why had he not asked himself that? “What do you know of her mother? What do you know of Jane Vernon?”

“No more than you.”

“I don’t know her.”

Ambrose laughed and leaned forwards. “Of course you do, old boy. She’s the Jewel of London.”

“I need to see her now!”

Harteley didn’t bother to rein in his temper or to keep his voice down, which was probably the reason the butler said, “She’s abed.”

“With whom?”

The old man’s face hardened. “Watch your mouth, lad.”

Harteley made a move to go around him, and two footmen stepped in front of him and grabbed his arms.

“You’ll not stop me. Now step aside.”

“You’ve been drinking, lad. I can smell it on you,” Jones said. “Return in the morning when you’re sober.”

But he was beyond listening to reason. “Arianna!”

He shouted her name twice more, but she didn’t appear.

“I need to see her now!” he yelled, again.

“Over my dead body,” Jones said. “She’s retired for the evening—”

“Hardly,” she interrupted, and Harteley jerked his gaze up. She wore her nightdress and night wrapper. Her braided hair swung over her shoulder as she began her descent. “Unhand him.”

With a nod from Jones, the footmen stepped aside. With deliberate slowness, Harteley straightened his clothes, his gaze never leaving her. “I know who you are,” he finally said and, while he didn’t shout, the words still echoed up the stairs.

She staggered to a stop. “I told you who I was.”

“Your name, yes, but not who you are. Who your mother is — the Jewel of London. A whore. You expected me to marry the daughter of a whore.”

All blood drained from her face. She staggered forwards and sat on the stairs. “Don’t call her that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shook her head, but he heard the truth in her silence. She’d known he’d not accept her offer. He’d be the laughing stock of London. The shame he’d thought his impoverished state would bring him was nothing compared with the shame that marriage to her would bring.

“What is all the frightful commotion?” a faint voice asked from the top of the stairs.

He lifted his gaze and saw her — the Jewel of London. By the time he was ready to make sport with the ladies he’d considered her too old. But even now, with death hovering, he couldn’t deny her regal beauty.

And as his gaze shifted back down to Arianna, an image filled his mind of a young girl sitting on the stairs …

He remembered her now. Her innocence, so out of place in the bordello, as she’d waited there.

“Will you wait for me to grow up?” she’d asked as he’d headed up the stairs with some woman whose name he could no longer remember.

“Absolutely,” he’d called down, laughing.

She sat there on the steps now, looking diminished and broken. There was no one to stop him from going to her.

Instead, he spun on his heel and strode away.

Arianna wept while her mother held her. This was not how it was supposed to end. She’d known that, sooner or later, he would remember her but she had hoped it would be after they’d spent time together, after he’d come to care for her, when her origins were no longer a concern. Now her mother had learned of her deception.

“It was a lovely thought, Arianna,” her mother said quietly. “But you should know that I care not who you marry. I care only that you’re happy.”

“I thought he’d make me happy.”

“Instead he’s broken your heart. I could kill him for that.”

How could she have misjudged him so poorly? How could she have thought he was her destiny?

The house still echoed, for he’d not replaced much of what he’d sold. But it was clean. Servants ushered about quietly to see to all the tasks that needed their attention, while he brooded in his library and downed the whisky until his mouth was numb and he no longer tasted it.

Good God, he’d almost married an infamous madam’s daughter. Her mother was a trollop and she had no father to speak for her. If Arianna lived by example …

She would never be unfaithful. In spite of Ambrose’s words, Harteley knew she would never cuckold him. She was not adept at seduction. She could have seduced him without money. She could have swayed her hips and pouted her lips. Instead she’d provided him with an honourable way to alleviate his debts.

For the love of her mother.

He bolted from his chair and strode to the window. The moonlight was less than it had been two nights before, but he could see the beginnings of the gardener’s work. All would be restored. He would be restored. She’d given him back his pride. She’d given him reason to smile.

She’d asked nothing of him except that he pretend to love her. Pretend to love her smile, her laughter, her joy. He enjoyed her company more than he had any woman’s in a good long while. The depth of love she gave her mother … he’d seen the bond as mother and daughter stood on the stairs. A woman with the determination to do what she needed to survive and provide for her daughter. A young woman with the courage to reach for a dream of happiness.

She’d been a child sitting on those stairs at the brothel. “Who is she?” he’d asked the woman leading him into a bedchamber.

“Jewel’s daughter.”

“What’s she doing here?”

“Waitin’ for ’er mother to finish up with bus’ness so she can take ’er to the theatre.”

He’d known even then that she was remarkable. That hadn’t changed.

He couldn’t say that he loved her, but he couldn’t deny that she intrigued him. Raising his arm, he pressed it to the glass and peered intently into the night. To continue on the path she’d set for them would be scandalous.

All she asked of him was that he champion her.

Such a small request for a lady who deserved so much more.

Arianna strolled through her garden. She thought it far lovelier than Hyde Park, but then her mother had always paid the gardeners well to ensure that her daughter had the finest of everything. Paid the servants with money that men had paid her.

She told herself that it was better that Harteley had learned the truth before they were married because she might not have been able to survive his turning away from her after they’d shared an intimacy. His kiss had been so very wonderful, and to contemplate losing more than that—

“There you are.”

She swung around, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs. “Harteley.”

He appeared so handsome, more so than ever. His clothes were the finest in which she’d ever seen him. His burgundy jacket set off his swarthy looks. His white cravat was tied to perfection.

“I’ve been searching for you for some time,” he said quietly.

“Yes, it’s easy to lose people here in the gardens. They go on forever.”

“No.” He stepped towards her. “I didn’t mean here in the gardens. I meant … I’ve been searching for someone who makes me grateful to get up in the morning. I didn’t realize it was you until I found myself unable to think of anything else.”

“You called my mother a whore.”

“I’ve already apologised to her for that. Now I must apologise to you. I have no excuse for the words. I was wondering, however, if you might find it within you to forgive me.”

“Did my mother forgive you?”

“She did.”

“Then I suppose I can do no less.”

“Well, you could do more.” He took another step nearer. “I’ve obtained the special licence. And I’ve brought a vicar.”

Her eyes widened. “You want to marry me?”

“I do.”

She angled her chin haughtily and lied. “Unfortunately, I no longer want to marry you. It was a foolish bargain on my part, to be willing to give you every—”

“I don’t want everything. I only want you.” He reached into his pocket and removed a folded parchment. “A letter from your solicitor, confirming that I have signed settlement papers that prevent me from taking any of your property or money.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I need a champion. Someone who believes in me when I fail to believe in myself.”

“You will be ostracized for marrying me. You must know that.”

“At first, certainly. But you will be my countess and, in time, I think you will charm society until they no longer care about your origins.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice breaking. “What changed your mind?”

“I’m not sure. I only know that I want you to be my wife, that someone who has overcome her past as you have can help me overcome mine.”

“Yours is not nearly so ruinous.”

“Then it should be easy enough for us to conquer it.”

They were married in the gardens. Her mother was able to stand at her side and Jones stood beside Harteley. The ceremony, although brief, was almost too much for her mother. When she began to sway, Jones was the first to reach her and sweep her up into his arms.

“We’ll need one more ceremony before you go, vicar,” Jones said.

“We don’t have a licence,” her mother muttered.

“Doesn’t matter. I want the words between us if nothing else,” Jones said.

Her mother had merely nodded and there in the garden she married the butler.

Arianna and Harteley travelled to London for the night. His residence was far from what it would become, but that night she was only interested in sharing his bedchamber.

Wearing only her nightdress, she waited expectantly for him. Strange, considering her mother’s occupation, that she was so nervous.

“Tell me what I should do,” she’d urged her mother.

All her mother had given her was a smile and the soft words: “Enjoy him.”

Enjoy him. How could she when she could barely draw in a breath?

The door opened. He walked in wearing only trousers and a silk dressing robe. Before she could utter a word, he took her into his arms and began to plunder her mouth. Then he gentled the kiss and she swayed into him.

Heat surged through her. She was barely aware that he’d unbuttoned her gown until it slithered along her body to land on the floor.

“My God, but you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

She looked up at him, held his gaze. “So are you.”

He cradled her face. “How can you be so innocent?”

“Perhaps because my mother wasn’t. She protected me.”

He lifted her into his arms. “I shall strive to do the same.”

He laid her gently on the bed. He discarded his dressing gown and began to work on the fastenings of his trousers. “Would you rather I douse the lamps?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. I want to see you.”

And she was grateful that he allowed her request. She knew the human form was beautiful, but she thought he was magnificent as he shoved down his trousers and joined her on the bed. She touched his shoulders, toyed with the light sprinkling of hair on his chest. “I’ve so often dreamed of this.”

“I suspect I shall lie on my deathbed still wondering why you chose me,” he said.

“And I shall always wonder why you came back.”

He shook his head, a smile playing over his lips. “Because for once in my life, I listened to my heart.”

Her heart soared, swelled to such an extent that she was surprised her chest could contain it.

Then his hands and mouth were exploring every inch of her, with tenderness and deliberation. Pleasure ebbed and flowed through her. Each caress brought her closer to the edge of something she couldn’t quite fathom. Each stroke urged her to touch him as well.

She loved the texture of his body. Firm, strong muscles undulating beneath her fingers.

Then he rose above her and gazed down on her. His mouth covered hers. His body plunged into hers. His cries mingled with hers.

He rocked against her and the pressure built. Sensations she could have never imagined travelled through her. He was hers now, just as she’d always dreamed.

She was his, just as she’d always wanted.

The pleasure spiralled through her until it burst forth into a conflagration that had her calling out his name. She was aware of her name escaping through his clenched jaw as he thrust into her one last time, his body taut, his muscles quivering.

He lowered himself to her, buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. He pressed his lips to her dew-covered neck. “Arianna.”

Her name was a whispered benediction.

And she knew that love wouldn’t be far behind.