Elizabeth Chater Lady Dearborn's Debut

Lady Dearborn’s Debut

Elizabeth Chater

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the

author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or

persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First e-reads publication 1999

www.e-reads.com

ISBN 0-7592-0239-7

Author Biography

Elizabeth Chater was born in Canada in 1910, the only daughter of parents who wanted sons. She read
many books from her father’s collection and the public library, leading to a lifetime love of literature. She
married Mel Chater and had two daughters and a son while pursuing an M.A. and writing and publishing
numerous science-fiction, fantasy and mystery novels. Following the loss of her beloved husband in 1978
and her retirement from teaching, she embarked upon a highly successful career as a romance novelist,
penning twenty-two novels in eight years.

Other works by Elizabeth Chater also available in e-reads editions

The Marriage Mart

The Gamester

Milord’s Liegewoman

Angela

The King’s Doll

The Runaway Debutante

Milady Hot-at-Hand

A Place for Alfreda

A Delicate Situation

A Time to Love

Elinor and Richard Davis,

who helped with the research

(Floss and Michael

thank you)

Contents

Lady Dearborn’s Debut

Chapter 1

he earl, bored and embattled, sought refuge in his library after dinner.

It was not enough. He had scarcely begun to sip at the excellent brandy brought to him by a silently
commiserating butler when the door was flung open and the dowager countess thrust herself into the
room. Mama makes her entrance like a ship under full sail, her son thought disparagingly, observing the
tasteless, overblown series of flounces and ruffles that clothed her massive figure. Her fat face was
flushed with overindulgence and annoyance; her small dark eyes reminded the man of a malicious pug
dog she owned and cosseted.

She was already talking as she entered the library, continuing the harangue she had been delivering all
during dinner.

“I make no excuse for invading your book room, Glendon! I am sure you have had quite long enough to
enjoy your brandy in solitude. As I was saying in the dining room, I still cannot believe it! That ridiculous
Dearborn female actually coming up to London for a season! She’s written to old Lady Bowser, who
used to know her mama, announcing the date of her arrival — fishing for attention, of course! She’ll
probably try to capitalize on the fact that your papa knew her husband, and seek to wheedle and cajole
me into sponsoring her in the ton — as though she were a debutante!” She sniggered nastily.

The earl put down his brandy glass regretfully and faced his mama. “Did I not understand you to say that
Lady Dearborn was awidow ?”

“Of course she is” — the countess sniffed —“and as absurd inthat role as she was as Dearborn’s wife!
She’s at least thirty years younger than he was, and a fluff-head into the bargain! Why a man of George
Dearborn’s notorious tastes ever came to marryher , a chit out of the schoolroom,I shall never know!”

“Her dowry?” suggested the earl cynically. He knew little and cared less about the gossip rife among his
mama’s cronies at Glendon Hall, having thankfully spent the whole of his adult life in his London town
house, leaving it to travel on the Continent or to seek refuge in his hunting lodge when his redoubtable
mama descended upon London for one of her rare visits. He had never liked Glendon Hall, considering
his ancestral mansion to be ugly, drafty, and hideously uncomfortable, but his chief reason for avoiding it
had been the fact that his mama preferred to live there, where she was the unquestioned leader of county
society.

It seemed, however, that since she had come up to London especially to launch a campaign against this
wretched Dearborn woman, he was doomed to hear more boring details about this female who was the
immediate object of the countess’s querulous resentment. “A plump dowry can sweeten even the sourest
chit — or so I am told.”

“Dowry!” Lady Glendon was sneering. “Florence Grey’s father was as poor as a church mouse —
although he always turned up at every reception and ball in the county —”

Her son, recognizing a name, interrupted her, his dark eyes alert with interest for once. “Grey? Wasn’t he
that good-looking fellow with the pretty wife I met at the Hunt Ball the year —”

His mother interrupted bitterly in her turn. “The year you came into the title and decided to establish
yourself in London? Yes. You were just down from Oxford, and barely waited to attend your papa’s
funeral before you left the Hall.”

The earl ignored her attack. “Grey seemed a pleasant fellow. Their daughter marriedDearborn ? But
surely he was older than Grey! The girl must have been young enough to be his daughter!”

“You are not going to tell me you disapprove of a prudent marriage among persons of our class,
Glendon?” sneered his mama, and then continued, “But of course! Youmust do so, since you yourself
have never married. Totally selfish! Utterly irresponsible! And since you are the last of the line, the name

will die with you! Well, at least your papa and I shall not be there to witness the shameful dwindling off of
the Glendons.”

“Oh, you are indestructible, my dear mama,” grated the earl. “I am convinced you will live to attend my
funeral — and have something suitably cutting to say upon that occasion.” His dark eyes were fierce with
controlled bitterness as he regarded the woman who had been more antagonist than mother all his life.

His mama, much pleased at having got through the normally imperturbable front her son presented,
returned to the attack with fresh vigor.

“Sir George Dearborn had enough respect forhis name to wish to marry a girl young enough to give him
a healthy son,” she informed the earl. “And Larry Grey knew he could never find another man of our
class willing to take the chit without a dowry. He married Florence off to Dearborn the year after you left
home —”

“I have a very comfortable home, Mama,” retorted her son, “as you seem to believe every year when
you come to visit me.” Such long visits, his acid smile implied.

His mama ignored this unworthy thrust and continued her tale with avid relish. “Florence Grey was
unsuitable as a wife, of course. I could have told Sir George that if he had asked me! So young, barely
out of the schoolroom, and so totty-headed that everyone, even the rector, called her Floss. Not Lady
George, or even Lady Dearborn, but Lady Floss! It was no more than Sir George deserved, marrying
such a silly chit! And of course there wasn’t a son.”

The earl frowned. He had no liking for the sort of nasty gossip that delighted his mama, but this particular
story piqued his interest. He could not recall ever having met the girl Florence, but he had met and liked
her handsome, pleasant father and her charming mother. In fact, if he had stayed at Glendon Hall, he
would most likely have become good friends with them, for all they were twenty years older than he.
They had been the most interesting and agreeable of the social group in which his parents had moved. So
he did have an interest, however slight, in the fate that had befallen their only child.

“She — Florence — did not present Dearborn with an heir?”

“No,” announced the countess with relish. “There was a good deal of talk about it, of course —”

“Of course,” her son agreed blandly.

His mama ignored his sarcasm. “Nearly everyone said it was probably something lacking in the girl, since
Sir George had a reputation as a womanizer and had several by-blows.”

“I beg you will spare my blushes, Mama,” begged the earl, making a prim mouth, although his dark eyes
were bright with mockery.

“When Sir George died last year, they had been married for seven years, and Florence had not yet
presented her husband with the son he wanted,” the countess said triumphantly.

“Dearborn must have been close to sixty, and the girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen when they
married,” he said slowly, distaste evident in his tone.

“What has that to say to anything?” challenged his mama. “Theycould have had a child.”

“And I suppose the gossips of both sexes were busy blaming the wretched young wife,” said the earl.
“Where were her parents?”

“Grey was killed in an accident a few months after Sir George married Florence; Mrs. Grey languished
after his death, didn’t seem to wish to continue living. Sir George sent her off to some cousins of hers in
Ireland. I believe she died there several years ago.”

What a comfort for the child-bride, thought the earl grimly. The more he heard about this poor little
female, the more a slow resentment grew within him. And then he shrugged, frowning. What had he to do
with some wretched young widow who was probably relieved to be free at last of the domination of the
insensitive Sir George? — He had been a heavy-set, red-faced, boring brute who didn’t bother to wash
his hands before sitting down to the table, as the earl recalled from the one dinner party they had both
attended before he had left for London.

His mama was continuing her tirade. “And now the creature has the brass to announce that she is coming
to London for the Season,” she sneered. “It’s plain she hopes to snare herself a husband now that her
year of mourning is over.”

“I wish her luck,” the earl observed mildly. “I should think she deserves some, do you not?” He paused,
seized by a most unpleasant idea. “You do not havematchmaking in mind, do you, dear Mama?”

His mother’s startled expression relieved him of that particular suspicion.

“Matchmaking, Glendon?” she repeated shrilly. “Withthat creature ?” She grimaced with disgust. “It is
the last thing I should wish for! No matter how deeply I deplore your laxity in fulfilling your obligation to
your name and station, I should never permit you to make such a grossmésalliance . No, there are many
suitable girls,maidens of good family and suitable fortune, among whom you must choose this season,
Glendon.” Catching his frown of annoyance, she went on, “Your man-at-law agreed completely with me
when I spoke to him this afternoon, Michael. I advise you to consult with him fairly soon. You have
dallied long enough.”

For a long moment, Michael Glendon did not permit himself to speak, lest he shout at this interfering,
overbearing, intrusive busybody he was forced to acknowledge as his mama. He and his man-at-law
were forever straightening out the unfortunate results of her meddling. Why would she never learn that he
was an adult of thirty, the Earl of Glendon, more than capable of running his own life and his estates? If
she had ever shown even one tiny jot of real affection for her only child, he would have put up with her
eternal interference in his affairs with good grace, but she had never cared for another human being in all
her life. She had made that abundantly clear. So the earl stared at her now, and even the countess’s
self-assurance wavered under that icy glare. She opened her mouth to protest and was silenced by his
arrogantly uplifted hand.

“If you are prudent, Mama, you will leave off further discussion of this very personal matter. In fact, I
believe it is time we said good night.”

He rose, his powerful, well-exercised body towering over her. He executed his most formal bow, then
ushered her toward the door. This was opened as if on cue by the butler, Ames. Not for the first time,
Glendon wondered if Ames kept one ear to door panels, or if indeed he might be, as the earl had
occasionally wondered, a warlock. Ames always seemed to know exactly what was going on, and he
was undoubtedly the only person whom the redoubtable countess treated with a modicum of respect.

In total silence, that lady made her exit.

Ames closed the door silently.

The earl exhaled a long sigh and began to consider what friends he had who lived well away from
London who were not presently planning to come up for the Season. He did not spare another thought

for the youthful widow. She was, of course, no possible concern of his.

Go to Contents

Chapter 2

“A

re you sure you are doing the sensible thing, dearest Floss?” queried the tall young woman,

regarding her tiny aunt with deep concern.

It seemed absurd to Clean the Bradford that this adorable little creature, with her fluffy golden curls
tucked into a small black widow’s cap and her blue eyes as wide and guileless as those of a pedigreed
kitten, should have been the wife of Clea’s gross, unpleasant, and old uncle George. Ever since she had
come as an orphan to live with them, four years ago, she had disliked her mother’s brother and adored
his darling young wife. She had found it impossible to grieve sincerely at Uncle George’s funeral last year.
He had been fortunate to live as long as he had, what with drinking himself under the table with his
hunting cronies every night and riding out every morning during the season no matter what the weather.

Of course, his behavior to his lovely little wife was rude and unforgivable; yet, in a way, Clea was happy
that he had ignored Lady Floss most of the time. Better to be ignored by that brute than to be the object
of his disgusting attentions, Clea thought fiercely.

She glanced up and found herself the focus of large blue eyes, which were now, as they so often were,
sparkling with amusement.

“Sensible?” Floss repeated Clea’s question. “Have you ever known me to do thesensible thing, dearest
Clea?” teased her aunt with a naughty smile. “I intend that our little toddle up to town shall be purely for
pleasure, Clea — something our lives have been lamentably lacking this last year.”

Clea smiled at the provocative little face with loving admiration. “Upon such occasions as this,” she
advised her aunt, “I feel as though I were your mama. Protective.”

“Bossy,” retorted Floss with a gamine grin. “But I have a cure forthat !”

“Tell me,” urged Clea, already prone to alarm. No one could anticipate the actions of Lady Floss — it
was doubtful that she herself knew what she would do five minutes before she did it. Impulsive.
Shatter-brained, the old crows in the county liked to say, ignoring the warm, loving heart that was the
source of the generous, madcap behavior. Seven years of marriage to Sir George Dearborn had not
managed to destroy the delightfully unconventional ideas of young Lady Dearborn, nor to change her
naïve acceptance of every human she met as worthy of her confidence and friendship until they proved
her wrong. Clea decided ruefully that nothing could dim the trusting light in those lovely eyes. Floss’s late
husband had been pleased to sneer that she had an odd kick in her gallop, but Clea had adored the
loving if flighty little woman who had opened her home and her heart to the big, ungainly young orphan.

Over the years, Floss had tried in the gentlest way to dress Clea so as to bring out her best features, but
there was never enough money left by the time Sir George had paid for his own pleasures. Except once,
when Floss had had a beautiful riding habit made for Clea. It was the handsomest garment Clea had ever
owned, and she was surprised to see how well she looked in it. For once, her tall, slender frame seemed
graceful and feminine, and, delighted with her appearance, she carried herself like a young princess. Floss
was in alt, telling her that she must always wear that particular shade of deep gold, which exactly matched
her eyes, and begging Clea to note how well the shade brought out the gold in her silver-gilt mane of hair.

Sir George had grumbled that he had misplaced the money he meant to spend on having the roof of the

hall mended, but since his interest in maintaining his estate was almost nonexistent, he agreed crossly with
a humble suggestion from his young wife that he might possibly have lost the sum in a game of cards with
his cronies.

Aside from this one stroke of luck, the ladies of Dearborn Hall were obliged to seek in the attics for
outmoded finery belonging to earlier Dearborn ladies that could be refashioned into presentable
costumes. It had hardly mattered, Clea thought gloomily. Very few of Sir George’s friends went in for
balls and receptions; and the rest of the gentry in the county seldom included the Dearborns on their guest
lists.

But now, if she was to believe Floss, the situation had changed. They were to go to London, to enjoy the
Season that was just starting. Clea frowned.

“But dear Floss, what are we to use for money? From all Mr. Trevelyan has said —”

Floss shook her head in firm rejection of Lawyer Trevelyan and all his prosy pronouncements. As she did
so, her golden hair escaped in enchanting ringlets from the confines of the absurd widow’s cap she had
tried to contain them in. “Of course I’m aware that Sir George ran the estate into the ground and left us
with the barest pittance.And that the heir has given us notice to vacate —”

“He gave us until the end of your year of mourning,” Clea said, determined to be fair to the hateful
creature.

“He has also offered to purchase the Dower House from me for a good deal more than it is worth, on
condition that I remove myself, bag and baggage, immediately — if not sooner,” Floss confessed.

“But that’sgenerous of him!” Clea exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me,” she accused her aunt.

“I have not forgiven him,” announced Floss grandly, “for refusing to come to the funeral or to visit us here
at all. What does it matter that he had some absurd feud going with Sir George! That should not have
influenced his behavior toward us!”

Clea could not understand this grudge-holding on the part of her normally forgiving aunt. Had Floss had
an unpleasant encounter with the fellow on some former occasion? She decided to ask.

Clea hesitated for a moment before answering, “No, child, I have never met Lord Ranulf.” Since she
refused to meet Clea’s glance, the suspicion grew in the young girl’s mind that her darling aunt was not
telling all the truth. Still, what secret could there be? Clea believed her when she said she had never met
the man. And he had, after all, behaved very generously, surely?

“Perhaps he has been unable to leave his own estate in the north,” she suggested. It was her private
opinion that anyone who could avoid meeting Sir George would have been sensible to do so; perhaps the
heir had some real grievance against the former owner. Still, it was rather odd that he had let the anger
continue after Sir George’s death and had extended it to take in the widow. Clea hardened her heart
against Lord Ranulf Vanir Malyon.

“So tell me about the offer to purchase the Dower House,” she coaxed Floss gently.

The volatile little featherhead brightened at once.

“Mr. Trevelyan informs me that Lord Ranulf’s offer is a very generous one. It will be sufficient to provide
a season in London, with plenty of new gowns, the lease of a house in a good neighborhood, and even a
smart carriage with coachman and groom!”

Although Floss’s lighthearted approach to the important venture frightened Clea, she had to smile in
sympathy with her aunt’s obvious delight. Poor little female! She had endured Heaven knew what horrors
as the wife of the brutish Sir George. Surely it was only justice that she have a little pleasure after the
unfortunate years of the marriage and the lonely, dull time of mourning. And it was equally obvious that
she could not have it in this cold, unfriendly district, where scarcely any of her neighbors had even
bothered to pay a call of condolence or extend an invitation for a cup of tea.

So — it was to be London, and a Season.

And then what? Had Floss considered what was to come after, when the small store of cash was gone?
With a despairing sigh, Clea knew she would have to bring up the matter.

She asked the question as gently as she was able.

Floss considered it, her head tipped to one side like a small golden bird. A piquant smile teased at her
soft red lips. “But of course, dear Clea, we shall live with your husband!”

The girl gasped. “My hus —!” She couldn’t get the word out.

Floss giggled. “Not if you insist upon making faces like that!” she teased gaily. “Of course we are going
to London to find you a suitableparti, my dear,” she advised loftily. “As well as to have a very gay time,”
she added with a mischievous twinkle. “I have not enjoyed myself for donkey’s years!”

Clea did not smile. “You know how ugly and … truly unpresentable I am.” She managed to keep her
voice level against the pain that shook her. “In all the years I have lived at Dearborn Hall, there has never
been one gentleman who came to call on me. And at that Hunt Ball we went to, before Uncle George
died, I was the only girl who sat out every dance!”

Floss was not disconcerted. “That was because you had, as indeed I did also, a hideous gown to wear
and your hair was incorrectly dressed. I am sorry I am so poor at arranging coiffures, dear child.” she
apologized. “I never could get the hang of it!” She pulled at one of her own unruly curls with
exasperation.

“It was not only my unflattering coiffure and my wretched excuse for a ball gown,” persisted Clea grimly.
Shemust nip this folly of Floss’s in the bud, lest both of them be hurt by the inevitable failure of her
efforts. She gathered up her pride. “It is because I am so very ugly, dear Floss. Can you not see that? A
veritable giantess, with an unruly mane ofwhite hair! What man would want to dance with such an
awkward creature as me? I havenothing to recommend me to a discriminating man.”

Floss surprised her. “I had not believed you lacked courage, Cleanthe,” she said softly.

Clea squared her shoulders. “It is not courage I lack, dear Aunt,” she answered quietly. “It is beauty,
charm, personality.…”

“Not true,” countered her aunt. She scrutinized the face and figure of the girl with eyes from which all
amusement had disappeared. “What you really lack is confidence — in yourself — and in me. I am older
than you, dear Clea, and I have seen enough of men and women to know what they can accomplish —
and what they cannot. And I know that the one essential ingredient in accomplishment is belief that it can
be done. I would not coax you into this adventure if I did not believe you could handle it successfully. But
you will have tobelieve — in yourself and in me. Do you?”

The younger woman shook her head. “I — I’m not sure.” It was the best she could dredge up from her
unhappy heart. She did not wish to let Aunt Floss down. But how could she believe in herself when all

her experience had proved she was unacceptable?

She turned to place herself in front of the mirror in Floss’s bedroom. The image that stared back at her
did not reassure her. To her prejudiced scrutiny there was little to suggest a successful candidate in the
marriage mart. Still … somehow it was unbearably hard to reject the promise Floss was holding out. To
be made prettier. What female could resist the prospect? And possibly there might be some man,
somewhere, who would see beyond the unfashionably thin, unfemininely tall body and the unruly mane of
strange-colored hair to the lonely, warm woman’s heart of her?

Cleanthe nodded grimly. Courage! If Floss wanted her season so badly, it ill behooved Clea to deny her.
Darling little Floss at least would be acceptable in the ton, and deserved her pleasure after all the
unhappy years at Dearborn Hall.

“It’s a wonderful idea!” she said as cheerfully as she could. “Of course we must go, as soon as that man
sends the money for the Dower House. Tell Trevelyan we shall not set foot outside the door until the
whole of the sum is in your hands!”

And they laughed together, Clea feeling absurdly youthful and carefree for the first time in her life.

Go to Contents

Chapter 3

ord Ranulf Malyon rode his great horse Thor at full gallop along the deserted beach near his castle. It

was a bitterly cold, unpleasant day, and Thor objected to being taken out for no good purpose that an
intelligent equine could determine. They were notgoing anywhere, not hunting, nor was the weather such
that it would entice either horse or man to enjoy a canter by the sea. Thor’s obvious reluctance
expressed itself in defiance. So horse and rider raced along the sand, each battling for dominance — a
remarkable picture if there had been anyone to witness it. Thor was a giant black stallion, heavy enough
to bear the weight of his huge master with ease and cantankerous enough, at this moment, to defy his
master’s will. Lord Ranulf, whose hat had blown off earlier in the ride, looked a veritable marauding
Norseman with his long fair hair flying in the wind, his dark blue eyes fierce under heavy blond brows,
and his arrogant features set in a wicked scowl.

Milord had a great deal of anger to get rid of. He had been more than patient with the conniving little
widow of his distant relative, George Dearborn, whose heir he was. Unwillingly he admitted it was true,
for who would choose to take over the management of a rundown estate with all its problems to resolve?
He had had his man-at-law inform the lady that he would respect her period of mourning but that he
wished to be rid of her before he himself moved in to settle the wretchedly mismanaged estate. He had
heard enough, from an acquaintance of his who lived in the area, to form a very poor opinion of the
female who had enticed a man old enough to be her father into marrying her, and who then had refused
to bear the child Sir George Dearborn needed to preserve his line.

Since he had never visited Dearborn Hall and had only met his mother’s fourth cousin once, in London
— and had not taken to him then — he was forced to rely upon his county acquaintance and his
man-at-law as his intelligencers. Still, it was obvious that neither the irresponsible Sir George nor his
grasping wife had given the slightest care to the nourishment or strengthening of the holding. All was at
sixes and sevens, falling apart; the tenants discouraged and idle, the land in bad heart … At that instant,
Thor made a treacherous attempt to unseat his rider. Lord Ranulf grunted savagely. To make decisions
under these conditions was impossible!

The big man pulled Thor’s head around and gave him the office to return down the deserted beach
toward the castle. Satisfied that he had taught his arrogant master a much-needed lesson, Thor moved
into his most accommodating pace and swept milord smoothly toward the stables.

Lord Ranulf grinned and bent over to pat the complacent horse on the neck.

“Would that the greedy widow were as easily handled,” he muttered. “Perhaps I shall enter the lists
myself. Trevelyan is too meek to manage the vixen.”

When he arrived at Dearborn Hall two days later, however, it was to discover that the mercenary widow
had departed the day before for London, having received the overgenerous payment for the Dower
House that very day.

She wasted no time once she had her blood money, thought Lord Ranulf viciously, staring around himself
at the worn and unfashionable furniture, the faded draperies, the general neglect of the house. When he
questioned the servants, however, they seemed to have a surprising loyalty to their former mistress. The
aging butler summed it up.

“Madam never had enough money to run the place as she might have wished, your lordship,” he said
slowly. “She always saw to it that we had our wages, and Miss Clea often helped out if there was too
much for the maids to do.”

Miss Clea? Who was she? He then vaguely recalled hearing of a female hanger-on, some poor relation of
Dearborn’s who had been invited to make her home with him. The poor aiding the poverty-stricken, he
thought with an uncharacteristic sneer. Would the two of them have further schemes to try? He must take
immediate steps to settle the matter of the greedy widow, who had obviously been wily enough to keep
on the right side of the servants. Lord Ranulf forbore to question the butler further, merely informing the
old fellow that anyone who wished to remain in service might do so, and that his factor from Malyon
Keep would be down to go over all estate and household affairs and set things to rights within a few
days. Until then, the butler was to instruct the cook to lay in supplies, and the maids and grooms to clean
the whole place for inspection.

Leaving the old fellow shaking his head soberly, Lord Ranulf departed, riding Thor. He was well pleased
to be getting away from this rundown mansion and spending the night at a good inn nearer to London.
Since he had an urgent appointment in the city with his man-at-law, to transfer funds and set the
restoration of Dearborn Hall in train, he had not intended to remain at Dearborn Hall. He had been sure
that his meeting with the treacherous widow would be so unpleasant as to render a stay under the same
roof unsupportable. But now that she had outmaneuvered him, leaving before he could tell her what he
thought of her, he had no release for the contemptuous anger that had been simmering in him for several
weeks.

Run out on him, would she? Of course she would not wish to stay and face his condemnation of her
behavior! Craven as well as avaricious! He was able to give vent to some of his anger as he rode, but the
residue of it hardened into a determination to pursue the fugitive to London, where, as the butler had
informed him, Lady Dearborn was bound. Lord Ranulf thought that he would observe the widow’s
machinations in London and put a spoke in her wheel. After the way she had gouged Trevelyan for the
Dower House, she deserved nothing better. A seasoned adventuress — or at the least a greedy and
insensitive schemer!

This matter decided to his satisfaction, Lord Ranulf put the willing Thor to a steady gallop southward.

At this moment, unaware of the fate that was being planned for her, Lady Floss was approaching the
reception desk of a quiet but prestigious hotel in London. She had written ahead to reserve rooms, and

now she introduced herself to the self-important little man behind the desk. To Clea’s rueful amusement,
it took her attractive little aunt less than one minute to have the fellow, whose name was Hawkins,
pantingly eager to serve her. In fact, he insisted upon accompanying the ladies to their suite, waving
imperiously for the porter to follow.

While Hawkins pointed out the virtues of their accommodation, he beamed upon the obviously pleased
Lady Dearborn. Floss smiled her satisfaction as she looked about her. The furnishings of the small but
attractive rooms were such a contrast to the threadbare inconveniences of Dearborn Hall! Clea, too,
stared at the dainty richness of the tiny sitting room and then followed Floss into the charming bedroom
with its two beds.

Sinking onto one, the younger woman sighed blissfully. “I shall probably never leave this room,” Clea
said, “except perhaps to eat.” Floss giggled, enchanting Hawkins.

When the porter had placed their luggage in the bedroom and left with hispourboire, Hawkins paused
suggestively by the open doorway.

“How else may I serve you, milady? It is our desire in this establishment to ensure that every guest has
the utmost in comfort and satisfaction.”

I’ll wager a tidy sum he doesn’t lay it on that thick with every guest, surmised Clea to herself, smothering
a grin.

Lady Floss was taking advantage of the situation.

“Thereis something we should like to know,” she said, smiling at the ingratiating little man.

“Anything, milady!” breathed Hawkins.

Floss offered the gratuity she had ready in her hand. “First, we should like tea and scones, and possibly
some cake?” Her smile was so youthful and appealing that the man responded at once, warmly.

Ignoring the proffered tip, he said eagerly, “Oh, yes, milady! Our chef makes French pastries the ladies
usually love! I shall personally see that he puts some on the tray for you.”

When he had gone, closing the door softly behind him, Floss gave Clea her gamine grin. “You see, I have
mastered the art of traveling, dear girl! A nice tip and a helpless feminine smile!” She chuckled wickedly.

Clea was forced to smile. “Helpless?” she repeated. “My dearest Floss — for I refuse to call you aunt
when you are behaving like a naughty child! — you bewitched that poor fellow out of his expected
gratuity and probably got us enough cakes to ruin our dinner —”

“I refuse to listen to such fustian,” said Floss pertly. “When he returns, I shall ask him for the name of the
best dressmaker in London! Andthen I shall give him his tip, which he will have earned!”

Over the lavish and delicious tea, the two women discussed the rather surprising facts Hawkins had given
them. It seemed there were several modistes in London who were much admired and frequented by
those ladies who led fashion in the ton. But they, being well aware of their value, chose their clientele with
fiendish arrogance. However, there was a newcomer, a Frenchman, who was really worth a visit and
was less rigid in his choice of clients.

“He’s some connection of our chefs, andhe seems to think the young man’s a wonder,” Hawkins had
advised them. “As a general thing, I wouldn’t even have mentioned his name, milady, but he’s reasonable
in price, and he gets some remarkable effects, I’m told.” He looked searchingly at the two women. The

little one was very pretty, a real charmer; the other was probably her maid or companion. He shrugged at
their doubtful expressions. “Well, you’ve the names of the popular ones, but I’d better warn you they
sometimes refuse to accept new customers. I wish you well, milady — if that’s not presumptuous.”

Floss thanked him, insisted that he take the tip, and said nothing more until he closed the door after
himself. She remained silent, staring blindly at the tea tray in front of her.

Clea, who had seen that look before, said hastily, “No, Floss, youmustn’t ! Whatever it is you’re
thinking,don’t ! Just go to one of the regular dressmakers — you’ve got enough money to do what you
planned — and I’m sure they wouldn’t be snobbish with a member of the aristocracy!”

“My poor child,” said Floss, putting on a fashionably fading voice, “some little nobody from the country
with a title no one in London has ever heard of? And not her own, really! She just married it, didn’t you
hear? Poor as a church mouse, and knowsNo one of any standing in the beau monde!”

At the look of dismay upon Clea’s expressive countenance, Floss burst into giggles. When she sobered,
she gave Clea the sweet, warm smile that was so hard to resist.

“Can you trust me, Clea? Give me the chance to show you what I had planned for us?”

Who could deny the little witch? thought Clea, resigned to her fate.

The next few weeks were going to be interesting, to say the least.

Go to Contents

Chapter 4

ord Ranulf lost no time in launching his campaign against the encroaching widow. He had never been a

conformable man, as the hostesses in his neighborhood would willingly testify. “A regular Viking,” old
Lady Cardess had dubbed him, with a sniff that expressed her annoyance at his social intractability.

“Say, rather, a savage — a boor!” argued the new young wife of a local bigwig. Lady Rachel was a
pretty, spoiled little minx, and she had unsuccessfully angled to have the handsome giant become her
cavaliere servente , paying fervent but innocuous court to her for everyone to observe.

“I could have warned you you’d never get Malyon to gallant you,” the older woman advised her with
some relish. “No female has been known to snare him — no female of our order, of course. As to the
other kind …”

The discussion immediately concerned itself with the disgusting amorality of the male sex, of which Lord
Ranulf Malyon was generally agreed to be a most recalcitrant and maddening example.

The maddening example, callously unaware of the resentment he had aroused among his neighbors’
female relatives, was proceeding on a self-assigned mission of retribution. True, things had been very dull
at Malyon Keep of late. His neighbors’ wives had pestered him with invitations that he found boring; his
estates were flourishing under the admirable care of his factor, Tavish; his lawyer had finally succeeded in
finding the bait that lured the harpy widow from the Dearborn property, now, unfortunately, Malyon’s.
The prospect of punishing the greedy female seemed the only interesting project in an otherwise dull
existence.

All the way to London, his anger and contempt had grown with the miles. When he finally presented
himself at the reception desk of the hotel he had chosen as a temporary base of operations, Lord Ranulf

had never more clearly resembled his marauding ancestors. The attendant clerk took one look at the
blond giant with the fiercely challenging iron-blue eyes beneath bristling golden eyebrows and lost the
facade of haughty condescension for which he had been hired.

“Y-y-yes, sir? Wh-what is your pleasure?”

As the seconds lengthened into minutes without the Viking deigning to reply, the clerk added a placating
“Milord?”

Lord Ranulf’s expression became even more threatening. “My man-at-law has arranged that rooms be
prepared for me in this … hostel,” he said nastily. “I am Malyon.”

The clerk was aware that a splendid suite had been made ready for the hitherto unheard-of nobleman. In
fact, such was the overwhelming self-esteem of the hotel’s management that discreet investigations had
been put in train to ensure that some petty, jumped-up local celebrity from the north should not
embarrass the reputation of the Windsor House.

Whatever he was, this Lord Ranulf Malyon was neither petty nor jumped-up. Only centuries of
dominance could have bred that icy arrogance into the dark blue gaze and set that damn-your-eyes sneer
on the well-cut mouth. To add to the picture of milord’s consequence, the clerk recalled that several
large trunks had been delivered earlier that day to the nobleman’s suite. He glanced beyond Lord Ranulf’
s impressive bulk.

“Y-your servants, milord? Your valet?”

This piece of impertinence was received with the silence that it deserved. Then, with an air of putting up
with a quite incompetent servant’s stupidity which the clerk found intolerable, Lord Ranulf enunciated
carefully, “If I may be shown to my rooms …?”

It is to be put down to the clerk’s credit that he himself led the overbearing nobleman to his suite and
made sure — quite unnecessarily — that everything was as milord would wish. Bowing himself out, he
heaved a sigh of relief outside the closed door. He was glad that his duties did not include personal
service to so crusty and toplofty a guest!

As for Lord Ranulf, he was guilty of a grin at the surrender and hasty retreat of the bumptious hotel clerk.
He told himself that this was just the beginning. Very shortly he would have the satisfaction of watching
the ineffectual struggles and final surrender of the rapacious widow, no matter how many indigent
relatives and hired retainers she had managed to surround herself with. I shall storm the barricades! he
promised himself with a wide, white-toothed, marauder’s grin. Let the woman beware!

Basking in these reflections with relish, Lord Ranulf prepared to initiate his London campaign. First he
must discover where the female was hiding herself. Then place a spy in her camp, if that were possible, to
ferret out the details of her latest nefarious scheme. And then …!

Battle! To the death!

Lord Ranulf grinned again. Wolfishly.

The innocent subject of this dark plotting was happier than she had ever been in all her twenty-six years.
She had the company of a bright, responsive, and honest young woman whose charming possibilities had
been ruthlessly neglected. Floss had, for the first time in her life, both the freedom to act and enough
money to afford the things she had always longed for. But first, both she and Clea must have a new
image, glamorous and elegant enough to impress the beau monde.

Hawkins’s young Frenchman had proved an easy victim to the innocent-seeming wiles of the young Lady
Dearborn. Her obvious beauty, tiny and golden-tressed and feminine, would be easy to bring into
alamodality. Pleasant work, since money seemed no obstacle, but no real challenge for a young couturier
out to make his name in London society. Of course, the lady had no vestige of style at the moment, but
perhaps her truly unfortunate garments were de rigueur for widows in this fashion-benighted country.

The other young lady, her companion, was something else again! At first sight of Miss Cleanthe Bradford
’s tall, badly dressed figure, Jean-Paul had experienced a sense of shock. Because she presented a
problem impossible for an honest couturier to accept? The girl must be all of six feet tall, but that was not
the only, nor the most difficult, part of the assignment. Jean-Paul was neither blind nor a fool. His truly
artistic eye had already observed the girl’s amazing white-gold hair and the amber-gold eyes, so rich and
strange as to bewitch a man if they were properly displayed. But her posture was poor, her complexion
and the amazing hair badly presented, and her clothes were a disaster. A formidable challenge! In fact,
thought the young Frenchman wryly, to bring these two unusual ladies into fashion would proveun
écrasement de travail — a crushing task!

En avant,Jean-Paul! he encouraged himself. If you succeed, you will make your name famous in this
savage country!

He turned a smile of practiced charm upon the two English ladies. “It will be a joy to bring your real
beauty to life,” he assured them.

Lady Dearborn nodded happily, but the white-haired giantess frowned at him.

“You can’t be serious,” she announced disconcertingly.

Jean-Paul’s glance flew to the older woman’s smiling countenance. His face suddenly appeared young
and vulnerable. “Milady, I can bring out a beauty that I perceive in each of you, which has been hidden
by the, uh, rather unflattering garments that you — that is …” To his horror, he realized that he was
actually blushing.

Lady Floss giggled. The sound was so natural, sofeminine , that Jean-Paul’s horrified tension relaxed.

His new patron said gently, “I am sure you will do all that is necessary to bring usboth ” — with a
minatory glance at the younger woman — “into high fashion. You are to spare no expense! Permit your
genius full rein!” She smiled sweetly. “We have already heard how gifted you are.”

The young couturier’s ardent Gallic loyalty was completely won by this adorable small female.
Passionately, he promised himself that he would bring the two women to the dazed and admiring attention
of the whole stuffy English beau monde — no matter how much work it took!

There followed a deliriously exciting week for all three of the principals in this scheme to impress the ton.
Jean-Paul ordered them sternly not to place so much as a nose outside the door of their suite, lest they be
seen before he could work his transformation. Lady Floss, starved for the pleasure of pretty, becoming
clothes and a coiffure that would set off her face to best advantage, had no difficulty in obeying the young
Frenchman’s orders. Clea, gloomily convinced that Jean-Paul’s efforts would result in nothing but further
humiliation for herself, quickly came to resent the cavalier orders of their mentor.

One morning, when Jean-Paul and his two attendant seamstresses arrived at the suite for the day’s work,
it was discovered that Clea was missing.

“She is restless, poor child,” explained Lady Floss. “She has never been to London and finds its
attractions irresistible. She will return as soon as the delights of the museum pall.”

Museum! thought Jean-Paul with true Gallic incredulity. “What did the young ladywear ?” he asked,
dreading to hear the answer.

Lady Floss quite understood his alarm. “The new cloak you made for her,” she said soothingly. “And the
darling little matching bonnet. She will not disgrace you, monsieur. Besides, no one knows her here in
London.”

“Yet,” Jean-Paul reminded his charming little patroness gloomily. Then he became a little less
despondent. “En effet, who will see her in such a place — if indeed she has gone to a museum?”

“Oh, she’s gone there,” vouchsafed Lady Floss. “The child has a hunger for knowledge, for culture —”

“Bas bleu — you would say, a bluestocking!” gasped Jean-Paul. “Milady, if you wish to introduce Miss
Bradford to the ton, there must not be the slightest hint of such outré interests!”

Lady Floss’s charming smile was for once absent. She stared through the young dressmaker with a blind
look that Clea would have recognized and been alarmed by. “I wonder,” she whispered, more to herself
than to the couturier. “I begin to feel that Clea must have no ordinaryparti. To appreciate her true worth
will take a mature man, not a green boy or a shallow man-about-town.”

And when Clea slipped quietly back into the suite later that day, weary but obviously well pleased with
her little sortie, no word of blame was uttered.

In point of fact, as the week had drawn to a close, both the ladies were startled and delighted at the skill,
the genius, of their couturier. Not content with designing attractive garments for all possible social
occasions, he had sternly given them over into the hands of an older Frenchwoman for personal
improvement. Since the teacher, one Madame Duchamps, was herself a dazzling argument for her own
skills with maquillage and coiffure, they accepted her instruction, Lady Floss eagerly and Clea with
self-doubting reservations.

Madame Duchamps’s small black eyes scanned the girl knowingly. “It is seen that you have little
confidence in yourself,ma chèrie ,” she said softly as she was washing and drying Clea’s hair one
morning. She stared hard into the shuttered face of the younger woman. “You hate it, this truly amazing
hair of yours, do you not?” she probed gently.

Clea set her teeth. “Have you any idea what it is to be six feet tall and crowned with a mop of white hair
when you are eighteen years old?” she uttered fiercely. “I am a freak, Madame Duchamps. I have
pleaded with Lady Floss not to force me into the ton! They will laugh at me — and at her!”

The Frenchwoman kept up her soothing motion against the girl’s scalp. She was frowning. The girl was,
to say the least, not quite in the common mode. Jean-Paul had already discussed with his French assistant
his ideas for the proper clothing of the awkwardly large girl. But he had left the styling of the white hair to
her, and the amount and kind of maquillage. As she dried the gorgeous mass of silver-gilt, Renée
Duchamps felt a stirring of excitement. To try to tone down, disguise, all this femaleness was not the
answer.Toujours l’audace! Flaunt the rare, the unusual. Do not seek to hide it!

Afire with her new vision, Renée Duchamps set herself to uncover the true beauty of the girl.

Two hours later she sank exhausted into a chair and said only, “Call Jean-Paul and Lady Dearborn.”

They, with the two seamstresses, were just finishing a ball gown for Lady Floss. All four hurried into the
room at the insistent summons. And all four halted near the doorway, gaping at the magnificent vision that
presented itself to their wondering gaze.

Renée Duchamps had surpassed herself.

Standing in the center of the bedroom was a divinely tall creature, a goddess, whose simple white dress,
caught under the budding breasts with a gilt cord, fell in a soft drape to the slender ankles. The Grecian
purity of the costume was a startling departure from the current fashion for overdressesà la bergère ,
with elaborately embroidered or jeweled underskirts. It was simple, classically beautiful — and quiteout
of style .

The small regal head was crowned by a roll of shining, silver-gold hair that swept back from Clea’s
broad forehead to cascade in a silken wave far below the white shoulders. Lustrous golden eyes stared
challengingly out of a classically featured face. The small straight nose and firm chin were delectably
softened by the lush, rosy curves of a mouth whose innocent sensuality, revealed by the soft red paste,
startled Jean-Paul and amazed Lady Floss.

Why had she never seen this latent sensuality in Cleanthe before? Was it a new development, a maturing?
Lady Floss felt the excitement of a new project beckoning irresistibly. She would scour the ton for just
such a worldly, cultured man who could appreciate this lovely young goddess. No careless,
self-centered, spoiled youth should win this darling girl!

Although Jean-Paul said nothing, the two seamstresses were clucking and fluttering their admiration,
beaming at the lovely vision before them.

Two things were immediately obvious to the quaking, insecure girl behind the dazzling new facade. First,
that no one, not even darling Aunt Floss, had expected any such metamorphosis of ugly elephant into
Grecian goddess. The second was that their evident surprise and admiration proved to the girl that the
image she had seen — and doubted — in the mirror was indeed the new, improved Clea Bradford.

Oh, World! thought the girl with trembling joy, here I am! At last!

In the general euphoria, it was not at once noted that Jean Paul was uncharacteristically silent. The young
Frenchman’s sense of shock had quickly turned into deep foreboding. The girl was beautiful,sans doute .
Like some pale statue out of Greece, feminine but reserved, at once less and more than life. Glorious,
yes! But would she beaccepted by the ton? Looking like that? Jean-Paul gravely doubted it. To his
cynical Gallic eyes, the young lady and her charming sponsor were headed for social disaster.

Go to Contents

Chapter 5

ichael, the Earl of Glendon, presented himself at Lady Dearborn’s modest but correct hotel the

following day.

It is to be admitted that he had had grave doubts as to the wisdom of his action, since he had seen Lady
Floss only a few times before her marriage to the uncouth Sir George. As he recalled now, he had not
been particularly impressed by the chit’s appearance. Green girls did not, even then, appeal to Lord
Glendon’s taste. It was distinctly possible that seven years as the consort of Dearborn had made her
even less attractive to a man of the earl’s sophisticated tastes and high standards.

Why, then, did he find himself, elegant topper in hand, making his bow to a surprisingly pretty little
woman in a charming rose-pink gown of the latest style?

Grimly he recalled the three causes of his undoubtedly rash action.

First, his mama’s endless diatribes against “that encroaching widow” and her commands that he have
nothing to do with the creature. Mama had a fatal gift of pushing her son to the opposite side of any
argument she initiated. Second, there was the warm memory of the Greys, parents of the girl, a cheerful,
lighthearted couple who, although they were much older than the young Michael, had been the only
friendly faces among his parents’ stuffy, pompous set. Perhaps for the Greys’ sake alone, the earl
thought, remembering many kindnesses to a fledgling just down from college, he should offer their only
child a bit of help with — or perhaps some sensible advice against! — this very ineligible scheme to
storm the beau monde.

His final reason was a note he now held in his hand, offering it to the petite charmer who was dimpling up
at him so deliciously. Pulling his wits together, Lord Glendon decided that he would have to warn the little
creature not to be so open. Her manner would leave her vulnerable to the poisonous darts and vicious
thrusts of the self-proclaimed leaders of the ton. So his expression was stern as he accepted her invitation
to be seated and faced her with firm decisiveness. Best to go to the heart of the matter at once!

“It will not do, you know, Lady Dearborn,” he began.

It was at this early moment in the encounter that the arrogant earl — as he was frequently called among
the society hostesses — received his first setback. Little Lady Floss had opened the note and was
reading it with a smile of pleasure.

“KindLady Bowser! She used to know my grandmama, and had ever a gracious word for me, as a
child! So she has written to you now to urge you to launch me in society!”

This was going a great deal too far and too fast for a wary nobleman. Feeling an unaccustomed tightness
at his throat, the earl tugged gently at his cravat, shaking his head slightly in repudiation of the woman’s
assumption.

“On the contrary, Lady Dearborn, Lady Bowser has urged me todiscuss the matter of your entrée into
the ton with you. To give you advice and counsel. Which I have come to do,” he ended with a fair
imitation of his usual arrogance. He took a deep breath and was a little perturbed that he felt the need of
it.

“In the first place, Lady Dearborn,” he began with an assumption of cool insolence that he hoped would
show her the weakness of her situation, “it would be quite ineligible for you to be introduced to the ton by
anunmarried nobleman. Your grandmama’s old friend knows that, if you do not.”

Thatshould give her pause, he thought a trifle smugly. Indeed, the rosy flush of pleasure she had evinced
in welcoming him had now faded, leaving her almost white-faced and solemn as a reprimanded child.
Why did he react to this little nobody as though she had some claim upon him? the earl challenged
himself. He owed nothing more than common courtesy to the child of the good-natured Greys. So, to
work!

“Lady Bowser tells me she is having a small dinner — just a few close friends — to welcome you and
your companion to London. She asks me to pick you up at this hotel and bring you to her —”

“But I am leaving this hotel soon,” said Lady Floss quietly.

Lord Glendon was surprised and annoyed. Why must the woman interrupt his careful explanation of his
sensible plan with her foolish starts? He took another deep breath.

“Do you think that is wise?” he began in a voice of calm reason. “You will not be in London long enough
to require more permanent quarters —” At her look of surprise he went on soothingly, “Of course you

will be returning to Dearborn Hall —”

Again the woman interrupted his calm discourse.

“I have no home to return to,” she said, low-voiced. “The estate was entailed to a distant cousin of
George’s, and he instructed his man-at-law to give me a sum of money in return for my surrendering my
claim upon the Dower House. There was nothing left for me from the estate itself,” she added.

Perhaps it was her quiet explanation of her incredibly vulnerable situation that shocked the earl; perhaps it
was the sight of her small, pretty face under the riot of golden curls. Lord Glendon smothered a curse and
realized that, as a gentleman and a friend of the woman’s parents, he had been well and truly hooked into
a deplorable imbroglio. He was not yet sure whether the entrapment was deliberate or innocent, but he
made a vow to discover the truth, and if the woman was playing off her wiles on him … he would
destroy her! Setting his teeth, he asked softly, “What exactlyare you planning to do, Lady Dearborn?”

“I shall be finding a small, pleasant house in which my husband’s niece and I may spend the Season,” she
began slowly. “I cannot carry out my plans for her from this hotel,” she added kindly, as to a social
ignoramus.

Niece? There was another female in this? Lord Glendon was forced to clear his throat before he asked,
“Your plans for her?”

The riot of golden curls bounced with the force of Lady Floss’s nod. “Yes. She is a wonderful girl, and I
intend to see her suitably married.”

My God! Marriage! This was worse than he had suspected — and he was already too deeply committed
to make the cowardly exit his very soul craved. Perhaps his mama might get him out of this? Take over
the two females, sponsor them, find aparti for the niece? With a silent groan of despair, Lord Glendon
realized that his redoubtable mother would like nothing better than to rout two women she already
volubly despised.

And somehow, looking into the clear, wide eyes of little Lady Floss — eyes so obviously innocent of the
traps and hideous humiliations that would surely destroy her — somehow the Earl of Glendon could not
find it in his heart to deliver this little country bumpkin to the dragons. He set his broad shoulders.

“I shall help you to find yourself a suitable house,” he informed her. “As to the niece … I shall have to see
her before I can tell you whether she will be acceptable in the ton.” He gave his companion a searching
glance, and his expression softened slightly. “You seem to have acquired a knowledgeable modiste,” he
admitted. “I do not recall your being so much in the mode in the County.”

Again the woman surprised him. A faint shadow of the delightful smile with which she had greeted him
softened the pretty mouth. “You do not recall me,period ,” she said. “I recall you, however. A very
toplofty, opinionated youth so full of his own importance that he could not possibly have noticed the
gawky daughter of his friends the Greys.”

But the earl had already had enough encroachment upon his dignity for one day. The full horror of the net
he had become entangled in was slowly becoming apparent to him, and he’d bedamned if he was going
to take impertinence from a country widow of no substance.

“Let us establish your position at once, shall we?” he asked, and all the insolence was back in his voice. “
Youhave begged me, andold Lady Bowser , who should know better, has begged me, to sponsor you in
the ton. For reasons beyond your comprehension,” he said nastily, and waited for a protest that did not
come, then went on, “I have decided to superintend this otherwise doomed venture. But I warn you: At

the first sign of recalcitrance, at even a hint of disobedience to my instructions, I shall walk away from
this — thisfarce ! Understood?”

For a bare second there was an expression on the dainty face that startled the earl, and then it was gone
and a sweet smile warmed Lady Floss’s expression.

“Sogood of you,” she murmured conventionally.

The earl was pleased to award her with a condescending smile. “You begin to learn your role,” he said
with maddening complacence. “Now. First I shall inspect your niece if she is available. Next, both of
your wardrobes to make sure you will not disgrace me in the ton. And after that —” He paused, for the
first time in this disastrous interview enjoying himself. “After that, mydear Lady Dearborn, I shall quiz you
both upon your background and accomplishments so that I may evaluate your possibilities as ornaments
of the beau monde.”

As he stared at the pretty face, noting the softly shadowed lids lowered over too-revealing eyes, Lord
Glendon chuckled. This might be a welcome diversion in a very boring season. It would certainly prove a
facer for Mama! If he played his cards right, she might even take such a dislike to his sponsorship of the
two females that she would retire to Glendon Hall and leave him in peace!

The earl shook his head. No such luck! The countess would probably stay just to spite him and make his
task more difficult. Well, he would have to see. The project, with its all-too-obvious problems, would
certainly make the Season interesting. And in the meantime, he had a decided urge to discover all the
secrets of the provocative little widow.

“Lady Dearborn —” he began in a voice of indulgent authority.

The sweetly shadowed lids lifted sharply at his tone, and he faced a very challenging stare.Good!
Fireworks!

At this moment the door to the hallway swung open and the tallest woman the earl had ever seen came
into the room. Totally ignoring the man, she ran over to envelop Lady Floss in an exuberant embrace.
“Dearest Aunt Floss,” the girl crooned in a voice of pure music, “I am full of joy! The concert was
superb! Why have we never had such beauty in our lives?”

Lady Floss smiled appreciatively at the younger woman’s delight. “I am so happy you enjoyed the
music,” she said. “And now you must meet our kind sponsor, Clea. Milord, may I present Miss Cleanthe
Bradford, niece of Sir George Dearborn? Clea, this is Michael, Earl of Glendon, who has most
graciously offered to present us to society.”

The girl straightened up, almost at eye level with Lord Glendon. Beneath the surprisingly becoming gown
was a figure too tall for alamodality, albeit softly rounded. But the chief surprise was the crown of
silver-gilt hair, lustrous, almost white, which gave the youthful figure an almost regal air. His thoughts
already busy with the stimulating challenge of forcing these two unlikely females on the ton, Lord Glendon
was astonished to hear a wail of rejection issuing from the girl’s deliciously rosy lips.

“Oh, no!” cried the young Amazon. “He must not!”

Go to Contents

Chapter 6

hen the earl, somewhat placated but still suspicious, had taken his reluctant leave, Lady Floss turned

to confront the rueful but stubborn Clea. There were no recriminations; that was not Floss’s way. Instead
she had that distant, solemn expression that terrified the younger woman.

“You arenot planning something with that arrogant, supercilious, complacentman , are you, Aunt Floss? I
really could not endure it,” Clea ended in a wail. “Just when I was beginning to have such a truly
wonderful time in London!”

Lady Floss was wearing a little smile that Clea found more alarming than the “planning” look. “Lord
Glendon has mostgraciously offered, at the suggestion of Lady Bowser, to take us to a dinner party she
is giving in two days. In our honor,” she added, stopping the objections she knew were about to come.
“Now, we cannot go against so muchgracious kindness, dear Clea, can we?”

“Gracious!” mocked the girl, putting her hands up to release her mane of shining hair from its confining
pins and snood. “WhatI wish to know,” she muttered, “is just what sort of scheme you two have
hatched.”

Lady Floss’s smile widened. “ ‘We two’ have hatched nothing, my dear. In fact, if the good Michael
evenguessed what is in my mind, he would be fleeing for his life.”

Clea groaned. “I knew it! You have some dreadful plan afoot that will lead to disaster and embarrass
everyone!”

The smile became a giggle. “Dearest niece, you do not trust your elderly aunt —”

“You are right,” Clea agreed morosely. “But I have a strong feeling that I am going to go along with
another of your absurd schemes.” She sighed. “You had better tell all.”

Her wide blue eyes sparkling, Lady Floss pulled Clea onto the sofa beside her and, keeping a firm grip
upon the girl’s hand, began to talk.

“The Earl of Glendon received a charming note from old Lady Bowser, who seems to have been a friend
to every titled person in the south of England.”

“Friend?” asked Clea skeptically. “Or puppet master?”

Floss’s pretty laugh bubbled up. “Do not be so suspicious, I beg you. It will quite spoil your
complexion.”

At Clea’s stare of frank disbelief, the laugh gurgled again, and Lady Floss said lightly, “Oh, your
expression, then. You’ll get frown folds … or something.”

When Clea made no response to this, merely frowning more deeply, Floss sighed and continued. “If she
wished to do so, Lady Bowser could be the undisputed queen of the ton — but she has never sought to
occupy that position. But when she makes a request of a member of the beau monde, it is usually
heeded.” She waved the small note at Clea. “Lady Bowser asks the earl to bring us to her small dinner
party, but it is, in effect, a royal command.”

“You are saying that the earl did not wish to squire us to this command dinner?” muttered Clea.

Lady Floss’s small face took on a remarkably shrewd expression. “No,” she countered slowly. “I might
have expected insolence or even cold refusal from so self-assured a male creature, but he surprised me.”

Clea looked at her petite aunt with interest and speculation. “You are telling me hewanted to squire us?

Two country nobodies?”

“I think the earl has reasons for wishing to please Lady Bowser that we do not know about,” she
admitted slowly.

“I had the feeling he was rather … anticipating the experience.”

Clea uttered a crow of delight. “He has fallen into your trap, dear Aunt!” she gloated. “You have made
your first conquest!”

The rather forlorn little grimace that crossed her aunt’s face surprised Clea.

“No, child, the elegant earl would have no time, under ordinary circumstances, for a country bumpkin like
me. I think he has some private plan to implement. I wish I knew what it was. He was rather insolent.”

“We shall ignore him,” Clea advised stoutly. “Refuse to receive him if he calls again.”

“Oh, he’s going to call again,” promised Floss. “He expressed the wish to inspect our dresses — to
make sure we are presentable for the dinner party,” she explained, catching the look of outrage on the
younger woman’s face.

“Indeed!” Clea seethed. “And what if we do not approve ofhis costume? I thought he had a rather casual
air about him, considering he was calling upon two ladies!”

Floss giggled again. “Fustian, Clea! You know he waspoint device , a top-o’-the-trees dandy! You are
cross because he demands to scrutinize our gowns.”

“I am annoyed because this insolent nobleman has the effrontery to suggest that he has any right to pass
judgment upon anything we may do, or think, or wear!”

Floss’s grin was gamine. “He did say he would interview us after he had approved of our costumes. To
make sure we would be suitable ornaments of the ton.”

The younger woman stared in furious disbelief. “I shall show that arrogant male just how ornamental I can
be,” she promised rashly.

Lady Floss observed the heightened color in the girl’s cheeks, the flash of her glorious eyes, the angry
pout of the red lips, and was satisfied. As long as the dear child was sustained by such a powerful
emotion, she would not have time to be fearful of her own right to take a place in the ton.

She smiled gently. “And now shall we choose dinner dresses that will prove to our escort our fitness to
attend Lady Bowser’s dinner party?” she teased. “You know how I love trying on pretty gowns!”
Privately she decided that she would steal Madame Renée from Jean-Paul for the next few days — just
to make sure that the ladies presented his creations in all their proper glory, of course!

As Clea turned to enter the hotel bedroom, Lady Floss remembered another important reason to behave
prettily for their arrogant sponsor.

“You must be your most appealing, my child,” she announced merrily. “The earl has agreed to help us
find a small house to act as our pied-à-terre for the Season.”

A groan was Clea’s only answer.

Go to Contents

Chapter 7

ord Ranulf was having unexpected difficulties. He had thought that with the practiced skills in research

of Lawyer Trevelyan there would be no problem in locating a country noblewoman and her hanger-on
companion, especially since neither one of them had any desire to conceal herself. It was rather the
contrary, thought the marauding Viking, with growing resentment. Cause problems, would they?He’d
show them what problems really were! By the time Lord Ranulf Vanir Malyon had finished with the
greedy widow and her confederate, they would be grateful for the opportunity to slink back to —

And there milord was forced to pause in his outburst. Where would the creatures slink back to? The
widow had relinquished all rights to any part of her dead husband’s estate. Even the Dower House. So
where would they go?

With a shrug, Lord Ranulf dismissed their plight. He would be better employed in applying himself to
finding the females. Where they disappeared to, after he had punished them, was really no concern of his.

Several days later, a reluctant Trevelyan, who really had no experience in locating traveling widows, and
who was, moreover, a little annoyed at being asked to pursue so unprofessional a task, was able to give
his client the name of the good, quiet hotel where the lady might be found.

Wily enough to choose an unexceptionable one, Lord Ranulf admitted, pleased that his quarry was
showing good sense in her campaign. His lordship disdained an unworthy opponent. Thanking the
grumpy Trevelyan, he hastened away to the widow’s lair.

Only to discover, to his chagrin, that the wily widow had given him the slip again! She had departed the
hotel that very morning in the company of a well-known nobleman of impeccable lineage, great wealth,
and sophisticated tastes!

This undeniable facer served to enrage the Viking further. He was forced to accept, however, that the
female was no ordinary antagonist. Less than two weeks in town, and she had snared a reputable
member of the aristocracy! Of course it was obvious that the man had made her hisbelle amie and
carried her off to some small, cosy, and probably very elegant house where he would be free to visit her
at his convenience. Lord Ranulf set his mouth against the scorn that rose to his lips. What else had he
expected? The ease with which such a negligible female seemed to accomplish her nefarious designs had
roused in the big man a remarkable hunger to bring her to her just deserts.

Quite grimly, and without calling upon Trevelyan’s services, Lord Ranulf set out to run the trickster to
earth. And this time, he promised himself grimly, not even the protection of her man-about-town shall
save her!

He did not stop to consider why he had built up such a need for revenge against his cousin’s treacherous
wife. He only knew that he had not felt such a surge of excitement, such a desire to accomplish a
purpose, since he had been a green boy. Milord’s feral grin was very much in place as he pursued his
goal.

And such is the power of money, and the force of a strong man’s grim determination, that he reached his
goal on the second day. It was in the afternoon, as a matter of fact, when Lady Floss, naturally a little
fatigued by her elaborate preparations, had gone to lie down upon her bed in the small, quietly elegant
town house she had rented with her own funds — in spite of the earl’s generous offer to assist her if
necessary.

That bewildered man had been forced to admit that Lady Floss and Miss Clea Bradford were two
females whose like had not come within his ken until now. Politely but firmly refusing any monetary
assistance, Floss had graciously accepted his butler Ames’s inspired suggestion that Lady Dearborn
might wish to rent the vacant town house of one of Glendon’s friends who was currently touring the
Continent.

Well pleased at the modish yet comfortable small residence, the two ladies lost no time in having their
belongings transferred to the home that was to be theirs for the three months left of the Season.

The earl admitted to a certain unwelcome sense of confusion. Neither of his enforced protégées was
acting as he had expected. Their refusal to accept monetary aid did not really surprise him. It was evident
that neither lady had the town bronze to understand that gentlemen sometimesassisted ladies who
interested them. The one thing that had his eyebrows lifting was the real elegance and suitability of their
wardrobes. The girl was unique, of course. He had no doubt his mama and her ilk would destroy the
unfeminine creature unless some very powerful male in the ton decided to protect her before they got
their claws in.

Somehow this easy solution to her problem did not please the earl. She was, after all, Sir George’s niece,
and well born enough to merit a better fate than to be a nobleman’sobjet d’art . Still, it was plain to the
earl that no man in his right mind would betroth himself to so unusual and out-of-the-mode female. And if
the betrothal of Miss Cleanthe was the primary object of this absurd descent upon the beau monde, as
Lady Floss had given him to understand, then the two ladies were destined for a great disappointment —
at the very least.

A little wearily, the earl wondered why he was bothering to consider the fate of two women whom he
had never thought of before in his life. He was forced to admit that hedid care, however, and that,
surprisingly, he was going to try very hard to ensure that the maddeningly provocative, pretty, little Lady
Floss was neither humiliated nor disappointed. He owed that much to his old friends the Greys.

Feeling perversely cheerful, Lord Glendon went to his club to spread the word, very discreetly, of two
new and quite unusual beauties who were to be introduced to society at Lady Bowser’s home very
shortly.

After the earl had left, Floss experienced an odd sense of loneliness and decided very sensibly to retire to
her bedchamber for a rest. She had conceived a scheme that might, if successful, establish her dear Clea
in the comfortable care of a man who would value her unusual charms, but she realized that she had
undertaken a very demanding program. Frowning slightly, Floss paused by the door of the small book
room, advising Clea, whom she found reading one of the volumes, to put it down before she made her
eyes red.

Clea agreed docilely, but as soon as Floss left, she promptly resumed reading the stirring romance she
had found.

It was upon this scene that the trembling young housemaid, newly hired by Ames to serve the widow,
announced a very formidable gentleman.

“Lord Ranulf Malyon, ma’am!” whispered the girl, and vanished.

“So we meet at last, Lady Dearborn,” challenged the nobleman in a voice like cold steel.

Clea glanced up, perceived the giant advancing upon her, became aware of his blatant menace, and flew
to the protection of dear little Floss — all in a flashing moment.

“Malyon,” she drawled scornfully. “The heir who refused to attend Lord Dearborn’s funeral. You are a
little late in paying your respects to his widow, are you not?”

The enormous fellow had halted near her, his dark blue eyes flashing with anger — and surprise. Meeting
that challenging glare, Clea rose automatically to her feet. Could he have mistaken her for her aunt?
Could she possibly pass for Lady Floss long enough to get him out of the house? The girl’s chin lifted in
an unmistakable gesture of defiance.

Again the man’s eyes widened slightly as he realized that the despised female was at least six feet in
height. How she must have towered over the heavy-set Sir George, Ranulf thought with a sneer. A
comical pair! Yet there was nothing comical or craven in the wide, golden stare to which he was being
subjected. His antagonist took up the attack before he had time to untangle his wary gaze from those
blazing golden eyes.

“So, Malyon, you have tracked Lady Dearborn down. It is unfortunate that I must cut short thisvisit of
sympathy . I am to attend a dinner at the home of Lady Bowser this evening.”

That should show the uncouth giant that Lady Dearborn was welcome in the best society!

Unfortunately for her, her comment had the opposite effect. With a smile that was more of a sneer, Lord
Ranulf launched his own attack.

“Does this Lady Bowser know that her guest is being —sponsored — at the moment by a well-known
nobleman? Perhaps someone should tell her before she is made a fool of in front of all London. Glendon’
s mistresses do not usually flaunt themselves in respectable houses!”

He was savagely pleased to observe that the color had fled from the woman’s face. That got to her, he
thought. Let her flash those wide, innocent-seeming eyes at someone who did not know her for the
wretched contriver who had so cold-bloodedly exploited George Dearborn. Lord Ranulf advanced
another step toward the white-faced young woman and favored her with his wide, wolfish smile.

“Let me advise you to guard your back, Madame Widow,” he said softly. “I have decided to make sure
that you receiveeverything that is your due for your callous behavior to my cousin.”

Then, with a mocking bow, he turned and strode from the room, a huge, powerful figure whose golden
hair shone brightly under the newly lighted chandeliers of the little entrance hall.

Clea stood with one hand clenched against her breast, her eyes fixed on the doorway. Slowly her color
returned, and her expression hardened.

“I shall not permit you to hurt Aunt Floss with your evil tongue,” she promised grimly. “I shall find a way
to stop you, Malyon!”

Go to Contents

Chapter 8

lea could not decide whether or not to tell Aunt Floss about the unpleasant visit of Lord Ranulf. On the

one hand, it might frighten her to know that she had so determined an enemy. On the other hand, it would
allow her to take measures to defend herself. After considerable thought, Clea resolved that Floss should
be warned, for her own protection, of the ugly threats the heir had made. Perhaps it was some
advantage, Clea consoled herself, that the wicked Malyon had mistaken her for her aunt. At least little

Floss had the safety of being unknown to her ill-wisher!

Clea frowned. Why had the handsome giant been so angry with Lady Dearborn? Aunt Floss had denied
ever meeting him, so it could not be anything of a personal nature. Was Malyon a high-stickler who found
Lady Floss’s open, cheerful manner offensive to his stuffy code of behavior? At once Clea set her jaw in
a stubborn line. Floss’s years as the wife of George Dearborn had brought her more than enough
unhappiness! It was the duty of those who loved the little widow to make sure that she receive no further
punishment. If there was anything that had happened during the marriage that had set the heir against
George Dearborn’s wife, Clea promised herself that she would get to the bottom of the mystery as soon
as possible. She might even set up an attack of her own! Lord Ranulf had frightened her more than she
was willing to admit. He was so big — so ruthless — so beautiful!

The girl gasped with dismay. What had gotten into her to call that marauder beautiful? She hurried up the
stairs into the small but pretty room where her aunt was still conscientiously resting upon her bed.

Lady Floss glanced up at Clea with sparkling eyes.

“So you have finally decided to abandon romantic novels for the real world!” she teased. “Come and we
shall decide upon our costumes for tonight!”

Then something about the girl’s pale face alerted Floss to danger. “What is wrong? Tell me!” she said
quietly.

It did not occur to Clea to lie. “Lord Ranulf Malyon has just paid us a call,” she began.

“Oh?” Floss considered this information. “I have changed my mind about that young man,” she said
slowly. “I must admit I had intended him foryou , dearest Clea; and I was — justifiably, I think —
annoyed when he refused to come to the funeral or even to call upon us during our year of mourning …
for how could he offer for you if he didn’t know you existed?”

“Floss!” Clea interrupted. “Youweren’t trying to fob me off on that horrid, arrogant, vicious creature,
were you?”

“Vicious?” repeated Floss, looking suddenly much more alert. Then she went on placatingly, “Well, that
was before we had met him,” she apologized. “Of course,I haven’t actually met him yet, have I? Was he
such a horrid, arrogant, viciousmonster? ” Her fine eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“You would hate him,” Clea assured her, unsmiling. “He came to tell me that he was going to ruin my
reputation in the ton because I had behaved so badly to Uncle George.”

Floss’s pretty little face was a study in confusion. “Uncle George? But what had you done to hurt him? I
should think the shoe was on a horse of a different color, or whatever that saying is!” She paused,
frowning. “Is Lord Ranulf mentally deranged, do you think?”

Clea, amused as ever at her aunt’s quick change of the subject, said gently, “Aunt Floss, he thought I
was you.He presumed that he was addressing Lady Dearborn.”

“But that is silly! I can say with confidence that I never once behaved badly to your unce … except
perhaps that time I, ah, borrowed the roof money to buy you a decent riding habit. I knew you would
appear to advantage in it, and you did! Even George noticed how well you looked. You were like a
young Dulcinea! Or do I mean Diana? I can never get those Greeks straight! The goddess of the hunt,
anyway.”

Clea’s worried expression softened. “It was the only time Uncle George ever commented kindly upon

my appearance,” she recalled. “He said I looked bang up to the mark — or something equally flattering!”

Diverted as easily as usual, Floss chuckled. “George had fewer social graces than any human being I
have ever encountered,” she admitted, and then went on with a puzzled expression. “But I cannot for the
life of me see why his nasty heir resentsme for Dearborn’s insensitivity and neglect.”

It was the first time Clea had ever heard her aunt admit that her marriage had been in any way lacking in
tenderness or loving concern. The few rather gently spoken words conjured up in Clea’s memory a
picture of the miserable days and weeks and months during which she had been forced to observe the
utter callousness of Dearborn’s neglect of his pretty little wife. Much moved, she came over to the bed
and threw her arms around the little widow in a warm hug.

“Dearest Floss! Let us dress ourselves in our finest new robes tonight and celebrate our freedom! And
confusion to all our enemies!”

Gurgling with pleasure, Floss threw herself at once into the congenial task of preparing for their dinner at
the home of Lady Bowser. Ringing for their new dresser, Martha, Lady Floss demanded to know
whether Madame Renée had arrived yet to help them make ready. On being informed that the
Frenchwoman had been waiting this half hour for their summons, Floss gave the order to begin.

Two frantic hours later, Madame Renée and Martha, exhausted but triumphant, stood back and
permitted the ladies to see what had been done. Floss and Clea walked over to stand in front of the
full-length mirror in their shared dressing room. Clea stared and stared again. She had never seen Floss
appear so lovely; the pale blue silkbergère she wore over rose satin and ecru lace made her look like a
small Dresden figurine, exquisite and beautiful. But Clea had expected that Aunt Floss would be beautiful.
What really startled her was the queenly figure that loomed like a goddess above the little shepherdess.
Could that radiant girl be the grotesquely gawky figure of fun that had amused the county gossips for four
years? Because of the haste in which they had been forced to act during the past week to get ready for
Lady Bowser’s dinner party, Clea had not until this moment seen herself in the full glory of new costume,
new coiffure, and new maquillage all at once. She drew in a wondering breath and looked beyond the
image in the mirror to make sure that it was herself she was observing, and not some visitor from Mount
Olympus.

A pleased laugh from her aunt brought her back to reality.

“He did us very well, that French cousin of the hotel chef,” she said, preening before the mirror. “Please
tell him, Madame Renée, how pleased we both are.”

“It is not I,” said Clea shakily. “Itcan’t be!”

Floss laughed again, gleefully. “It is you, all right,” she said, nodding, “just as I always knew you could
be. I can’t wait for them all to see you!” She glanced at the dazzled girl shrewdly. “I only wish Lord
Ranulf was to be there tonight! You would really give that arrogant bully something to think about!”

Recalling that wide white pirate’s smile, Clea could only be happy that the huge Viking would never have
been invited to one of Lady Bowser’s private dinners. Suppressing an involuntary shiver, she turned to
Madame Renée.

“You did not wish to powder my hair, madame?”

“It would be a crime to hide it,” the woman said softly.

“It seems to go so well with her gown,” added Floss happily. “Cleanthe is like a statue brought to life!”

A little worried, the Frenchwoman agreed. Did she know what she was getting into, this little ladyship?
She and her young protégée might easily be destroyed tonight. Should she warn them?

Madame Renée sighed. She should not, but she must.

“Milady, may I be permitted to offer a suggestion? Strictlyentre nous? ” she finished very softly.

Lady Floss caught the urgency of the whispered request.

“Clea, will you make sure Tom Coachman knows we wish to leave in half an hour? And perhaps Debbie
will get us a cup of tea before we set out?”

When Clea had gone off to speak to the little maid, Lady Floss looked at the Frenchwoman. “What did
you wish to tell me?” she asked.

Madame Renée lost no time in explaining her fears, concluding, “So you see, milady, while you are
beautiful and your ward isépatante — striking! — you will both find yourselves the center of a great
deal of curiosity, not all of it kindly, perhaps. I wish only to warn you to think twice about presenting so
… unusual a protégée. If the swells should take it into their heads to laugh at her, her future will end
tonight!”

“And why should these swells laugh at my Clea?” demanded Lady Floss fiercely.

The Frenchwoman shrugged. “Her size. Her strange, beautiful white-gold hair. And the very unmodish
garments that Jean-Paul has made for her. Oh, I know they fit her and make her look like something out
of an old fable!” Madame Renée stopped the other woman’s protests. “But you must admit that she
doesn’t look much like you, milady! And you aretrès élégante and very muchà la mode !”

Lady Floss hardly appreciated the compliment from the very knowledgeable Madame Renée, so loudly
in her ears and mind echoed the Frenchwoman’s dire warning:If the swells should take it into their
heads to laugh at her, her future will end tonight!

Was it possible? Had she placed her dear Clea in a situation so charged with the threat of pain? Drawing
a shaking breath, Lady Floss forced herself to take a searching, honest look at the realities. Yes, Clea
was not the usual pretty little debutante. No, she had no powerful or even socially acceptable family to
give her consequence or support. No, she had no large dowry to render her attractive to a man of good
family but straitened means. But oh, she was a darling girl! The man who might someday call this splendid
creature his own would have love, steadfast support through all vicissitudes, tenderness, and, yes,
passion. Floss knew Clea’s worth, her strength under fire, and her warm heart — none better! Lady
Floss twisted her small hands together in indecision.

Had she, in her overweening desire to repay the girl for so many years of devotion, placed her in a
position that could only result in humiliation and hurt? Was the Frenchwoman correct in assuming that the
modish fribbles of the ton would find dear Clea a figure of fun?

Lady Floss set her small jaw. Strong measures were called for, and immediately! She bent toward the
Frenchwoman in a mime of sharing momentous information.

“Madame Renée, since you have demonstrated true concern for my protégée, I shall share a pleasant
secret with you. Miss Cleanthe Bradford is to be married, very soon, to a nobleman of unimpeachable
elegance and great wealth!”

The Frenchwoman’s eyes rounded and then began to sparkle with pleasure at the alluring prospect.

“Ma foi!But this is news of the best, milady! If she is to be wed to such a one, surely no vicious tongue
will dare to hiss against her!”

Admiring such Gallic eloquence, Floss nodded happily. But the other lady, a dedicated gossip, was not
yet satisfied.

“Can you tell me who is the fortunate nobleman?” she asked eagerly.

Floss told herself afterward that she had not really had time to think of all the consequences before she
uttered the fateful words. “Why, it is the Earl of Glendon” tripped off her tongue, and before she could
catch herself, she had added, “Lord Glendon.”

Appalled at her own deceit and daring, Floss hardly heard the Frenchwoman’s earnest assurances that
the precious information should never pass her lips. Both women knew that the assurances were
meaningless; both were aware that Lady Floss intended her confidence to be spread with all speed
throughout the beau monde. And then the woman was gone — hurrying, Floss knew, to announce the
startling development. And Clea was walking into the room, a tentative smile on her rosy lips, a look of
surprise in her huge, innocent eyes.

“Madame Renée seemed in rather a hurry to make her adieux.” She chuckled. “Did you send her away
with a flea in her ear, Aunt Floss?”

But the crushing importance and danger of her hastily spoken words by now had penetrated even Floss
Dearborn’s cheerfully optimistic attitude. What if Lord Glendon rejected the announcement out of hand
— as, indeed, he had every right to do! What if he were already engaged to someone else, some tender
and lovely maiden whose heart would, of course, be broken when she heard the devastating rumor? Of
course he would repudiate as a foul canard the very suggestion of an alliance with Miss Cleanthe
Bradford! And then Cleanthe’s heart would be broken!

Lady Floss raised a ravaged countenance to Clea’s alarmed inspection.

“Oh, my dearest girl! I have ruined you, but I did it for the best possible motives!” She sobbed and threw
herself into Clea’s arms.

Go to Contents

Chapter 9

hen the two women entered the stately entrance hall of Lady Bowser’s town house half an hour later,

it would have taken a very keen eye to detect that both ladies were on the very edge of panic. A hasty
confession by Floss to her stunned niece had been followed by a surprisingly gallant response.

“We shall just have to brazen it out, Aunt Floss,” Clea had said when she finally collected her wits and
her voice. “It was more than kind of Lady Bowser to invite us to her home, and we must do nothing to
disturb her or to cause her unhappiness. Surely the … word will not have had time to percolate through
society yet? I mean, how could Madame Renée have gotten ahead of us to Bowser House, even if she
had had a carriage waiting to take her there? Which, of course, she would not have done,” she ended
rather uncertainly.

Lady Floss shook her beautifully coiffed head in sorrow at such ignorance. “Gossip does not need a
carriage,” she corrected. “It seems to float through the air and suddenly everyone knows it. I think it is
the servants,” she concluded with what Clea felt to be complete irrationality. However, since this

digressive aspect of her dear aunt’s mind was quite familiar to her, Clea wasted no time in discussion.

“Our business now is to decide upon a plan of action,” she stated, sinking back into the comfortable, if
worn, squabs of the rented carriage. “We have about fifteen minutes, I should think.”

But Floss’s volatile mind, never long at a loss for a resolution of any problem, had already presented her
with a workable ploy. She smiled roguishly at her worried-looking niece. “I shall buttonhole Lord
Glendon before dinner — as soon as we enter the drawing room, in fact — tell him the whole story, and
suggest that he permit the rumor to circulate until you are firmly established in the ton. And then you may
allow the word to get out that you are dissolving the engagement by mutual consent.”

Clea regarded the complacent little smile on Floss’s countenance with exasperation. “How could you,
Aunt Floss? The poor man will befurious — and rightly so! — to be the target of such outrageous
speculation and critical comments as must come his way. Why, the fellow hardly knows us —me ! To be
suddenly pitch-forked into an ‘engagement’ with a country nobody, and such a gawk as I am, without
being given the courtesy of an opportunity to agree or disagree! I know the arrogant creature will loathe
even the suggestion that he might be linked with either of us! It is a preposterous scheme, Floss, even for
you!”

She caught the odd little flash of temper with which her aunt greeted this unflattering, if true, assessment.
It was not like Floss to show anger, but this was, admittedly, not an everyday situation. The pretty little
countenance assumed an unfamiliar, toplofty expression that would have set Clea to chuckling in happier
circumstances, then Lady Floss said with unaccustomed hauteur, “Cleanthe, you will permit me to know
what is best to do in this matter. I shall handle it myself.”

Clea had felt a decided sinking in the tone of her mind, and would possibly have continued the battle, if
the carriage had not drawn up before a well-lighted entrance at that very moment. A footman ran
forward across a strip of carpet to open the door for the ladies and to escort them carefully to the
wide-open portals of the Bowser town house. And there, awaiting them at the head of a charmingly
curved staircase, was their hostess, an older lady of formidable presence whose person was draped with
more diamonds than Clea had ever seen in her life.

Clea could only admire the presence of mind with which Lady Floss greeted their imposing hostess. In
fact, she thought, Floss was speaking to the redoubtable female as though they had been bosom bows
from their cradles.

Sketching a pretty curtsy, Floss said, low-voiced, “It was most gracious of you to include us in your
dinner party, Lady Bowser, especially since it is absolutely essential that I speak to one of your other
guests without a moment’s loss of time! A life-and-death matter, I assure you, dear madame! Oh, this is
my niece, Miss Cleanthe Bradford. She also wishes to thank you.”

Lady Bowser’s eyebrows lifted almost to the line of her neatly powdered hair, and her large, rather cold
gray eyes scanned first Lady Floss and then Clea with maddening deliberation. The girl was steeling
herself for a disastrous putdown when, to her surprise, a reluctant tic tugged at the corners of the firm,
rather thin lips of their hostess.

“This may prove more interesting than the usual courtesy dinner party,” she said. “Which of my guests is
involved in the life-and-death matter of which you speak?”

Floss scanned the small gathering of modishly appareled men and women who stood about the gracious
drawing room chatting animatedly. Fortunately, almost the first figure her eyes lighted upon was the
commanding person of the earl. Lady Floss offered a bright smile to her hostess and said ingenuously,
“Dear Lady Bowser, it is Lord Glendon whom I must speak to, and at once, if you will forgive me?”

Then she moved gracefully across the room, weaving in and out among the groups with only her charming
smile as an apology. Lady Bowser stared after her wonderingly.

“An interesting little creature,” she uttered after a moment.

Clea’s shoulders relaxed. “Aunt Floss is a darling, really, Lady Bowser! She is just a trifle …” Words
failed her at the impact of the steel-gray glance.

But her hostess was smiling now. “She is just a trifle something,” she agreed. “I’m not sure quitewhat ,
but it should provide me with an interesting dinner party.” Her glance took in the heroic proportions of
her guest. “Miss Cleanthe Bradford, I believe? A niece of Lady Dearborn and daughter of Millie
Dearborn Bradford? I liked your grandmama very much, Cleanthe. You do not resemble her, my child.
Who has given you these noble proportions?”

This was plain speaking, indeed, but Clea could detect no malice in the gaze of her hostess. “It is thought
that I am a throwback to an earlier Bradford who married a Scottish laird’s daughter,” she confessed.
“An imposing figure, we are given to understand,” she added with a trace of a rueful smile as she glanced
down at her own imposing proportions.

“You were wise to forsake the current mode for bergères and underdresses,” her hostess commented
drily. “Or else you might have resembled Lady Glendon,” and her glance rested, not too kindly, upon a
large, bedizened dowager who was approaching them with curiosity and scorn evident on her face.
“Lord Glendon’s mama,” she warned the girl sotto voce.

Clea’s heart sank as she beheld the massive figure sweeping its way in her direction. And then her head,
with its regal crown of silver-gilt hair, lifted proudly, and she made her expression as blank as that of the
haughtiest member of the beau monde. Under Lady Bowser’s approving eye, she observed the approach
of Lady Glendon with apparent aplomb.

Lady Glendon’s first remark left much to be desired in the way of grace. “Who is this giant female, Amy?
I have not met her before.” And am not enjoying the experience now, implied her critical, scouring
glance.

“This is Miss Cleanthe Bradford, granddaughter of one of my dearest friends,” Lady Bowser said coolly.
“She and her aunt, Lady Dearborn, are the guests I am honoring this evening. They have just arrived in
London.”

“That’s plain to see,” snapped Lady Glendon with an unpleasant smile. “You’d be well advised to direct
them to a good dressmaker, Amy.”

“Did you not know that Cleanthe’s dress isle dernier cri of fashion? What was your couturier’s name,
my dear?” Lady Bowser turned to Clea.

“Monsieur Jean-Paul,” Clea was able to reply glibly.

“Never heard of him.” Lady Glendon sniffed.

Clea surprised herself. With a smile that was almost a smirk, she said softly, “Oh, Jean-Paul does not
need to tout his skills, ma’am! He has a small but select clientele, which keeps him as busy as he cares to
be. His staff is also small and expert, but he himself designs every garment. He believes that the dress
should suit thewearer — not some arbitrary decree of custom or passing fashion.”

Both older ladies stared at Clea with fascination. The girl realized that there is no female so sophisticated
that she will not listen to a new theory on fashion with interest. Still, Clea judged she had responded to

her hostess’s question quite suitably and decided to let well enough alone.

For once in her unpleasant life, Lady Glendon could find nothing to say. Her dislike of the young woman
who was Lady Bowser’s guest was plain to see, but she merely sniffed rather rudely and demanded,
“Are we not to dine before midnight, Amy? I cannot approve of these new late hours!” Then she
wandered off to find some other unfortunate person to bullock.

Lady Bowser and Clea exchanged a small smile of relief.

“You handled that well, Cleanthe,” approved the older woman. “I infer thereis a couturier, and that he
did design your gown with your figure in mind rather than the latest French quirk?”

“Can you picture me in a costume like Lady Glendon’s?” challenged the girl with a chuckle.

“Frankly, I would rather not picture any female in that overblown absurdity. How poor Glendon puts up
with the woman I shall never understand.”

At this, the eyes of both ladies turned to the part of the large room where Lady Floss and Lord Glendon
were quietly conversing. “I wonder what she is saying to him,” said Lady Bowser with a smile.

“It might be better if you did not have to know,” said Clea in a tone that brought the older woman’s
glance to rest on her guest’s pale face with renewed interest. This was shaping up to be the least boring
dinner party she had ever given.

Clea would have been as surprised as Lady Bowser if she had been able to follow the conversation that
was taking place in the far corner of the charming drawing room. Floss, realizing the urgency of the
situation, had carried off the earl from the two friends with whom he was idly conversing with just the
merest word of apology. Since this was accompanied by her most dazzling smile, the gentlemen raised no
objections, merely staring after the couple with obvious envy and some amusement.

The earl was not amused.

“What do you think you are doing, you little fool?” he gritted between his teeth, meanwhile maintaining a
token smile to disarm the quizzes.

“We have had a disaster —” began Floss, low-voiced.

“Already? I might have known it!” the earl snapped. “Why I ever allowed myself to be drawn into this
imbroglio, even marginally —” He paused, appalled at the wicked laughter in Floss’s large blue eyes.
How, he wondered, could orbs so innocently open manage to suggest such naughtiness? What in Heaven
’s name was the chit up to now? Stifling a groan and with a nervous glance around at the quietly chatting
guests, he muttered, “Well, tell me! What have you done now?”

Floss took a deep breath. “I have told the greatest gossip in London that you are betrothed to my niece
Cleanthe,” she said bravely.

“My God!” breathed the earl.

Floss took heart at the obviously benevolent partnership implied. At least he had not damned her for all
eternity — a possible reaction! She smiled up at him anxiously, her lovely little face pale. “It is just till the
end of the Season,” she urged. “Then you can let it be known that you have both decided you do not
exactly suit, and the whole matter can be quietly dropped.…”

Floss’s voice faded at the blazing wrath she saw in his eyes.

“Indeed!” The earl’s voice was silky soft and terrifying. “I see you have the whole matter neatly arranged,
dear Lady Dearborn! Am I to have any say at all in this — engagement! — or have you already chosen
the church and the bridesmaids?”

“You may end it whenever you wish!” Floss wailed, horrified by his hostility, and turned to flee.

The earl’s large, hard hand darted out and seized her wrist in a grip that punished as much as it
restrained. “You will lower your voice, madam,” he hissed, “and paste that guileless little smile back upon
your lying lips! I have no wish to furnish an item for every gabble-monger in London to savor!” His
brown eyes opened wider, and he whispered fiercely, “Even more of an item than you have already
made me, you …” Words failed him.

“Idiot?” Floss suggested humbly. “Totty-head?” These were terms she had heard applied to herself by
her former husband.

“Bitch!” snapped the earl, unforgivably.

Floss drew her small figure up proudly. “I do not think that is a very courteous thing for you to call me,”
she said with a show of bravery. “It does not apply to the situation.”

“You think not?” sneered Lord Glendon. “You are not going to try to convince me that this whole
devious ploy was not a well-thought-out scheme to trap me?”

“Oh, no, Lord Glendon! You see, Madame Renée advised me, just an hour or so ago, that my dear
Cleanthe could become a figure of fun in the ton — and I could not bear that to happen to her! She has
such a trusting heart, gentle and loving — and I forced her to come to London with me so that I could
find her a suitableparti , some gentleman who has other ideas in his mind than wenching and attending
cockfights and riding to hounds until he is incapable of rational thought!”

Her voice had begun to rise again, and Lord Glendon pinched her wrist firmly. “Quiet!” he warned
grimly, but there was a fraction of softening about his hard-set lips.

And then he could no longer resist the little addlepate, and his frown collapsed into a grin. “It is your
considered opinion that riding to hounds renders one incapable of rational thought?” he asked, eyes intent
on the now flushed little face.

“Yes, that — and the other things,” she explained, low-voiced. “You see, I was married for seven years
to a man whose only interests were drinking and riding with the hunt and, ah …”

“Wenching and cockfighting?” supplied the earl, now, to his surprise, beginning to enjoy himself.
“Especially wenching?”

Lady Floss drew her small figure up to its full height. “It is no laughing matter,” she said soberly. “I could
not endure such a — a torment for Cleanthe. I had hoped to find a man of culture and sensitivity who
might value her rare and striking beauty as it deserves. And then,” she admitted, “I panicked. I used your
name in an unforgivable way.” Her wide, unhappy eyes were raised to meet his searching scrutiny, all her
hopes and fears evident to his skeptical gaze.

The earl was moved. But he was an experienced and wily campaigner, well aware of the devious devices
females could use to secure their desires. The woman seemed honest enough, if hopelessly naïve; yet it
could be an elaborate scheme to secure a Prize for her niece. While he considered the matter, his brown
eyes dark with distrust, fate, in the person of his mama, cast the deciding vote.

The Countess of Glendon had not been unaware of the very prolonged and earnest tête-à-tête that had

engaged her son and the country bumpkin in full view of the gathered guests. While she had nagged and
pestered her son for years to eschew his bachelor freedom and accept the connubial bonds, she was far
from willing to permit some jumped-up little nobody to assume the name, consequence, and fortune of
the Glendons. So, fired with pride and prejudice, the Countess of Glendon moved arrogantly to rout the
would-be usurper of her position.

She drew up before the couple with quite a vulgar flourish. “I see you have already managed to
buttonhole my son,” she began harshly, her gaze scouring the tiny, dainty figure of Lady Dearborn.
“Perhaps I had better warn you that he is already betrothed to another lady — ayoung lady.” Her voice
was harsh enough to secure the attention of nearly every guest in the room.

But for once her son surprised her.

“Mama, Mama!” he breathed, as one regretting a faux pas. “Will you never learn decorum? I am sure it
is my place to make such an announcement!” His eyes, harder than most people had ever seen them,
were fixed on his mother’s startled countenance. “Still, sinceyou have made the break, and in front of our
friends” — his wicked grin told her that whatever shock he was about to administer, it was her own fault
— “I suppose I must share my happiness with you all.”

Turning with predatory grace, he extended his hand arrogantly to the stunned Cleanthe. “Miss Cleanthe
Bradford — who has just agreed to become my countess! Come here, darling!”

Go to Contents

Chapter 10

f course the story was all over town the following day. Those who had not been present for the

earth-shaking announcement — and since it had been a very select dinner party, that meant most of the
beau monde — could only marvel and doubt and search frantically for an encounter with someone who
had been present in Lady Bowser’s drawing room when that notorious bachelor the Earl of Glendon had
informed the assembled guests of his approaching marriage.

Speculation was rife. Whowas the girl? Cleanthe Bradford? No one had ever heard of her! A few of
Lord Glendon’s cronies boasted that he had mentioned to them, the very afternoon before Lady B.’s
party, that two dazzling newcomers were to be introduced that night.

“Glendon’s a sly dog!” said one of his friends, grinning, complacent at his own advance information.
“Never breathed a word of hisspecial interest, of course!”

“Probably making sure you didn’t try to cut him out,” grumbled Sir Hilary Bond enviously. “Has anyone
seen the female? Who is she?”

“WhatI should like to know,” said Lord Evert, a rather pompous nobleman, “is: Who is theother female?
Glendon distinctly said two dazzling newcomers.”

“I believe,” Sir Hilary was happy to inform the interested group, “that the second lady’s name is
Dearborn. Some older female — a sort of duenna, one supposes.”

In the flurry of laughter and comments that followed that remark, only Sir Hilary noticed the sudden rigid
fixity of the glance of a newcomer to the exclusive club. The fellow was a giant and put Sir Hilary much in
mind of pictures of Vikings he had seen in his history books at Eton. Since Sir Hilary really had no new
information to share with his friends and was loath to admit it, he strolled over to greet the new guest. The

fellow had looked as though he knew something about the Dearborn female — and the expression of
contempt and anger on his fierce Viking countenance made it possible that he hadon-dits to impart, given
the proper occasion.

“You are a guest here, I believe?” Sir Hilary began civilly. “May I offer you a drink, sir?”

The Viking seemed quite civilized. He extended one huge hand, raked his interrogator with a pair of
steel-cold eyes, and said in a voice that rumbled in his chest, “I am Malyon. Lord Ranulf. I should enjoy
a whiskey.”

Sir Hilary was no fool. He was convinced that this Lord Ranulf Malyon had some urgent interest in the
girl Lord Glendon had announced to be his bride-to-be. Could there be a contest in progress for the
lady? Excited as he had seldom been of late, Sir Hilary set himself with considerable skill to discover the
full state of affairs.

Three whiskeys later, he had learned precisely nothing, but realized he had told the newcomer everything
he knew or suspected about Lord Glendon’s new fiancée.

“So no one has ever heard of the girl or her sponsor,” the giant mused. “It would seem to me that the earl
’s friends should investigate the two women rather carefully.” Meeting Sir Hilary’s raised eyebrows, Lord
Ranulf explained in a rather offhand tone, “Surely you are aware that predatory females rush to London
to feather their nests? Isn’t the place called the marriage mart?”

Sir Hilary responded a little stiffly. After all, Lord Glendon was his friend, and he really should not permit
some wild Norseman from the border to make disparaging remarks. So he said coolly, “The earl wasn’t
born yesterday, Malyon! He’s been the target of greedy, fortune-hunting females ever since he came to
London.”

“And now one of them has caught him!” rumbled the giant, softly mocking. “Ah, well, we all must
succumb sooner or later, I suppose. Perhaps the girl has a fortune? Or is she a real diamond?”

Sir Hilary, by now fully aware of the problem, was beginning to wish he knew much more about the
woman to whom his friend had so abruptly pledged himself. Had it been love at first sight? Too romantic;
quite unlike Lord Glendon. Could it have been a trap, cunningly laid and sprung at the dinner party? With
all his masculine fears and doubts fully raised by the attitude of the northern lord, Sir Hilary excused
himself rather abruptly and hurried out of the room. He must find the earl and demand to know if his
friend was being blackmailed into a disastrous match!

Behind him, Lord Ranulf grinned wickedly at the success of his first attack upon the scheming widow and
her fellow conniver.

At this very moment, the earl was waiting upon the two ladies in question. The night had brought counsel,
and all of it was so displeasing to the arrogant nobleman that he had arrived at Lady Dearborn’s
residence in a fine fury, fully determined to end the farce without a moment’s delay. How could he have
allowed the tiny female — a widow, without a trace of town bronze! — to overwhelm so easily his
carefully constructed defenses? In ten minutes the little schemer had accomplished something that all the
managing mamas of the beau monde had tried and failed to do during the past several years. To say
nothing of his own mama and her endless whining campaign to entangle him in the bonds of matrimony
with some simpering ingénue of her own choice!

His defiant manhood fully aroused, Lord Glendon stormed into the small, pretty drawing room — and
found it empty! He turned fiercely on the hapless maid.

“I sent a groom with a message, over an hour ago, that I wished to speak with your mistress,” he said
icily. “You will request her to attend me here, at once, if you please!” He threw in the latter as a sop toles
convenances , since the servant was all but gibbering with terror. As he watched her skittering exit, his
well-cut lips curled scornfully. All would soon be resolved. A few firm words, a scathing smile perhaps,
and those wide, ingenuous blue eyes, so like those of a small, pedigreed kitten, would darken with
disappointment.… The softly shadowed lids would droop; the incredible dark eyelashes would rest upon
soft pink cheeks.… The tender mouth would tremble with regret.…

With a muttered oath, Lord Glendon snapped himself out of such maudlin maunderings.What was
happening to him? He had never felt quite this way about any female in his rather spoiled career in the
ton. With added horror, he realized that his truant imagination was dwelling not on the huge girl he had so
insanely claimed as his future bride but on her widowed, hitherto unknown, unfashionable, unavailable
aunt !

Fighting off a panic as real as any experienced by Floss or Clea, the earl tugged heedlessly at his
immaculate neckcloth. Every instinct urged flight, but his intelligence warned him that every day, every
hour, this disastrous engagement was allowed to stand, the deeper would be the bonds created and the
more impossible it would be to avoid the marriage. He groaned aloud. How had he been trapped? He
was honest enough to accept that his utter revulsion at his mama’s endless efforts to manipulate him had
triggered the insane announcement, but how had he ever permitted the hunters to get within killing
distance of their prey?

With unwelcome ease, a vision of wide, anxious blue eyes filled his memory.

The earl was no fool. “My God!” He acknowledged the catastrophe. “I’ve been hooked by an elderly
widow who doesn’t even want me for herself!”

Elderly? challenged the inner voice of reason. Have you forgotten so soon that soft, flawless, pink skin,
the luxuriant mass of golden curls, and the delectably curved little figure? The very thought of it sent
milord’s blood to racing in a quite uncharacteristic way.

But the widow had not asked him to pretend to be engaged to her, but to George Dearborn’s niece.
Frowning, the earl was considering this aspect of the problem when the door opened to reveal Lady
Dearborn. And yes,damn it , the eyes were just as wide and anxious and beautiful as he remembered,
and the small, worried face just as enchanting. The earl groaned and faced his nemesis. He was snared,
trapped, caught, by the daughter of his old friends the Greys!

“Oh, Lord Glendon, what is the matter?” Lady Floss was saying, her eyes on his frowning face. Then a
look of understanding saddened her expression, and she said with a little, weary sigh, “Of course. You
have come to tell me that our plan — my plan — is quite unacceptable! No, do not seek to soften the
blow!” she continued as Lord Glendon tried to speak. “I have discussed the whole business with Clea,
and she is sure the situation must be both painful and offensive to you, no matter how splendidly you
came to my rescue last evening!” The stunned nobleman was treated to a smile of such dazzling charm
that his senses reeled. “You must be the most chivalrous knight-errant in England — in the world! — to
come so gallantly to the rescue of two unhappy females!”

Unsure as to whether his acute discomfort arose from being called a knight-errant — for he had been
assured a thousand times by his mama that he hadn’t a quixotic bone in his body — or from the look of
distress on the sweet face before him, Lord Glendon assembled his wits sufficiently to ask his hostess to
sit down while they discussed the problem. His wary glance went to the door that Floss had closed
behind her as she entered.

“Your niece is not joining us?”

Floss smiled. “I am afraid she is attending a concert. She has discovered in herself a passion for music
that, in George Dearborn’s establishment, was never allowed an opportunity to develop,” she began in a
rather stilted manner. Then she broke into a gurgling laugh, which the earl found particularly pleasing. “As
a matter of cold fact,nothing was allowed to develop at Dearborn Hall if it did not relate to hunting or
one of Sir George’s other favorite pastimes!”

The earl found himself grinning back at the little minx. “It must have been dreadfully boring,” he
commiserated.

“On the contrary,” said the minx, “it was a blessing for me that my husband was able to occupy himself
so completely with hisfriends. ”

Respect and reluctant amusement joined in the earl’s expression. This was no green girl, for all she
looked like every man’s secret dream, tiny and golden and warm and sweet. This little female had spent
seven years with a crass brute of a husband, yet neither his brutality nor his neglect seemed to have
soured her. George Dearborn was a fool, the earl decided, his eyes intent upon the face turned up so
confidingly to his. With a real effort, he brought himself back to the problem at hand. Sitting beside her on
a neat sofa, he began quietly, “You do see that we must make our plans for the rest of the Season and
prepare to act in such a way that the quizzes will have nothing to gabble about? For my sake, as well as
your own,” he added when Lady Floss seemed ready to object.

“But Clea assures me that my scheme will bring nothing but embarrassment to you both,” she ventured.

Since this was exactly what the earl had feared, he was momentarily at a loss for a countering argument.
“Does she find my presence so objectionable?” he asked finally, carrying the battle into the widow’s
camp.

Lady Floss’s glance of warm admiration did powerful things for milord’s self-esteem. “Of course she is
not so foolish,” said Lady Floss stoutly. “It is my absurd idea that the engagement would protect her from
the cruel tongues of the ton, which disturbs my niece.” Floss held his eyes with her own anxious gaze.
“We must be honest with each other, milord,” she said quietly. “I have been told, on good authority, that
Cleanthe’s queenly build and beautiful hair are so far out of the mode as to render her completely
ineligible in society. And yet it has always been my dream, since she came to Dearborn Hall as a child,
that I might find someone worthy of her warm and generous nature, some man who could appreciate all
that she is — and could be!”

“And you decided I might be that man?” asked the earl.

Lady Floss frowned. “It was nothing so deliberate, milord. In my distress at the thought of everyone
laughing at dear Clea, I grasped at whatever opportunity seemed to offer —” She hesitated.

“Which was me,” agreed his lordship soberly.

Floss stared at the handsome, arrogant face above her. “I was a fool, milord. You might as well say it. I
embroiled you in our affairs, forced you into a position in which a gentleman had no recourse but to act
as you did … I cannot understand my cowardice — or your benevolence!”

Since this was exactly what Lord Glendon had been telling himself during most of the night just passed,
he could not find any glib answers to counteract Lady Floss’s arguments. With a forgiving smile that
would have shocked his associates, Lord Glendon said softly, “But that is why we must think very hard
now, Floss, and come up with a sensible scheme that will suit all of us.”

“You are sogood , so verykind !” breathed the little witch devoutly. She did not remark on his use of her
nickname.

Lord Glendon’s heart swelled at her appreciation of his true worth. Surely this little charmer was a
woman of real intelligence to have summed up his character so clearly! He inhaled deeply and took her
small hand in his own large, warm one.

“Now, dear Lady Floss, what shall we do to resolve our problem?”

Half an hour later they still had not solved the problem, but found themselves in remarkable accord on
every subject they discussed. The entrance of Clea, in a sweeping cape of sherry brown with a matching
hood, turned their admittedly straying thoughts back to the primary issue. When the greetings and
courtesies had been exchanged, Clea divested herself of her cape and sat down across from the two on
the sofa.

The earl regarded her with more charity than he had yet felt. Something about Floss’s concern for the big
young woman had apparently gotten through to his lordship.

“You are a striking figure,” he mused. “That hair is remarkable.”

“Thank you,” said Clea doubtfully.

The earl laughed. “Oh, yes, I was paying you a compliment! No need to bristle.”

Clea sighed. “I realize that, Lord Glendon. It is just that I have so little confidence in myself.…”

“By the end of this season, dear child, you will befull of confidence,” promised Floss rashly. “Two
months of being the chosen of Lord Glendon!”

“There are two things wrong with that last statement, Aunt Floss,” said Clea firmly. “Whatever you may
flummox the members of the ton into believing,we shall know that his lordship did not choose me. You
foisted me upon him, and he was gracious enough to save our faces last night. But it will not fadge, Floss.
It’s too easily seen that it is an unequal match.”

Floss looked up at Lord Glendon. Ignoring both the look and Clea’s statement, the man said quietly,
“That’s one point. What’s your second?”

“As I understand Aunt Floss’s generous plan, it was to bring me to London to arrange a suitable match
for me. To secure for me a safe and comfortable future.” She waited for Floss’s nod of agreement. “But
so long as the gentlemen believe me to be affianced to Lord Glendon, which of them would think of
offering for me?”

It was a facer, and, by the looks on their faces, Clea realized that the idea had not occurred to either of
them. The earl was the first to recover. With a nod of respect, he said, “Granted, Miss Cleanthe; you
have a point. Have you also as sensible a solution to our problem?”

“I have several,” admitted Clea. “As to their worth, I am sure you can advise me.” There was a tiny bite
in the comment, and Lord Glendon’s slightly narrowed gaze showed that he had caught it.

Lady Floss was looking lost and apprehensive. Michael felt a surge of warm protectiveness for the little
widow that was quite unlike any emotion he had ever experienced. Certainly he had never been aware of
such a powerful need to defend his own bitter, selfish mama, and he had been able to dismiss any appeal
from women of his own class as easily as he had dealt with his ladybirds. So why now, with this little
country nobody? Sternly, the nobleman brought himself back to the business at hand. “Tell me your

ideas,” he ordered Clea.

The girl drew a deep breath. “Well, first, I thought that my aunt and I should get out of London. Quickly
and quietly.”

“Thus causing a nine days’ wonder and leaving me open to the mockery of the ton as a jilted suitor,” the
earl commented crisply. “Excellent.”

Clea flung him a glance of deep annoyance and resentment. “I said that was myfirst thought,” she
protested.

The earl uttered an elaborate sigh. He was beginning to enjoy baiting the huge girl, whose eyes, when she
stood beside him, looked directly into his own. He had an idea that when she gained confidence, she
might prove a worthy antagonist. “I suppose,” he said with relish, “we must go through all your
subsequent, ineligible ideas in the hope that some small grain of wisdom may lurk among the chaff.”

He now had the complete attention of both ladies. The earl chuckled at the duet of affronted glares. “That
’s brought you both out of the dismals, I see! Remember, ladies, I have been trained in a hard school.
There is nothing I do not know about female quirks, quiddities, and sullen ill-humors!”

Since Clea and Floss had met his mama, they were forced to accept his somewhat derogatory opinion of
female behavior. In Clea, at least, it spurred a desire to show him just how calm, gracious, and
cooperative a woman could be.

“My second plan” — her tone was so sugar-sweet that Floss’s eyebrows rose — “was that we remain in
London and pursue a quiet and modest program of cultural activities, thus gradually convincing the ton
that I am really dull, boring, and unworthy of the earl’s notice. At which point, Lord Glendon, you could
announce that the … arrangement had been terminated by mutual agreement.”

The earl smiled pityingly. “Tell your niece,” he begged Lady Floss, “just how few of our young bucks
would find a blue-stocking tempting!” His voice hardened. “Cultural activities, indeed! I cannot deny
that picking up one of Glendon’s discards might appeal to some of our roués, but it would not be
marriage they would have in mind, I assure you. Although they might offer Clea a ‘safe and comfortable’
fewmonths !” he finished with worldly scorn.

And then, at the height of his tirade, he caught sight of their expressions and knew a sickening chill of fear
for what he had done. On both faces was a shuttered look, an attempt to conceal such pain as he could
not recall ever seeing on a woman’s face before. Lady Floss rose from the sofa and extended a hand to
Clea. Then she faced Lord Glendon.

“Thank you for sharing your opinions with us, milord,” she said in a lifeless voice. “You will excuse me
now, I am sure.” Leading the stunned Clea, she went quietly from the room.

Watching them go, Lord Glendon cursed himself bitterly. It had become clear to him during the last
devastating few minutes that he didnot wish to sever connections with the two lost lambs; that hedid
desire most urgently to protect them from the cynical wolves of London, of whom he was the worst; and
that neither his dealings with his mama nor with his casual, worldly flirts had prepared him to handle such
naïve females as Lady Floss and Cleanthe Bradford. He got himself out of the house and threw himself
into his waiting curricle, snarling at his unoffending groom. As he drove off, he was so angry that he
scarcely noticed the traffic on the street, causing the groom to close his eyes in a futile, if devout, attempt
to minimize the danger.

What kind of a foul-mouthed, insensitive creature had he become? wondered the earl, wallowing in a

sense of guilt.

By the time he reached Glendon House, he had come to a firm decision. He would be forced to take
complete charge of the two hapless females and shepherd them through their first perilous season. And at
the end of that period, he would probably marry one of them. Oh, it would be a marriage of convenience,
he assured himself comfortably, his convenience! It would involve absolute freedom for himself, and
complete docility and obedience from the woman. If the plan he was concocting worked, as he fully
expected it to, he would marry Lady Dearborn. Not that she was to be informed of her good fortune yet,
he warned himself. He must prepare her carefully for the demanding position she would hold as his wife.
And he must arrange a suitable match for Cleanthe; it was generous of him to take the trouble, but he felt
it to be an obligation. Noblesse oblige, he reminded himself. One’s rank does impose obligations.

Whom should he select? A nobleman, or at least a man of good family and some wealth, of course. One
who enjoyed the arts, especially music. And one who was at least six feet tall, he added with a smile. It
would be absurd to match the noble Clea with a man much smaller than she.

However, when Lord Glendon ran through his list of acquaintances, he was unable to recall any six-foot
peer who admitted to enjoying the arts. Would he be forced to go to Europe? Frenchmen were reputed
to engage in cultural pursuits. Also Italians, but those he had met were mostly under six feet. Then again
perhaps Floss might not wish her niece to live in Italy or France? The earl frowned. Marriage presented
so many problems! Still, he would have to accept them.

And at least, he thought complacently, he would be rid, finally, of his mama’s importunities!

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Chapter 11

or the first time in his self-centered life, Lord Glendon had spent a long hour thinking about someone

else. Two someones, to be exact. By the end of that time, he had finally decided upon a plan of action.
He was well aware that some of his own motives were not clear to him, but he had a deep-seated
reluctance tocommit himself that kept him from too searching an exploration of his private desires.

The first step in his plan was an essential consultation with old Lady Bowser. The earl dispatched a
groom to her residence with a note of thanks for the dinner and a gift of a dainty, hand-painted box for
her dressing table. At the end of the note, the earl penned a request that he tried to make casual.

May I call upon you this afternoon? I know it is very short notice indeed, but the circumstances
are such that I must impose upon your generosity and good will. I promise to keep you just a
moment!

Your obedient servant, etc.,

Glendon

Then he prepared to wait for an answer.

He was striding nervously up and down his bedroom when the reply came.

Lady Bowser will be pleased to receive the Earl of Glendon at four-thirty.

It was not signed.

Grinning wryly at her rebuking formality, Lord Glendon checked his appearance and set out at once for
Bowser House.

In the event, Lady Bowser proved much less formidable than her note had implied. In fact, the earl
thought he detected an avid gleam of curiosity behind her ladyship’s rather haughty facade. As soon as
the amenities of greeting had been carefully observed, Lord Glendon launched at once into his prepared
presentation.

“You were gracious enough not to punish me for my shocking rudeness in making an unheralded
announcement at your dinner party last evening,” he began.

A surprising crow of amusement from the old lady interrupted his speech. “It quite made the occasion.”
She smiled. “I am sure my dinner party was the talk of the ton today. Are you going to repudiate the
engagement? Do you wish me to give another dinner party so that you can beg off?”

Unaccustomed color burned in the earl’s cheeks. “My dear Lady Bowser,” he began stiffly, “that is the
farthest thing from my intention —”

Again his hostess uttered her crow of laughter. “I am glad to hear it! For a moment I feared that your
mama had gotten to you and forced you to change your mind.”

Lord Glendon favored her with a hard look, and then gradually his expression softened.

“You really liked them, didn’t you?” he asked softly. “The way you insisted upon champagne to celebrate
the announcement; your kindness toward Lady Floss — and my fiancée,” he added quickly.

His brief hesitation had not escaped the keen perception of his worldly-wise hostess. She raised her
eyebrows almost up to her white-powdered wig. “So that is the way the wind blows?” she said quietly.
“Asked the wrong female, did you?”

For a moment, the earl wore the arrogant expression so well known to his world. And then, under the
stem yet kindly scrutiny of Lady Bowser, his face took on a more appealing cast than even he realized.

“I begin to fear that I have indeed done so,” he admitted.

“And you’ve come to me for help,” added the old woman crisply. “Well, that shows more sense than I’d
have credited you with, young man! I may decide to assist you if you ask me nicely.”

Not certain whether to be offended or grateful, the earl gave her his most charming, practiced, social
smile. “Yes, please,” he said meekly.

This piece of flummery hugely delighted Lady Bowser. “Oh, you are a charmer; there’s no doubt about
that!” She laughed. “I’ve no doubt you get your own way with the ladies quite easily! Now, what’s your
plan? I assume you have one?”

But by the time Lord Glendon had explained his idea, Lady Bowser was frowning. “That is dangerous,
young man,” she announced. “You risk your good name, to say nothing of the ladies’ consequence.”

“I cannot think of anything else,” argued the harassed nobleman. “Can you suggest a wiser plan?”

After some thought, Lady Bowser was obliged to confess that no safer plan presented itself to her.

Lord Glendon stared hard at the elderly woman. “Perhaps I should not let you hazard your good name in
my devious schemes,” he said reluctantly. “I believe we might pull it off together, but I cannot be sure …”

“Just try to exclude me!” Lady Boswer snorted. “Idemand to be a part of the most interesting piece of
connivery to come my way in donkeys’ years!” She chuckled. “We shall have our work cut out for us,
Michael. You will permit me to speak so informally, I hope?” she interjected. “I cannot work hand in
glove with a fellow conspirator whom I must address in full state.”

The earl found himself grinning at his elderly companion. “I shall only permit such familiarity if I may call
you Clarissa. It is such a delightful name.”

“My name is Amelia,” Lady Bowser informed him sternly, and then smiled. “But of course you may call
me Clarissa. It is prettier than Amelia, and will thoroughly confuse anyone who hears you address me
so.”

In perfect charity, the two conspirators then put their heads together to refine and implement their
scheme.

Another conspirator, this time a solitary conniver, was not as well satisfied with the course of his
campaign. True, Lord Ranulf had created a bit of stir with his bland assumption that the Dearborn woman
had entrapped the Earl of Glendon for her niece, but such commonplace suspicions had little life as
on-dits , he discovered. They were so universally expected to be true that they became accepted as
custom rather than scorned as shocking chicanery. In fact, the latest bit of scandal mongering Lord Ranulf
had heard at the club concerned the fact that Lord Glendon was seen with the two ladies so frequently
that bets were being offered that he intended marrying both of them!

Lord Ranulf wondered if he should try the gabble-mongering trick once more. In truth, he was a little
revolted at the looseness of tongues in the metropolis and longed to be back in his own windswept,
fresh-smelling keep. His nature, he finally decided, was to act rather than to talk, but acting against two
ladies as well-sponsored as Florence Dearborn and Cleanthe Bradford might be difficult.

Acting against them?His heavy golden brows came down in a fierce frown. What had gotten into him?
Why was he pursuing this greedy female with berserker fury? Was he a throwback to his Viking
ancestors — or had he been placed under some can trip or spell? By whom? For what purpose? A
superstitious grue chilled his huge frame. He had never felt such hunger for revenge against a woman. In
truth, he had never wanted much to do with females. His mother had died giving birth to him; his father
had been uncomfortable with women and had avoided them. In fact, neither of the Malyons had bothered
with women of any sort.… And now he was pursuing a merciless feud against his distant cousin’s young
widow.

At the thought of the lady’s youth, Lord Ranulf’s face became even grimmer. What had George
Dearborn been about to wed so youthful a female? Seven or eight years ago she could hardly have been
out of the nursery! What had her parents been thinking of? He thought of the widow as he had seen her
that one time, and his blood stirred unaccountably. Those wide golden eyes, alarmed and yet flashing at
him so fiercely, defying him, challenging him to do his worst! A worthy opponent!

Lord Ranulf’s lips stretched into a wide, predatory grin.That was why he had decided to punish the
greedy young vixen, he told himself. Because she was a worthy foe — and because she had asked for it!

This rather twisted logic satisfied the nobleman for the moment, and he did not probe more deeply into
his own motives. Instead, he went out to strike a second blow in his battle with the defiant widow.

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Chapter 12

hree days later, a worried Lady Bowser called a conference with the earl, Lady Dearborn, and Miss

Bradford. When her guests were comfortably settled in her private withdrawing room, partaking of a cup
of tea, the elderly woman explained the reason for her summons.

“Someone is trying to blacken your reputations in thehaut ton ,” she began crisply. “There are rumors
that milord Glendon wishes to enjoy the favors of both of you — if he is not already doing so.” She
observed their stunned expressions. “I am glad to see that it is a lie.”

The earl put down his cup carefully and stared hard at his hostess. “Have you any idea who is spreading
this filth?”

Lady Bowser shook her head. “There is more,” she advised them ruefully. “Another canard is that you
offered for Cleantheby mistake and meant to espouse yourself to her aunt.”

If possible, the nobleman’s expression became grimmer. “It seems, according to theseon-dits , that I am
either an idiot or a lecher. Hardly flattering alternatives.”

Since neither Clea nor Floss seemed capable of speech, Lady Bowser asked, “Have you any idea who
could be spreading such vicious rumors, Glendon?”

The earl’s face went very pale. “She would not dare!” he muttered. It was clear to Lady Bowser at least
that he was referring to his mother. It was her private opinion that the old Countess of Glendon was
indeed quite capable of such a disgusting attack upon her own son, but she hesitated to voice so
derogatory an opinion.

And then a low, musical voice broke into the uncomfortable silence. “I know who is spreading those
vicious lies,” Cleanthe said furiously. “It is that barbarian from the north — Lord Dearborn’s heir!”

To the surprise of the earl and Lady Bowser, Floss nodded agreement. “But of course, Clea! He warned
you he would punish you for your treatment of George.”

The earl felt as though he had missed some vital part of this conversation. “Clea’streatment of George?”
he began.

“Oh, he didn’t mean Clea,” explained Lady Floss kindly. “He thought he was speaking to me,” and she
gave them all her beaming, delicious smile.

Lady Bowser glared. “Perhaps someone will take the trouble to explain what this is all about,” she
snapped.

Lady Floss and Clea both started to speak, but Lord Glendon took Floss’s hand firmly in his. “Let Clea
tell us,” he instructed gently.

Floss nodded happily. “She does make things clearer,” she agreed.

So Clea recounted briefly the scene that had occurred before Lady Bowser’s dinner party. “He warned
me that he would make me pay in full for my callous behavior to his cousin,” she concluded the tale. “I
suppose that spreading these rumors is his way of ruining my — that is, Lady Dearborn’s consequence.”

“I’ll call the fellow out today,” said Lord Glendon icily.

“A fine way to bring the whole situation to the notice of anyone who hasn’t already heard of it.” Lady
Bowser rebuked such folly.

“Perhaps it would be better if we left town,” suggested Floss with unaccustomed cowardice.

Clea shocked them all.

“I wish thatI could call him out!” she breathed, her eyes blazing magnificently. “That — dastard! To
wage war upon a helpless female!”

However reluctantly, the other three were forced to smile at Clea’s speech. Certainly, at this moment,
she bore no resemblance to a helpless female. More like a Teutonic battle-maid, thought Lord Glendon,
grinning, assessing her six feet of slender strength with admiration. “Your mama should have called you
Matilda,” he said with a laugh. “Or Boadicea.”

“Pray do not start putting names on us!” fussed Lady Bowser. “Clarissa! Matilda! Boadicea! This is
serious business!”

The earl was forced to agree. “Perhaps I should call upon the man and explain that he has the wrong
Lady Dearborn,” he said, only to be interrupted by a still-fuming Clea.

“How will that mend matters? He will still persist in his nefarious schemes to ruin poor little Floss!”

“Perhaps ifI went to him and explained the truth of the situation?” offered Lady Floss.

This suggestion was received with universal condemnation. The earl told her she must not become
involved with such a reprehensible creature; Lady Bowser advised her that such a meeting would not be
convenable; and Clea told her she would make less than a mouthful for such a savage predator. Floss’s
eyebrows rose at this wholesale rejection of a simple and, to her, fairly obvious resolution of the problem.

Clea demanded to be told where the creature was staying. Lord Glendon told her not to be a ninny;he
would send the fellow off with a flea in his ear.

At which point Lady Bowser made the first sensible suggestion of the conference. “I shall summon him
here and tell him he is causing mischief to two innocent females. I shall appeal to his courtesy and his
intelligence.”

Of course, this logical and practical proposal was at once argued out of court by the other three. Twenty
minutes later, no firm course of action had been agreed upon, and every person present was afraid of
what impulsive action the others might decide to take.

Lord Glendon called the meeting to order. “Ladies, I sympathize with your distress and applaud your
courage, but this isman’s work. I shall call upon this fellow and advise him —very calmly, I promise you
— that he has made a mistake and is maligning the good name of a very gentle lady. Believe me, this is
the best way to handle such a fellow.”

Observing the grim yet restrained force of his determination, the ladies knew it would be useless to argue
with a male so determined upon his course of action. Only Floss had the courage to beg him not to
challenge the Viking to a duel.

“I should not wish to see you hurt,” she added with a wistful tenderness in her wide blue eyes.

Lord Glendon, feeling a veritable giant under that gentle gaze, promised that he would not challenge Lord
Ranulf to a duel, and then spoiled it by adding, “Of course, ifhe challenges me …”

Noting the alarm in Lady Floss’s face, he cursed himself for being such a heavy-handed lout. She was
such an adorable little female, tiny and sweet and volatile — everything a man could ever need or desire!

His gaze lingered over the soft tumble of golden curls, the small, rosy face, the innocently pouting lips …
God! To think of this exquisite creature in the clumsy hands of George Dearborn!

A slight coughing sound wrenched his gaze away from Floss’s sweetness to the wryly challenging glance
of Lady Bowser. Pulling himself together, the earl rose and extended his arms to both ladies. “You really
must not worry,” he said gently. “I shall settle matters to everyone’s satisfaction, I promise you! Now,
may I see you both home?” And, with thanks to Lady Bowser, the trio made their departure. The earl
was so engrossed in reassuring Floss that he completely failed to observe the militant light he had kindled
in Clea’s golden eyes.

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Chapter 13

leanthe Bradford was no fool. It was obvious even to a mind much less acute than hers that the Earl of

Glendon had been well and truly caught by the young widow’s beauty and sweetness. This was not
surprising, for Florence Dearborn was a true diamond and worthy of any man’s heart.

But unfortunately for everyone, Lord Glendon had, for reasons known only to himself, made a wildly
irresponsible announcement at Lady Bowser’s dinner party, and now half of London knew that he was
pledged to marry Miss Cleanthe Bradford, a country nobody without fortune or family. And, from the
look of it, the fatal announcement was already becoming an intolerable burden to at least one of the pair.

Clea set her jaw firmly; her fine amber-gold eyes were warm with concern. She owed more to dear little
Aunt Floss than she could ever repay: a warm and loving home offered to a lonely orphan; affection,
laughter, shared confidences. If Floss had atendre for this elegant nobleman, and it seemed very possible
that she did, then Clea must straighten out the tangle that prevented Floss from having her heart’s desire!
For there was no doubt, Clea decided, watching the look with which the earl was taking his leave of the
widow, that the nobleman wanted the lady even more than she wanted him!

As soon as Lord Glendon had taken his leave, amid assurances that all would be well, Clea shepherded
the dreamy-eyed Floss up to her bedchamber. It was not difficult to get her aunt into bed; Floss was
tired, as well as besotted by the earl, and in no condition to exercise any auntly authority. Clea occupied
the time it took for Floss to fall asleep by quietly changing into a day dress. Then, wrapping her long
brown cloak about her and pulling up the hood, she picked up her reticule and slipped quietly out of the
house.

And then she was horrified to realize that she had no idea, in all of sprawling London town, where Lord
Ranulf Malyon had his abode!

Berating herself for being a complete idiot, she had just turned to go back into the house when a harsh
voice spoke at her shoulder. “So the greedy widow is off in the dark for some furtheradventures ,”
sneered Lord Ranulf. “I wonder what the Earl of Glendon would think of this nighttime rendezvous — or
has he arranged it?”

The Viking’s crude insinuations gave Clea the anger she needed to regain her poise. “Have you set
yourself to lurk about, spying upon us, Lord Ranulf?” she retorted nastily. “Better be careful you are not
picked up by the Watch as a loose, idle, and disorderly person!”

His harsh laughter grated on her ears. “What a clever little widow you are, my dear! Such legal language!
One wonders where you picked it up? Could it be thatyou have run afoul of the Watch on occasion?”

Then, as Clea turned to remount the steps to the front door, her antagonist seized her arm and pulled her
back against his huge, hard frame.

“Oh, no, my dearLady Dearborn, you do not get off so lightly! I have been waiting to confront you for
several hours, and I do not intend to be thwarted now! You were prepared to go abroad at this hour;
you shall go — with me.” He began to pull her down the street toward a small, covered vehicle.

Clea opened her mouth to cry for help. Instantly a big hand slapped an iron grip across her mouth.

“I would not advise it,dear Lady Dearborn,” murmured Lord Ranulf. “The ensuing publicity would be
very distasteful to your niece, and might even spoil her chances of an advantageous marriage.”

Thus warned, Clea was forced to permit the barbarous giant to hustle her to the coach, thrust her in, and
take his place beside her. During this exercise, he had, perforce, to remove his hand from her mouth.
Clea rallied rapidly.

“You have only postponed the reckoning,” she managed to gasp.

Lord Ranulf barked a laugh. “You don’t give up easily, do you? That should make our dealings more
interesting for me. But now, be quiet. Whateveryour habit, it is not mine to discuss my private business in
the street.”

Silenced but not cowed by this display of masculine rudeness, Clea bided her time. When this savage
tried to drag her into his hotel, she would make such a fuss that he would never dare to show his Viking’s
face again in the beau monde. Alas for her plans! When the coach drew up, it was not before a
well-lighted hotel but in what seemed to the frightened girl to be a dark and lonely alley.

Was the creature prepared to murder her to avenge the nonexistent wrong done to his distant
relative?

By the time Lord Ranulf had hustled her into the building, Clea had recovered enough equanimity to
observe that the place had all the look of a luxurious and elegant bachelor’s pied-à-terre. It was unlikely
that he intended to murder her then, she decided, feeling a little more secure.

The savage lord soon destroyed her self-confidence.

Seizing her cloak in a surprise attack, he removed it from her and cast it on a bench near the door. Then,
ignoring her gasp of protest, he took her arm and began to pull her toward the stairway that led out of the
entrance hall.

“Let me go! Where are you taking me?” she cried angrily.

“We are going to talk, Madame Widow,” the giant snapped at her. “And since I have been loitering
about outside yourlove nest this last three hours, I am cold! To say nothing of disgusted with you. So I
am going to have a drink and sit down. You will accompany me.”

Clea scarcely knew where to begin the tongue-lashing she intended to deliver to this outrageous creature.
Love nest, indeed! Oh, she wished she could punish the great oaf as he deserved. Her fury was so strong
that she had no thought for devious word games or strategies, and certainly no desire to try to explain the
stupidity of the mistake he was making. Only physical violence would satisfy her!

She cast a quick, wary glance around the room he was thrusting her into. It was pleasantly warm and lit
by a multitude of candles as well as by a good fire. But her glance searched for a weapon she could use
against this intolerable creature. There was, disappointingly, a dearth of ornaments of a size suitable for

crashing upon the head of a dastard. A chair was too heavy for her to lift, but a footstool …?
Unfortunately, no such useful piece of furniture presented itself.

At this moment her captor thrust her roughly into a heavy armchair that was capable of supporting even
her large frame. She was instructed to “Sit there and be quiet until I get a drink.” Seething, she did so.
Perhaps when he brought her her drink, she could hurl it, and its container, into his arrogant, brutal face!

To her angry disgust, the brute came to stare down broodingly at her — with a single glass in his massive
fist! This was outside of enough.

“Am I not to have refreshment?” she began shrewishly.

“You were not standing outside in the cold for several hours,” her captor explained mockingly. “Where
were you, by the way? I noticed the earl had you both in tow.”

Clea set her teeth against the explanations she felt the need to give. The brute would not believe her now,
no matter what she told him. And there was little Floss. For whatever it was worth, she wanted to
protect her aunt form this barbarian as long as possible. So she said in as harsh a voice as his. “Why don’
t you tell me why you brought me here, and we can get this farce over quickly?”

Apparently this was not the most soothing tack to take with the Viking. His face set into scornful dislike,
he took a mouthful of his brandy and then said, more smoothly than he had yet spoken to her, “I shall tell
you why I brought you here whenI am ready, Lady Dearborn.” The way he uttered the name was an
insult. He continued, “First I wish to look at you. You puzzle me, you know. I had not thought you old
enough to have been married seven years and widowed for one. You must have snatched Dearborn
when you were barely out of the cradle.”

“In which case I could hardly have been the schemer you insist on thinking me,” Clea retorted sharply.
“Perhaps it was your precious cousin who snatchedme from my cradle.”

“Oh, I’m sure you were well aware of what was going on, young as you must have been.” His expression
left her in no doubt of his distaste. “And aware, also, that since you had neither beauty, charm, nor a
dowry, your part of the bargain was to present my cousin with an heir so he could save his wretched
estate. Which you refused to do.”

Clea’s breath caught sharply with the pain his attack caused her.Neither beauty ,charm,nor a dowry.Of
course she had always known the cruel truth, but under Floss’s loving coaxing, she had dared to hope, in
these last few weeks, that something might have been done to create a prettier, more worthy Clea. The
stab of anguish was so sharp that she could not speak for a moment. Strangely enough, the insensitive
Viking seemed to detect her pain.

With his gaze intent upon her suddenly stricken white face, Lord Ranulf said slowly, “Perhaps I am too
hard on you, Lady Dearborn.”

Clea rallied quickly. After all, it was an attack she had warded off many times in her life.No beauty ,no
charm.She managed a small, bitter smile.

“Aside from wishing to disparage my appearance and character, did you have any reason for kidnapping
me tonight, Lord Ranulf?”

The man frowned. This was not going as he had expected. For all her obvious fury, the girl had not
descended to vicious recriminations or personal abuse. In fact, as she sat there in the warm fire’s glow,
her amazing golden eyes flashing in the candlelight, she lookedstriking. Not beautiful, of course. Not

pretty, as her charming little protégée was. His glance moved curiously over the noble proportions of
shoulders and breast, down to the slender waist and the swell of hips into long, graceful legs. As he
looked up at her face again, he was startled to see that the pallid expression of grief was gone, to be
replaced by flaming color. The wily widow was actuallyblushing at the candor of his searching
examination of her person! Could he have been mistaken? Was she perhaps not the hardened, greedy
schemer he had considered her?

He had no time to pursue this challenging idea, for the widow had had time to recover her aplomb and
was glaring at him with anger. She made as though to rise. “This is a futile business, milord,” she said
coldly. “You have snatched me from my residence and insulted me for no reason. I would like to go
home.”

Her voice broke just a little on the last words, causing the puzzled Lord Ranulf to question even further
his first judgment. This was not the tone of a hardened schemer.… Hardened? Was this excellent acting?
When attack failed, did the woman resort to guile? Lord Ranulf, definitely confused, glared at the noble
Amazon.

“You will leave when I permit you,” he said, trying to gain time. “I wish to have an assurance from you
that as soon as your niece is married you will return home —”

That was an unfortunate remark, his lordship realized.

The widow’s fury returned in full spate. She glared at him. “Your vicious gossiping is threatening the
success of that engagement, as I am sure you are well aware!” she snapped. “We had just returned from
a conference at Lady Bowser’s home, where she was forced to tell us of the ugly and quite untrue
rumorsyou are spreading through the ton! I should not have thought evenyou would stoop so low!”

Since he had, indeed, made one or two unpleasant remarks in speaking to Sir Hilary that day at the club,
Ranulf could not deny her charges. Still, “vicious”? “ugly”?

“Surely you are making too much of one suggestion that you might have come to London to win a
husband for your niece?” he protested in what he felt was a placating tone.

The girl did not seem to find it so.

“ ‘One’ remark? Lady Bowser tells us the ton is being titillated by a whole series of innuendoes: that
Lord Glendon is intending to change his allegiance from Miss Bradford to Lady Dearborn, even that he
is, ah, courtingboth of us!” Her eyes flashed golden fire. “You are destroyingthree people with your evil
tongue, sir! And even byyour accounting, onlyone of them deserves it!”

Lord Ranulf was honestly dismayed. “I assure you, ma’am, I have spread no such filth! I made one or
two general, derogatory remarks, no more, to one person. That is the extent of it. I give you my word!”

“For whatthat is worth,” sneered the girl, too incensed to accept the validity of his protest. “Someone
has been doing his best to destroy us, and you are the only enemy I know of! Well, as far as I am
concerned, you have won! I shall break off the engagement, go home tomorrow … Oh!” Her fury
crumpled as she remembered that she had no home to go to.

Lord Ranulf was reminded of that fact also. He had never felt so frustrated and guilty in his life. He had
begun to think that he might have been completely wrong in his suspicions, that he might have been
harassing an innocent victim of Sir George’s — and her parents’ — cold machinations. The master of
Malyon Keep had not had much experience dealing with females, nor had he wanted any, but he would
have given a good deal at this moment for the skill he was sure the earl possessed. He took a deep

breath, walked over to the cabinet, and poured a large brandy. Then he walked back to the girl and
stood in front of her.

Her head was bowed into her hands in an expression of despair. Well, you’ve done it, Malyon! he told
himself bitterly. You’ve defeated this woman, just as you planned, and destroyed her niece’s chance for a
good marriage! And all on the word of one of Dearborn’s cronies, whom you never liked in the first
place!

In a voice that grated in his effort to soften it, he got out the words he had to say. “Please, Lady
Dearborn, you must accept my apologies. It appears that I may have been wrong — that I was
misinformed! Let me offer you refreshment, then I shall drive you back to your …” His speech faltered
at the wordhome.

The woman finished his sentence. “Back to our lodgings, rented and paid for with the money you gave us
for the Dower House. Yes, I shall be grateful for that much mercy.”

God, this was worse than he’d feared!All his suspicions proven false! Staring down into her devastated
countenance, observing with shame the trembling of the soft red lips, Lord Ranulf experienced a rush of
self-hatred. Silently, he urged the glass of brandy into her hand and guided it to those tender lips. When
the girl seemed reluctant, he forced her to accept the restorative liquor.

When she had, at his urging, finished the entire glassful, Clea gasped and sat back in the chair. “What
wasthat? ” she breathed.

“A rather good cognac,” admitted milord, smothering a smile at her flushed face. “It will make you feel
more the thing, I promise.”

The wide golden eyes stared up into his as the girt tried to recover her poise. “It burns all the way
down!”

“That is its purpose, I understand,” agreed the nobleman. “To impart a warming glow. Your cheeks are a
pretty pink,” he added with a wide, white-toothed grin.

I cannot be starting tolike this monster, Clea told herself, grinning back at him. It must be thecohnyahk
or whatever he called it. She found herself examining the big, handsome face that loomed above her,
admiring the dark blue eyes under heavy brows and the unfashionably unpowdered hair.

“Never powder your hair,” she was horrified to hear herself say as she stared at the golden pelt.

His lordship did not seem to see anything untoward in so personal a comment. “Why not?” he asked in
an agreeable tone.

“It is very beautiful,” Clea heard herself say, “as it is.”

“Not half so beautiful as yours,” the nobleman gallantly responded. “I beg that you will never permit your
dresser to cover that exquisite silver-gilt with French talc.”

Clea smiled graciously. Her stomach seemed to be glowing with a pleasant warmth; her senses, while
alert, seemed oddly disconnected from her immediate control. She puzzled over the problem for a
moment, looking, Lord Ranulf thought, adorably confused. Finally she lifted a smiling face to his gaze.

“I am drunk,” she announced cheerfully. “If this is how Uncle George felt, I am not surprised that he put
himself in this condition nearly every night of his life.”

UncleGeorge? Is that what Dearborn’s wife used to call him? Not too surprising, perhaps, in view of the
difference in their ages. Lord Ranulf felt again that sense of disgust, even outrage, at the disparity in their
ages, but this time he was putting the blame where it should always have been: upon her parents and the
brutish Sir George. This child had been a victim, not a schemer, and he had added to her problems.

Lord Ranulf made a decision. First, he would get the darling woman back to the safety of her temporary
home, and then, tomorrow, when she was not confused by the strong brandy, he would wait upon her
and offer his assurances that no further obstacles would be put in the way of her niece’s wedding. And
then, when the foofaraw was over, he would offer her the use of the Dower House for as long as she
wished it. She would never again have to say that she had no home!

Caught up in these surprisingly pleasant plans, Lord Ranulf was brought back to the immediate problems
when he observed that his guest had slumped against the side of her chair. She could not have fallen
asleep! Not after one glass of brandy, surely!

Further investigation proved that Lady Dearborn had indeed become deeply unaware of her
surroundings. His heavy golden eyebrows drew into a deep frown of dismay. It was going to be the very
devil of a task to get an inebriated female back into her house at this hour of the night without giving every
loose tongue in London a juicy morsel to savor!

Go to Contents

Chapter 14

fter all his worry and his careful precautions, Lord Ranulf found it surprisingly easy to get his sleeping

companion into her home. He had driven his small closed coach himself after tucking her safely inside.
When he reached the house the widow had rented from the earl’s friend, he drove around to the mews at
the back. The groom was not in evidence; he was probably asleep. Lord Ranulf gingerly extracted the
girl from the coach, lifted her into his arms, and strode toward the kitchen door. His boots made a loud
clicking upon the grimy cobblestones, but no lights were in evidence anywhere in the house.

When he got to the back door, however, he encountered his first obstacle. The door was locked. He
shifted the girl in his arms — no light weight, he thought, grinning to himself — and knocked firmly but
quietly. Then he waited.

No response.

By this time even the huge Viking was feeling the weight of his nobly built companion. Impatiently, he
thrust one massive shoulder hard against the door, which opened under the thrust. Blessing all old houses
with ill-fitting hardware, Lord Ranulf strode into the darkened kitchen and promptly stumbled against a
table.

The table shifted noisily under the force of his lordship’s thrusting thighs, scraping along the rough
wooden floor. Smothering a curse, Lord Ranulf staggered slightly to regain his balance. Against his throat
he felt a soft, warm breath and a dazed murmur of question.

“Be quiet!” he commanded briskly. “I am putting you to bed.”

Grinning involuntarily at the comfortable coziness of such a statement, he moved slowly forward toward
the front of the house. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he was able to discern and avoid
any further obstacles. Quietly he maneuvered his burden up two flights of stairs, past the drawing room,
in which he had made his first attack upon the girl who now nestled confidingly, if heavily, in his arms. A

frown lowered the heavy blond eyebrows as he recalled his sneering anger and the widow’s icy defiance.
How could he have been so mistaken in his judgment of her behavior? Involuntarily he held her closer for
a moment.

She made a sound very like a purr and nestled closer to his chest.

Lord Ranulf realized that he would have to get the seductive creature settled somewhere very quickly, or
he would be unable to leave her at all!

The first room he tried had an occupant. The breathing was not heavy, but it was audible to his intent
listening. Quietly he closed the door and moved down the hall. The next room was obviously the one he
was seeking. A candle burned low in a wide dish; covers were neatly turned back upon an empty single
bed. With a grunt of relief, he deposited the sleeping woman on top of the covers. Then he stood
surveying her in the light of the single candle.

She was lovely in her sleep. The lines of strain were smoothed from her classic features. Long lashes
rested upon the pale cheeks, and shadowed lids concealed the golden eyes. His fascinated gaze
wandered down over the big, well-formed body. Too fine for the brutish Dearborn, he thought with
surprising distaste at the idea of that coupling. His glance returned to her face. So innocent she appeared!
So sweetly feminine!

Pulling himself together with a real effort, he bent to remove the widow’s shoes before spreading a cover
over her.

“Perhaps you would like to tell me what you are doing?” demanded a quiet little voice.

Lord Ranulf whirled to face his challenger, dismay in every line of his enormous body.

Facing him was a tiny, exquisite female in a white dressing gown and an absurd nightcap tied with a bow.

Lord Ranulf, shocked out of any attempt to deceive the niece — for this young woman must be Miss
Clea Bradford — blurted out the truth. Or at least something close to it.

“You aunt called upon me to demand that I cease my tale-mongering. When I had convinced her that it
was not I who was spreading the vile rumors, Lady Dearborn agreed to seal our truce with a glass of
brandy.” He paused, grinning reluctantly. “It would seem that your aunt does not have much of a head for
liquor. I was merely hoping to restore her to your home without giving further cause for wagging
tongues.”

As he finished his hurried excuses, Lord Ranulf waited for the torrent of disbelief and vituperation that he
was sure would descend upon his head. Even to him, the story sounded contrived and unbelievable. But
the niece surprised him. A delightful chuckle sounded in the quiet room, and he was amazed to see a
mischievous sparkle in the wide blue eyes.

“Lord Ranulf Malyon, I take it?” the little minx challenged. Who could mistake that massive frame?

“The same,” he admitted, peering warily at her. “May I be permitted to take my leave quietly so that my
elaborate plan to avoid gossip about your aunt may have a suitably discreet conclusion?”

The little minx regarded him with a surprisingly cool evaluation. “So you convinced myaunt that you were
not responsible for those nastyon-dits that have been circulating, did you?”

Milord tugged at his neckcloth. The little niece had a remarkably mature and penetrating glance! “I
believe I was able to persuade her that someone else must be responsible for the ugly rumors,” he said

firmly.

“The Countess of Glendon?” she said musingly, and then, with more force, “Of course! It is just in her
style! She is so afraid that Glendon will marry some female who will shield him from her knaggy ways!
She is like that spider that eats its young, or its husband, or whatever! Or is it a mantis? I can never
remember. In any case, I pity the earl!”

A little stunned by this rambling excursion into the insect world, Lord Ranulf caught at his wits and
decided that agreement with the young woman was the safest policy, especially at this hour of the night
and in this most compromising situation. Sketching a neat bow, he said quietly, “I thank you most
sincerely for your tolerance and patience, Miss Bradford. I see that we both wish to shield your aunt
from even the faintest breath of scandal. I will get myself out quietly, the same way I came in.… Oh, I’d
better warn you: The locks on this house you have rented will not withstand even the slightest pressure.
You should have them strengthened tomorrow.”

Lady Floss nodded her good-nights, smiling gently. She was thoroughly delighted with the events of the
evening. It was good to know that the threatening and redoubtable northern nobleman had become so
amenable and protective. She could hardly wait for Clea to wake up and tell her everything that had
happened. It was so like warmhearted, partisan Clea to storm off to the villain’s home in the middle of
the night, demanding that he cease his harassment! Thank God the supposed villain had proved a sensible
and honest man, and had brought Clea home in a very discreet manner — considering her condition! Oh,
Clea!Jug-bitten!

A reprehensible giggle sounded in the quiet bedroom as Lady Floss considered the possible
repercussions of Clea’s action and Lord Ranulfs response if she herself had been someone like the
Countess of Glendon! That would have been a nine days’ wonder, for sure! And the arrogant,
heavy-handed Viking might have found himself saddled with a wife he hadn’t bargained for! As that
provocative thought entered her consciousness, Lady Floss’s charming little countenance acquired the
solemn, intent look that so alarmed Clea, who called it her “planning” look. Unfortunately for Clea, or
perhaps fortunately for her peace of mind, she was too deeply asleep to observe the dreaded expression
on her aunt’s face.

When Clea woke up the following morning, she had a particularly unpleasant headache. Floss, who had
awakened her, at once presented a glass full of what she called “a settler.” Clea drank it gratefully;
anything was better than the dull, throbbing pain. After a few minutes, she began to feel that she might be
able to bear the idea of living and, even possibly, at some later date, of eating breakfast.

Floss had no patience with such crotchets. “You will eat what is on this tray, and then you will tell me
everything that happened last night at Lord Ranulf’s lodgings.”

Reminded so abruptly of her indiscretion, Clea launched into a garbled explanation that slowed to a halt
under the merry, mocking light in Floss’s expressive eyes.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” Clea demanded.

“Well, my dear niece,” explained Floss with a naughty twinkle, “I was present when your … friend …
broughtLady Dearborn home last night. It seems she was … I think the term is ‘shot in the neck.’ Or so
George used to describe a drunken crony.”

Clea groaned. “What did he say when he brought me home? Did you tell him I am your niece and not
Lady Dearborn?”

Floss giggled. “Of course I did not! As long as he believes you are me, he will not be able to do us any

harm!”

Stunned by this view of the situation, Clea stared at her volatile little aunt. After a long moment, she
shook her head. “You’d better explain that, Aunt Floss. But not just now,” she amended hastily. “My
head is still very tender!”

“As I see it,” Floss began more soberly, “Lord Ranulf has already begun to change his first, hostile
opinion of us. In fact, he was quite courteous last night. But perhaps that was because I caught him in the
act of undressing you.”

“Floss!” Clea gasped, horror-stricken.

The little wretch shrugged. “Just your shoes, dear child. Of course, if I had come into your bedroom a
little later …!” Her smile was wicked.

Clea got out of bed and went to the washbasin to splash cold water on her burning cheeks. When she
had patted her face dry, she turned to the naughtily smiling Floss. “I think it is time you told me exactly
what happened last night,” she said in so somber a tone that Floss left off her teasing and recounted the
events of the night as she had heard them from Lord Ranulf and observed them herself in this room.

When she had finished, Clea groaned. “I do not recall anything after I drank that glass ofcohnyahk or
whatever he called it. Before that, it is not quite as he told you — but near enough,” she concluded
hastily, catching a glimpse of Floss’s avid interest.

When the girl did not continue, Floss said with meditative expression, “I may infer, then, that Lord Ranulf
does not intend to pursue his Viking vengeance upon the females who sought to feather their nests at
George Dearborn’s expense?”

Clea refused to meet her aunt’s gaze. “I believe we may assume that, yes,” she faltered.

Floss’s clear laughter rang out. “Do not seek to bamboozle me, my dear child! I was there last night in
your bedroom,and in full possession of senses, I may add. I saw the look his lordship was giving you as
he —”

“Aunt Floss!” The girl groaned. “My head!”

“Oh, it wasn’t your head he was interested in,” pursued the little gadfly. Then, taking pity on Clea’s
anguished expression, she said softly, “He was everything the dourest duenna would have applauded. A
true knight for you, Cleanthe.”

She was pleased to note the rush of lovely color to the girl’s pale cheeks. It seemed her idea of the night
before had been a sensible one: to marry the tall young girl to the one man Floss had ever met who was
large enough to make Clea look gently feminine. Of course, Floss knew that Clea was no gentle, clinging
female; but then so, too, must Lord Ranulf know it. He had been challenged by a veritable battlemaid; his
own account of the evening, stripped of his protective evasions, went to prove that!

Floss sighed her satisfaction. Lord Glendon had rightly dubbed Clea “Matilda.” Even better, it seemed
that the Viking was not averse to a strong shield-partner. Floss’s expression again became the one Clea
had learned to fear. The blind considering stare, which signaled that Lady Floss was lost in some
outrageous plan!

Clea stared at her apprehensively. Was it any use to plead that she drop whatever wild scheme she was
so plainly concocting? Probably not. The best thing to do might be to warn Lord Ranulf of the impending
doom.

Go to Contents

Chapter 15

he Earl of Glendon entered his club the next afternoon in a mood his valet had already characterized as

tetchy. It was true that the nobleman was annoyed. After a lengthy search among his acquaintances, he
had finally discovered one, Sir Hilary Bond, who knew the London address of Lord Ranulf Malyon.
Bond was a notorious gabble-monger and a very poor gamester, but he did have his uses. Glendon had
then paid a fruitless visit to the given address, only to find Malyon absent from his lodgings. Thus denied
the hoped-for release of calling the fellow out, Lord Glendon had repaired to the club in the hopes of
getting some more useful information from his intelligencer.

He gave Sir Hilary a quite undeserved frown. “The fellow wasn’t at his lodgings.”

“Well, who is, at this time of day?” Sir Hilary defended himself. “You’re not. I’m not. Obviously! If the
matter’s that important, why don’t you hang about here for a while? He’s sure to look in today or
tomorrow.” Sir Hilary smiled hopefully. “Care for a hand of piquet?”

“You are incorrigible,” snarled Lord Glendon most unfairly, and strode out of the club to his waiting
groom. “I’ll take ’em,” he said angrily.

The groom surrendered the reins and prepared for a rough ride to Outer Mongolia. He was relieved to
discover that his master’s destination was no more distant than Emory Place and the residence of the
young Lady Dearborn. Although no sign of interest, or, in fact, life, was permitted to show upon the
servant’s impassive features, his mind was busily speculating upon the possibility that His Nibs had finally
got himself hooked — and by a country widow, at that!

Confirming this conjecture, his lordship, having drawn up before the very modest house with a fine
flourish, instructed his groom to “take ’em back to the stable” and call for him in an hour or so. Without
waiting to see if he was being obeyed, the earl strode forcefully up to the front door and battered the
knocker.

Upon being shown into the small, pleasant drawing room, Lord Glendon’s mood was unaccountably
mellowed by the warmth of the welcome he received from Lady Floss. Even to his discerning and critical
eye, the little widow presented a delightful picture. Dressed in the latest crack of fashion, Lady Dearborn’
s sweetness and beauty made the modish costume only an unobtrusive frame for her person. Or so the
nobleman decided as he bent over her hand with a courtly bow.

“Lord Glendon! What a pleasure to welcome you today!” The soft voice caressed him as wide blue eyes
held his own captive.

The earl took a deep breath. Somewhere far back in his mind, caution shouted a warning that he firmly
ignored.

“Why today, especially?” He heard quite an unfamiliar note of ardor in his own voice. “Can it be that you
missed me, Lady Floss?” he teased.

The wide blue eyes became even softer, then were veiled by the incredible lashes. The widow correctly
ignored milord’s ardency and led the way to a comfortable sofa, which Lord Glendon was pleased to
note was intended for two persons.

Handing his hostess to a seat and depositing his own large frame comfortably close beside her, the earl

launched at once into a discussion of their mutual concerns. He had gotten no further than telling her that
he had been unable to run Malyon to earth when Lady Floss astonished him.

With a demure smile, she announced, “Oh, that matter is in a fair way to being solved, milord! Lord
Ranulf was here, last night, and has straightened out the matter quite nicely.”

The earl was flabbergasted. “Straightened out?” he repeated in a strangled tone. “Last night?” He
scowled at his little hostess. “I suppose no one thought it worthwhile to informme of the new
developments? I have spent the whole day trying to find the fellow!” And might very possibly have called
him out when I found him, he thought grimly. I might even have shot the man, who I am now told has
already straightened things out nicely! The fellow had no right to do so!

Floss was immediately aware of the hurt feelings that underlaid the surface annoyance of her guest. It
suddenly occurred to her that this darling male had no doubt spent a tiring day trying to help her, and she
had brushed his efforts aside so casually! Her lovely eyes filled with tears.

“Dear Lord Glendon, youmust forgive me! I have been thoughtless, unkind, unworthy of your concern!
Can you find it in your heart to forgive me? What may I do to convince you of my gratitude for your kind
assistance?”

Lord Glendon experienced a relaxing of the tense muscles of his shoulders that accompanied the soothing
of his wounded feelings. He allowed the little woman to bring him a glass of a very tolerable brandy and
accepted the delicate feminine flutterings that she employed to assure herself of his comfort and
forgiveness. Basking in these attentions, the earl became aware of two startling facts.

The first was that although he had been a prize in the marriage stakes for several years and had been the
target of all too many feminine ploys and advances, he had never in his life felt so delightfully and
comfortablycosseted. He could almost feel himself purring under the soothing ministrations of this little
witch. How did she do it? he wondered. She made a man feel … as though he were very special to her.

And the second startling fact was that he knew, in this warm and precious moment, that he must find a
way to bind Lady Floss to him so securely that she could never get more than twenty feet away from him
during the rest of their lives.

And how thedevil was he to get around the stupid tangle of his announced engagement to Miss Cleanthe
Bradford?

So great was his distress of mind that he found it impossible to remain seated so close to the little
charmer who had in some way come to possess his heart’s devotion. The earl rose and began to stride
up and down the carpet in front of the sofa. Lady Floss followed his peregrinations with mounting alarm.
Finally she ventured to speak.

“What is wrong, milord? I assure you that Lord Ranulf has agreed to your engagement to Miss Cleanthe
Bradford, since he no longer feels that she and I defrauded his cousin in some way. He assures us that he
will do all in his power to further the match and will even offer the Dower House back to me as soon as
you and Clea are wed.”

For some reason, this magnanimous gesture on the part of the Viking lord served to exacerbate the earl’s
already unstable emotions.

“I’m damned if I’ll let him drag you off to some tumbledown, wretched Dower House! And who does he
think he is, to be bustlingme off into a marriage with your giant of a niece?”

These rude and incautious remarks caused Lady Floss’s soft lips to tighten ominously, but after a stern,
searching glance at the unhappy nobleman, she gave him a forgiving smile. “You have had a truly difficult
and disappointing day,” she said to him, and reminded herself, too, “and I must not tease you with these
family matters, must I?”

“Iwish to be teased with them — that is, burdened with — no, that’s not it!” He groaned. Then, taking a
deep breath, he said slowly, his eyes fixed on those wide blue orbs, “It will be my joy to manage your
affairs for the rest of our lives, dearest Floss. In fact, I cannot bear the thought of anyone else managing
your affairs. I” — the hardened bachelor gulped — “Ilove you! Please say you will marry me?”

Lady Floss received this declaration with admirable poise. It must be admitted that she had already
determined that the arrogant and adorable nobleman would be her second, and onlyreal , husband. It
was much simpler, however, that the suggestion had come from him. She nodded her agreement
enthusiastically, setting her crown of golden curls to bouncing charmingly.

“Oh, yes, thank you, Michael! I should enjoy marrying you very much! But we must think of a way to get
you, ah, disengaged? Unengaged? Well, anyway, out of your engagement to Clea first, must we not?
And without hurting her consequence in the beau monde.”

Lord Glendon groaned again.

He could not explain the twisted series of predicaments in which he — normally a pretty downy bird,
with enoughnous to get him safely through the most threatening imbroglios! — had found himself
embroiled since Lady Dearborn and her niece had arrived in London. And he didn’t blame darling little
Floss for one minute! Lady Bowser’s dinner party, the countess’s venomous tongue, Clea’s
uncontrollable temper, Malyon’s wicked allegations, and then his inexcusable absence today … The very
stars in their courses seemed to be intent upon frustrating Michael Glendon and making his path difficult!

At this moment, sensing his angry confusion, Lady Floss came to her tormented swain and took him into
her arms. As much of him as she was able to, that is, given the disparity in their sizes. The earl found this
tight hug of warm arms around his chest to be so utterly soothing and delightful that his aplomb was at
once restored, and he began to regard the challenging situation as something he could straighten out
without too much trouble.

“Clea never loved me, you know,” he whispered softly. “She has been even more disturbed about our
mock engagement than any of us.”

“It was your gallant response to your mama’s innuendoes that brought you into the situation in the first
place,” Floss told him lovingly. “Now all we have to do is to find a face-saving way of convincing the ton
that you both have thought better of the agreement.”

The earl and Floss were too happily employed in dwelling on their future bliss to recall that the powerful
and unpredictable Malyon might not be as easy to coerce to the new plan. They had also forgotten that
the Viking was not aware that Clea was Floss — as Floss might put it.

Go to Contents

Chapter 16

he ton was very shortly buzzing with the outrageous conduct of the Earl of Glendon. Not that the

impeccably behaved nobleman committed any acts that might cause disgust to the highest sticklers, for he
moved within his noble orbit with his accustomed, irreproachable savoir faire, accepting invitations from

flattered hostesses, attending the theater in the company of members of thehaut ton , even breaking his
own habitual reticence and hosting a series of large and elegant gatherings at Glendon town house.

All very properly chaperoned, of course. Sometimes by his mama, who wore a sour expression but was
obviously unable to resist the lure of presiding over such socially desirable gatherings; and equally often
by Lady Bowser, who gave all the appearance of enjoying herself thoroughly as the earl’s hostess.

No, it was the presence at Lord Glendon’s side of his two companions that set the ton abuzz. Of course,
an engagement had been announced, but the downier members of the ton had been waiting with gleeful
anticipation to see how the hitherto untrappable earl would get himself out of this situation. It seemed
clear to his acquaintances that the little widow from the country had well and truly snared the wiliest bird
in London. Bets were being offered and accepted in the clubs as to the outcome of this very provocative
contretemps. Engaged to the niece, plainly smitten by the aunt. Which would he marry?

“Deuced awkward for Lord Glendon.” Sir Hilary grinned, still resentful of the earl’s cavalier treatment of
his own helpful gesture. “My money’s on the widow, though. She snaffled him as neatly as dammit!”

“I should think,” pontificated Lord Evert, “that she’d have wanted him for herself. Demned fetching little
piece, the widow. Up to every rig and row, I’ll wager! Whereas the gal’s too big and countrified for my
tastes.”

Since Lord Evert barely topped five feet six, the very idea of him matched to Miss Cleanthe Bradford’s
six-foot height was an occasion for mockery. Which he resented fiercely, of course.

The whole situation gave the ton a most delightful opportunity for gossip. Endless, often scurrilous gossip.

Of course, some of it came to the ears of the principals. Lady Bowser summoned the earl for a
conference, expressly requesting that he come alone, since what was to be discussed might offend the
two ladies involved.

Lady Bowser found herself fiercely partisan toward Lady Floss. She was not so sure about the enormous
Miss Bradford, although she admired her courage and good sense in this awkward situation. At times,
acting as hostess for the earl, she had sincerely approved of the big young woman’s poise and quiet
integrity even under the not-so-subtle thrusts of small-minded members of the ton. Still, she agreed with
Clea’s rueful comment that Lady Floss should have left her to enjoy her museums and libraries and
concerts in peaceful privacy, and not tried to thrust her into the ton. Lady Bowser knew that the
engagement was a hollow sham, entered into by a man furious at his mother’s cruel and ruthless
harassment of two unoffending women. Still, when he had informed her of the true state of affairs, she
had warned the earl forcefully that his current plan to change fiancées in mid-season was a most
dangerous one, which could lead to disaster for all three persons involved.

“I have come to like and respect these two females, Glendon,” she admitted seriously. “They are not
quiteà la mode , but they have character, and depth of feeling, and an openness that is not common
among females of our class. A sort of naïveté that causes me to fear for them. They could be badly hurt
by this, Michael.”

The earl’s handsome countenance was drawn into a frown. “I am well aware of their vulnerability,” he
said slowly. “Clea cannot accept herself as a beautiful girl because of her … rather massive proportions.
And, alas, I am not the man to convince her,” he continued with a wry smile. “I am so completely
besotted by one small widow that I cannot even think about any other woman.”

Lady Bowser admired his boyishly rueful smile. It would be worth some trouble if the grandson of her old
friend could safely secure for himself so devoted and darling a wife as Lady Floss would make. But there

were dangers! So many that they chilled the old lady’s heart.

And not the least of them, she concluded bitterly, was the earl’s nasty mother! The countess would
destroy the earl’s happiness if she could. That was a certainty.

Lady Bowser did not realize that there was an even more dangerous opponent to the earl’s plan. Lord
Ranulf had settled himself as comfortably as possible in his elegant, newly rented town house, not seeking
out companions but rather spending his days with Trevelyan, ordering estate matters. The lawyer, in
concert with Tavish, Lord Ranulf’s factor at Malyon Keep, had made an efficient job of the takeover of
the rundown Dearborn holdings. But husbandry had never been particularly challenging to Lord Ranulf.
He often longed for the Viking days, the fierce thrill of challenge and conflict, of far journeyings to lands
unknown. The petty maneuverings of society bored him, and although he was twenty-four, he had never
been able to rouse in himself any interest in the vapid posturings of the young females who were so
constantly being thrust upon his attention by their eager mamas.

Rather somberly now, he stood by the window in his big bedroom, looking down at the busy, noisy
traffic of the London street. Oh, to be riding Thor along a windswept beach, feeling the whip of the
breeze, smelling the salt freshness of the air, Thor’s powerful body moving beneath him — free …

At that moment, to his complete surprise, an image flashed into his mind oftwo riders, himself and a
glorious Valkyrie, pounding along the beach; the girl’s mane of white-gold hair flying like a triumphant
banner in the wind, her wide golden eyes gleaming with laughter and the joy of freedom.…

Lord Ranulf turned away from the window, found hischapeau , and set out for the club. It was plain that
he needed the company of some cynical, sophisticated males at this queerly vulnerable moment.

He found Sir Hilary and Lord Evert at the club, as he had expected. Sir Hilary at least seemed pleased to
see him and offered to stand him a drink. When the amenities were completed, Sir Hilary gave him a
shrewd glance.

“Lord Glendon was here looking for you one day. Seemed in a damned pelter. Did he find you?”

Lord Ranulf shrugged noncommittally. “Business,” he admitted.

“You havebusiness dealings with Glendon?” prodded Sir Hilary unwisely.

Lord Ranulf’s grim expression soon made him aware of his mistake. After a long moment during which it
must be admitted that Sir Hilary held his breath, Malyon deigned to explain.

“I have estates in the north of England and have just acquired, rather reluctantly, I must admit, another
one here in the south. Dearborn. I needed to consult with the earl as to the rights of my deceased cousin’
s widow. Glendon is engaged to be married to her niece, I believe.”

Well, it was true, and yet it was vague enough to discourage gossip. In fact, Sir Hilary was looking
disappointed. And then his expression brightened.

“I suppose you’ve heard the lateston-dits aboutthat match, haven’t you?” the young fop gloated. “It
seems that the widow’s smarter than anyone gave her credit for. She’s getting her hooks into Glendon. I
hear that there may be a change in the wedding plans — a change of brides!” His silly laughter neighed
out.

With an oath that instantly removed all traces of mirth from the face of his intelligencer, Lord Ranulf
whirled and strode out of the club with a face like thunder. Every man who noticed his departure gave
thanks that that berserker fury was not directed toward himself.

Lord Ranulf hailed a cab and gave directions to the rented house where he had first encountered the
conniving widow. All his earlier suspicions were again aroused, this time implemented by a sense of
personal outrage and betrayal that he did not stop to analyze. It was fortunate for Clea that the traffic on
the London streets was even more impossible than usual, thus allowing the enraged nobleman to vent
some of his spleen upon cabbies, brainless young bucks driving their curricles, and stupid pedestrians
plainly determined to end their own lives. By the time Lord Ranulf’s cab arrived in Emory Place and
pulled up in front of the small house rented by Lady Dearborn, the nobleman was sufficiently in command
of his temper to pay his cabby a sum that had the fellow grinning and then to stride up to the front door
with a measure of poise.

Alas for his self-possession! The news that greeted Lord Ranulf rearoused all of his primitive Viking fury.
Lady Floss, it appeared, had gone out for a drive in the carriage and the company of Lord Glendon!
Ranulf ground his teeth together audibly.

This so alarmed the little housemaid that she hastened, rather indiscreetly, to supply additional
information. The ladies had been invited to a soirée given by Lady Moorhouse that evening, although
Lady Dearborn might not attend, since she had owned to a slight headache earlier in the day, which Lord
Glendon had persuaded her might be cured by a drive in the fresh air.

Lord Ranulf sneered openly at this absurdity. “I should be greatly surprised if his lordship could find an
ounce offresh air in the whole of this stinking town!” he said rudely, turning on his heel to reengage the
cabby who had been hopefully waiting in the street.

All the way back to his house, Lord Ranulf, shaking with fury, searched for a suitable way to punish the
conniving widow. Tell him his hair was beautiful, would she? Did she say such things to every man she
met? And did she snuggle against their throats like a purring kitten when they picked her up? At this
thought, Ranulf barked a laugh. Not many of the puny weaklings he had encountered in this overrated
metropolis would be capable of lifting Lady Floss — much less carrying her into her house and up two
flights of stairs! As he recalled how comfortably she had fitted against his body, Lord Ranulf’s heart
pounded. She was meant for him, the treacherous witch, and he would have her! He had figured her
correctly in the first place. She had been out for whatever she could get! And apparently she had no
scruples against stealing her own niece’s fiancé from her — in front of all London! His jaw clenched with
his rage against such a ruthless female. No punishment would be too great for her!

By this time, Lord Ranulf had abandoned rational thought and was behaving exactly as his berserker
ancestors had usually done — on the impulse of whatever emotion currently swayed them. Reaching his
rented house, he gave orders that his gear was to be packed immediately, his bills were to be paid, and
his servants were to take themselves back to Malyon Keep with all dispatch. When his valet dared to
ask if his lordship would be accompanying them, he received a blast of furious denial that effectively
silenced him.

“You will request the grooms to prepare Thor for me, and you will pack only essentials for my journey
into the saddlebags,” Lord Ranulf ended crisply.

While his orders were being carried out, Lord Ranulf donned his riding costume and slung a heavy coat
over his shoulders. The plan he was beginning to build would involve some rather rough travel, including
nights on the road. There was one big hurdle to be taken initially, however. He must get the treacherous
widow into his grasp and out of London without anyone seeing the action. It was not his purpose, Lord
Ranulf thought righteously, to embarrass the poor little niece or ruin her chances with her matrimonial
prize. In fact, he decided in an excess of self-congratulation, his action in quietly removing the wicked
aunt would probably make certain that the proposed marriage would be allowed to go through.

Lord Ranulf assured himself that the worldly-wise Glendon could handle the matter once the treacherous
widow was rendered incapable of practicing her witchcraft. And the master of Malyon Keep,
descendant of a score of Vikings, was exactly the man to master a witch!

In fact, now that he came to think of it, there was nothing that would give him greater pleasure!

Milord’s wide, wolfish smile would have struck terror into Clea’s heart if she had seen it at that moment.

Go to Contents

Chapter 17

ady Floss swept into the darkened bedroom where Clea lay resting. Just before the arrival of Lord

Glendon to take them on the promised drive into the country, the younger girl had complained, most
unusually, of a headache.

“Of course you must go without me,” Clea had told Floss sternly.

“But the drive was Michael’s idea to curemy headache,” Floss had protested. “And I haven’t got one
now. Butyou do! So of course it is you who must go with him —” Her expressive little face drooped at
the thought of missing her treat.

Clea chuckled in spite of the very real pain in her head. “Of course you must go, ninny,” she said fondly.
“You know the man is besotted with you!” She sighed. “You’d better accept the fact — which all
London seems aware of! —that you were made for each other. Try to work out some acceptable
resolution of the situation during your drive — if you can find time to think about anything but each
other!” she ended with a sly smile.

Floss, torn between delight at the idea of the earl’s being besotted with her and fear that her darling niece
might be hurt by the contretemps in which they found themselves, smiled, sighed, frowned — then hurried
off to check on her appearance.

After she had heard the rumble of a deep voice and the sound of a closing door below, Clea sat up
wearily in the bed. Her aching head was the result of a sleepless night during which she had debated
interminably the advantages and dangers in every course of action she could think of. In vain. She could
come to no solution that would not hurt at least one of the protagonists. She finally decided that the only
possible action was for her to run away to some obscure village in the north of England, and, once there,
to hire on as a maid in a busy inn. Having thus removed the complication of her presence from Lady
Floss’s life, her darling little aunt could have, at last, a measure of the happiness fate had so far denied
her.

Clea did not consider why she had chosen the north of England for her goal, nor, in fact, did she consider
that a bustling coaching inn might not be the ideal spot for a disappearance. She was dressing in the
soberest of her new gowns — a dark amber wool she particularly liked — when young Debbie
appeared in the doorway with a folded note.

“Mosurgen ’ he says it is, Miss Clea!” the girl gasped. Living in this household was a source of
never-ending terror and delight to Debbie. “He wouldn’ wait for an answer!” Clea dismissed her with a
word of thanks and opened the note apprehensively.If any ill-natured person was trying to hurt
Floss …!

The note was brief and written in a hasty scrawl.

Lady Dearborn,

Your niece has been injured in a carriage accident. Come to No. 7 Andress Place at once.

There was no signature.

Snatching up her reticule — for who knew what physicians might have to be paid or what medicines
purchased — Clea ran down to the front door. Debbie appeared, agog to learn what she might of this
latest emergency.

“Lady Floss has been hurt! I am going to her at once,” Clea called as she ran down the front steps and
scanned the street eagerly for a cab.

It was not until she was seated in the dark, rather moldy-smelling interior of a coach that had most
fortuitously been dawdling down the street that Cleanthe began to wonder why her intelligence had
mistaken the dainty Lady Dearborn for her huge, ungainly niece. Hastily she searched the pockets of the
cape she had snatched up. No note. She had forgotten to bring it!

Dear Heaven, grant that she could remember the address given! Had it been Andrews? Anders? No!
Clea clasped her hands anxiously as she tried to remember.

Andress!That was it! No. 7 Andress Place! She thrust her head precariously out of the tiny, glassless
window and yelled the address in a most unladylike fashion.

To her relief, the driver immediately increased his pace, rattling the ancient vehicle over the cobbles with
reckless zeal. At a less urgent moment, Clea might have been either frightened or annoyed at the jehu’s
furious pace. As it was, she was merely thankful for his speed.

When he finally drew up before a very pleasant mansion on a side street, Clea was ready. She thrust the
coach door open and climbed down without waiting for the driver to assist her. Making sure that the
number on the neatly painted facade was a seven, she flung a large bill toward the jehu and ran up the
shallow front steps.

The front door opened as she approached it.

Clea ran in and turned anxiously to ask for her aunt.

“Lady Dearborn —” she began.

And froze into silence at the icily furious face of Lord Ranulf Malyon who seemed to think that she was
introducing herself.

“I happen to know who you are,” the golden giant said grimly. “Andwhat. Now that I have finally
learned the depths to which a woman like you will descend, I have decided to make it my business to
ensure that you do not destroy the happiness of your poor little niece as you did that of my cousin
George. Now, do you come quietly, or do I bundle you up in a sheet?”

Quite forgetting the fact that to be carried off by the handsome Viking was the sweetest of her fantasies,
Clea presented him with a glare of such outrage that he tensed himself involuntarily for a physical attack.

“Howdare you threaten me, you — you barbarian?” Clea raged. “Was this all a vicious trick? Is — is
she safe?”

The Viking’s heavy golden eyebrows rose a fraction. “You are trying to suggest that you care what has

happened to your poor little niece?” he sneered. “Is it possible you have some compunction in that hard,
greedy heart of yours? Or is stealing her fiancé the extent of your nasty plot against her?”

For the first time in her life, Clea gave way to undiluted rage. With a single Amazonian stride, she
approached her tormentor and kicked him on the leg with all her might. She then raised her fists —
whether to slap or strike him, she had not yet decided in the heat of the moment.

Lord Ranulf’s explosion of anger overmatched her own. He seized both her wrists in his enormous hands
and jerked her against his iron-hard chest. For a moment they glared, eye to eye, panting with rage, two
sets of lips stretched across bared teeth in grimaces of fury.

And then Lord Ranulf surprised them both. He kissed his captive so hard that her head jerked back.
With a growl of dissatisfaction, the berserker deftly transferred both Clea’s wrists to one of his great
paws and placed the other hand supportively behind her head.

The ravaging kiss went on for a long time.

Finally Ranulf released the girl and stared into her dazed golden eyes with smug complacency.

“Do you wish to kick me again?” he asked softly.

Clea tried to pull her startled mind into some semblance of rationality. True, the blast of anger she had felt
had unaccountably dissipated during the long kiss, but there was still much to discover before she
committed herself.

“Is she safe?” Clea repeated her earlier question.

“You do care something about the poor child, then?” he taunted, but his words lacked the sting they had
had a few minutes ago.

“More than you will ever be able to understand,” Clea muttered morosely. What was best thing to be
done in this situation? she asked herself. Would it help or hinder to explain the truth about her and Floss?
Would he believe her? He seemed determined to think ill of her! Frowning, Clea considered her course
of action.

While Lord Ranulf stared at his nobly built companion with increasing suspicion, the girl tried to work out
a plan. If this Viking marauder actually intended holding her captive, it would solve Floss’s problem. With
the giant niece out of the way, the engagement of Lord Glendon and Lady Dearborn might proceed. But
there would have to be some reasonable excuse offered for the sudden disappearance of Miss Cleanthe
Bradford. Otherwise, the scandalmongers would soon be whispering that poor little Floss had murdered
her huge rival!

“You find somethinghumorous in this situation?” challenged Lord Ranulf, all his former suspicions back in
full force. He seized Clea by the upper arms and shook her angrily. Why didn’t the maddening female
speak? In his experience, women were all too prone to gabble at the least excuse — or even without
any.

“What do you plan to do?” challenged the girl, glaring at him with an expression of calculated scorn. She
must enrage him into carrying out his plan against her if Floss were to be given time to win her beloved
lord. Somehow, after that kiss, the thought of being carried off to a northern keep by her splendid Viking
did not seem at all disagreeable. However, if the arrogant creature guessed her feelings, he would
naturally change his own plans, which seemed to include punishing her personally as well as saving Aunt
Floss from her wicked wiles. Clea nodded sharply.Opposition! That was what marauders longed for.

How tame it would be to try to conquer a groveling foe! She donned her most scornful expression.

“If you have quite finished this childish display of playacting, perhaps you will tell me the meaning of your
charade,” she said coldly.

It was enough to inflame the already exacerbated temper of her companion. “I intend,” snarled Lord
Ranulf, “to make very sure that your selfish scheme fails. And to do that, I shall remove you from London
until your little niece is able to secure her happiness with the Earl of Glendon. And how do you like the
sound of that charade, madam?”

Trying hard to conceal from the fulminating Viking just how much his plan pleased her, Clea asked,
reasonably enough, “Has it occurred to you that my friends in London, to say nothing of … my niece,
may be wondering where I have got to?”

Lord Ranulf laughed nastily. “Oh, you will leave a note saying that you have decided to enjoy a refreshing
sojourn in the country with one of your admirers —”

“Stupid,” said Clea unforgivably. “To say the least, such behavior on the part of an aunt would ruin the
chances of her niece to achieve a suitable marriage. Can you not picture the relish with which Lady
Glendon would spread the scandal of Lady Dearborn’s defection?” Her scornful laugh rang out.

Heavy blond eyebrows drew down over furious steel-blue eyes. “You need not seek to move me from
my purpose with your petty excuses,” Lord Ranulf hissed between set teeth.

“Somebody had better instruct you in the probable consequences of your foolish behavior,” sniped Clea,
greatly daring.

It was too much. With a berserker roar, Lord Ranulf strode forward and swung the maddening female up
into his arms. Carrying her up a flight of stairs with dazzling ease, he flung her onto a bed, and before she
could recover her wits, he forced a piece of clean linen into her mouth and tied a heavy linen scarf around
her face.

“As you will discover,” he informed her furiously, “I have already arranged a suitable course of action.”
While he spoke, he was tying her wrists and ankles firmly with other strips of clean linen laid ready on the
bed.

When he had completed his task, he straightened his enormous body and stared down at the wide-eyed,
well-trussed body of his victim. “That should hold you until we reach Gretna Green,” he announced
complacently. “By the time I have you there, you will find yourself amenable to any suggestion I may care
to make, believe me!” After delivering this leveler, the Viking left the room.

Clea did not know whether to laugh or to weep. Gretna Green was well known as the goal and haven for
couples desiring to be married without tiresome legal or ecclesiastical procedures. In fact, it was a refuge
for eloping pairs of lovers. Clea could hardly credit that the Viking, however angry at her, would be
willing to commit himself that completely to a female he said he despised. For though the rites performed
in the Scottish border village — hand-fasting over the blacksmith’s anvil — were accepted as legal and
binding, they were surely not what a person of Lord Ranulf’s consequence would wish to submit himself
to.

And yet, she told herself, shivering deliciously, they were a perfect way to solve the problem Lord Ranulf
thought he had. Forcing herself to stop picturing herself standing with the blond giant in a sunlit smithy, her
hand clasped in his huge hand, Clea set determinedly to work to consider the implications of this
outrageous action upon the important person in the triangle — Lady Floss. Would a nine days’ wonder

like the elopement of her niece, already betrothed to the Season’s greatest catch, harm Floss Dearborn’s
chances of marrying the earl? As honest as she tried to be, Clea could not see that the sudden defection
of a niece could harm a modest, well-behaved female like Floss. Surely the ton — or those of them who
counted — would rally to the support of so sadly put-upon a guardian? Naïve as she knew herself to be,
Clea could not believe that Lady Dearborn would be ostracized for her ward’s flighty behavior,
especially since she would have the support and affection of the Earl of Glendon. At worst, the earl and
Floss might have to wait a few months until the gossip died down, but surely, as long as the culprits did
not seek to reenter the beau monde, Lady Dearborn and her true love could marry without blame?

Clea sighed with satisfaction. Now there was only her own position to be considered. Did her
domineering, predatory Viking really intend tomarry her at Gretna Green? It seemed a rather
overpowering solution to the problem, like pulling down a building to dislodge a mouse!

Laughter bubbled up irrepressibly in Clea’s throat at the idea of likening her large person to that of a
mouse. In spite of her present helpless position on milord’s bed, she knew herself to be, for the first time
in her life, truly at ease with another human being. With Lord Ranulf she did not have to lookdown or
moderate her motions, which were awkwardly large in a world set up to accommodate smaller, neater
persons. Her Viking loomed over her in all his massive beauty; larger than ordinary humdrum life, wilder,
freer … challenging her by his very presence to give her utmost response.

Clea shivered again involuntarily, then drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with air as her spirit
tentatively stretched and spread its wings. Ranulf wanted a worthy opponent, did he? Then she would
provide him with one! And Heaven grant that he did not change his mind!

With the worthy purpose of aiding Heaven in every way possible, Clea set herself to considering what
provocative behavior on her part might best ensure that the Viking would indeed continue in his arrogant,
marauding ways.

Below stairs, Lord Ranulf was decisively preparing for the kidnapping from an elegant London mansion
of one of the Season’s most talked-of visitors. First he dismissed the jehu after purchasing from him his
lumbering old coach at a price that had the fellow grinning from ear to ear. When the fellow had
disappeared down the street, Lord Ranulf mounted and drove the coach around to the stable in the
mews behind his rented mansion. The stable was empty now of all but Thor, who was annoyed at having
been ignored for several hours. Tying the indignant animal’s reins to the back of the coach, Ranulf
returned to the house and mounted the stairs to the bedroom where he had left the mercenary widow.

A little wary of the thrust of pleasure he felt when he beheld her large and attractive frame stretched out
on his bed, Ranulf assumed his most disapproving expression.

“I am ready to leave now,” he stated coldly. “Will it be necessary for me to keep you bound and gagged,
or have you accepted your fate?”

Clea was ready for him. Matching his arrogance with her own, she indicated with an angry glare that it
was impossible for her to reply to his overbearing insolence adequately while bound and gagged. The
dastard had the bad manners to laugh at her red face and staring eyes.

“Yes, I see that you are perhaps not best pleased at your situation, and in view of the choler I observe in
your countenance, I think it wiser that I do not unbind you until we are well out of the city. So, madam”
— bending, he heaved her easily up into his arms — “your carriage awaits!” And still chuckling
reprehensibly, he bore Clea down the stairs and out to the stables. There he placed her carefully into the
malodorous coach and packed blankets and pillows around her. Surveying her with a wicked gleam in
his eyes, he tipped his golden head to one side.

“I had better tie you in,” he decided. “The roads are rough, and I really do not wish you to arrive at
Gretna Green covered with bruises.”

He proceeded to bind Clea’s body upright in the coach by tying a rope from one side of the framework
to the other.

During this maneuver, the girl’s determination to continue defying her abductor wavered. Surely the brute
did not mean to keep her tied up in this moldy carriage all the way to the Scottish border? At once, her
common sense denied the supposition. He was testing her, challenging her to plead with him for mercy!
Clea set her jaw firmly. There would be no begging, no capitulation, from Cleanthe Bradford! Let the
cruel Viking do his worst!

Go to Contents

Chapter 18

y the time three hours had passed, Clea’s mood had suffered a drastic change. For one thing, the old

coach jolted and rocked over the cobbles and along the rutted roads until the girl could have screamed at
the discomfort and nausea she was experiencing. And as the physical torment increased, Clea’s temper
rose. Far from being a game or a challenge, Lord Ranulf’s behavior now seemed to her to be a sadistic
expression of male arrogance.

By the time the coach lumbered to a jolting stop, Clea was ready to murder the cruel, unfeeling male who
held her captive.

He will have to release me when he enters the inn, she told herself. He will not dare to leave me tied up in
this wretched coach in a public stable!

But moments passed and Clea could not hear the sound of voices or of any activity outside the coach.
Ye gods, is he going to leave me here to die? the girl thought in a sudden panic. She thought of Aunt
Floss and wondered what sort of letter Lord Ranulf had sent to explain Clea’s disappearance, if indeed
the fiendish creature had bothered to write one at all.

These despairing musings were suddenly interrupted when Lord Ranulf himself flung open the door of the
coach and began to untie the ropes that held his victim securely in place. The unexpected appearance of
her tormentor allayed the worst of Clea’s fears but did nothing to sweeten her temper. Her eyes blazed at
him above the gag; her body was tense with anger and pain.

Her captor observed these signs with an unpleasant smile. “I shall not apologize for the discomfort you
have suffered,” he told her. “You have brought it — and much more — upon yourself by your actions.
However, if you promise to be sensible, I shall release you long enough for you to wash yourself and eat
some food before we resume our journey.”

Clea regarded the insensitive giant with loathing. It was her firm intention to create a commotion that
would destroy the creature as soon as he untied her. But the dastardly nobleman was still one jump
ahead of her. He hoisted her over his shoulder and bore her into a wretched hovel of an inn where a
dour-looking man stood behind a filthy bar. This fellow completely ignored them. Lord Ranulf carried
Clea up a set of very shaky stairs to a small, dirty room that contained little more than a bed and a
washing commode. He tossed her onto the bed in a very cavalier fashion and proceeded to untie her.

“I shall give you fifteen minutes to take care of your comfort, and then I shall bring food into the room.
When we have eaten, we shall resume our trip to the border.”

Without waiting to hear any comments she might wish to make, Lord Ranulf went out and closed the
door firmly behind him. It took only the sound of a key in the lock to unleash the full fury of Clea’s rage.
She spent the next five minutes hammering on the locked door and shouting for help. While this was a
satisfying activity, it produced no response.

Then common sense prevailed, and Clea, mindful of Lord Ranulf’s ultimatum, made haste to attend to her
immediate needs and improve her appearance. Of course, there was no mirror in the miserable little
room, but she washed her face and endeavored to straighten her tangled mass of hair with her fingers.
She had just begun to look for her reticule when a key turned in the lock and the door swung open. Her
abductor entered, bearing a large tray on which there were several dishes. Since there was no table, he
was forced to place the tray on the bed. With a smile that roused Clea’s fury, he said, “Eat, woman.”
Then, sitting on the bed, he proceeded to follow his own advice.

Clea glanced around the tiny room to see if there was anything she could use as a weapon.

Grinning, the brute seemed to read her mind. “I advise you to eat something if you are hungry. We are
setting out again as soon as I have finished, and it may be quite a while before I stop again.”

Seething with bottled-up fury, Clea plumped herself down on the side of the bed opposite of her
tormentor and began to eat. She had not expected much from such a rundown inn, but the meal, though
simple, was surprisingly good. Almost before she knew it, she had finished the contents of her plate and
was looking at the tray to see if there was anything more.

Lord Ranulf grinned heartlessly. “That’s it,” he said callously. “Perhaps if you arevery well-behaved, I’ll
stop somewhere for breakfast. Are you ready to leave?”

Clea gritted her teeth. “I am surprised you do me the courtesy to ask,” she snapped.

The villain laughed. “Not broken yet?” he taunted. “Oh, well, we have time.”

He walked over and held the door open in a mockery of gallantry.

Involuntarily the girl glanced at the linen strips that he had used to bind her.

“I shan’t need to use those now,” her captor said mockingly. “I’ve traded our elegant carriage for a mare
for you to ride. As long as you behave yourself and follow me, I shall not tie you up again.” Then his
expression hardened. “If, however, you give me any trouble at all, if you try to escape or to attract
attention to your plight, you will be very sorry indeed. Andthat is a promise. Do you understand me?”

And for the moment, Clea, tired and a little frightened by the sudden cruelty in the man’s expression, had
not the strength or the courage to defy him.

At about the time Lord Ranulf and his prisoner were leaving the wretched inn, a troubled Lady Dearborn
was discussing Clea’s disappearance with the earl and Lady Bowser. The only piece of real evidence
they possessed was a very enigmatic note that had been delivered the previous afternoon. It had been
addressed to Miss Cleanthe Bradford, and read:

My Dear Niece,

Lord Ranulf Malyon has made me a most flattering offer — one which I cannot resist! He is
leaving at once for Malyon Keep, and has urged me to visit what may be my Future Home with
him!

Lady Bowser will find you a suitable duenna until your marriage to the Earl of Glendon renders it

unnecessary for you to have one. I believe my presence in your life has complicated it. Please be
happy.

Aunt Florence

“What sort of nonsense is this?” stammered Lady Bowser. “You are here, Floss! Surely you did not
write this … farrago?”

“Of course I didn’t!” retorted Floss. “That’s not my handwriting — nor is it Clea’s! And Inever sign
myself Aunt Florence! So aging!”

Lord Glendon interrupted ruthlessly, “We know that Clea has been lured out of town by some means.
The only person I am aware of who has mistaken one of you Dearborn women for the other is that oaf
Malyon. I should have shot him when I first thought of it!”

“But why has he lured Clea away — or me, I mean? I was not aware that he had atendre for me —oh
!” One hand went up to cover the rosy mouth in a gesture of shock. “He is smitten with Clea! I know it!”

“Then why kidnap her and address this absurd note to her at the same time?” argued Lady Bowser, who
was growing more confused by the moment.

“Because,” answered Lord Glendon grimly, “he has listened to the scurrilous gossip that is circulating in
the ton and decided that the naughty Lady Floss is attempting to seduce her poor niece’s fiancé.”

Lady Bowser stared from one nodding head to the other. After a moment, she said crisply, “Well, what
do you intend to do about it, Glendon? For I do not think Lady Floss will have any practical
suggestions!”

Floss ignored this unworthy thrust. Bewilderment was being replaced on her pretty countenance by the
dreaded ‘planning’ look. Her companions regarded her with alarm as she announced, “We shall not need
to do anything! Ranulf has fallen in love with Clea. I am sure she will manage to marry him, since she
already feels deeply attracted to him. In fact,” she concluded happily, “all turns out for the best! Now you
can marry me, Michael!”

Lady Bowser groaned, and Lord Glendon gave his totty-headed little love a pitying glance. The man
spoke first.

“We can do nothing until we have thought of a way to break my engagement to your niece publicly
without ruining her reputation.”

“But can you not just announce that she has run off with Lord Ranulf?” began Floss. Then, catching sight
of the frowns that descended on the faces of both her companions, her bright smile was slowly replaced
by a look of despair. “But of course,” she chided herself, “that would be enough to ruin her in the eyes of
the ton, would it not?”

Lady Bowser tried to comfort the disconsolate Floss. “You and I shall follow Clea to Malyon Keep at
once, dear child. We shall set it about that we three — including Clea! — are going to visit George
Dearborn’s heir at his special request. I defy the fellow to deny my story! My word still carries some
weight in the beau monde!” The light of battle faded from her countenance as she added practically,
“That way we can rescue Clea without scandal. We’ll go down to my home in Sussex afterward. That’ll
keep both of you out of sight until the Season is over.”

Although he granted the wisdom of Lady Bowser’s advice, Lord Glendon found himself surprisingly
reluctant to lose touch with his charming little widow for several months. Dammit, some other fellow was

likely to snap her up, some bucolic bigwig or county cavalier! The very thought of his darling little Floss
again subjected to the crude insensitivity of a hunting squire quite put the earl into the sullens.

Of course, Lady Bowser, that old campaigner, soon noticed his ill humor. “Have you a better idea,
milord?” she challenged.

“I think I had better go with you,” Lord Glendon announced as though it were a great sacrifice. “Two
ladies embarking upon such a long journey without a male escort? Not at all the thing!”

In the face of Floss’s glowing gratitude at the earl’s self-sacrificing offer, Lady Bowser stifled her impulse
to laugh and said all that was proper.

Go to Contents

Chapter 19

he trip north was proving to be very different from the painful battle Lord Ranulf had envisioned. For

one thing, after the first long, wearying, day-and-night’s journey with only the single stop to change from
the wretched coach to horseback, things had suddenly becomeeasier. His captive had not indulged in the
tantrums he had anticipated, nor had she tried to seduce him with tears or batter him with recriminations.
Instead, she had spent the dark hours riding silently beside him along the less-traveled roads he had
chosen. On the second day they continued to travel lanes and side roads, stopping only to eat and refresh
themselves briefly at an obscure little inn. The second night they found themselves a barn, where her
captor unrolled a blanket for each of them on a bed of fragrant hay and did not even bother tying up her
wrists or ankles before he tended to their horses.

Clea, still silent, watched him. When he had made the horses comfortable, he turned to the girl.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

His voice was so cold that involuntarily Clea shivered.

“No,” she answered briefly.

Lord Ranulf was burrowing in his saddlebags. “You will eat,” he announced. “Plaintive martyrdom does
not move me.”

This unwarranted attack fired up an anger that Clea had been too tired to express before. “I am neither
plaintive nor feeling like a martyr,” she snapped.

The Viking grinned nastily. “Give me time,” he said, but his actions during the next few minutes refuted
the girl’s theory that he was about to begin tormenting her again. Quietly he laid a clean napkin on her lap
as she sat on the hay. Then he placed a wrapped sandwich on the napkin and said in a firm voice, “Eat.”

The food was surprisingly tasty: fresh-baked bread, rich farm butter, and slices of roasted beef with
peppercorns, which he had apparently secured at the little inn. Clea demolished every crumb and looked
up at length with a sigh of satisfaction to catch Lord Ranulf’s mocking smile.

To her own surprise as much as his, she grinned back at the nobleman. “That was good. Now, if you had
only had enough foresight to bring something to drink —”

Even as she spoke, the irritating fellow was rummaging in his saddlebag for a bottle. As he wrenched off
the cork, he told her, “We shall not bother with cups or glasses. First you may drink, and then I shall.”

He held the bottle out to her.

Rather injudiciously, since she was very thirsty, Clea tipped the bottle up to her mouth and took a large
swig. Fire burned down her throat and spread through her upper body. Gasping, she managed to say,
“Cohnyahk! It is that fiery stuff you gave me once before!”

Lord Ranulf laughed heartlessly at the coughing the girl could not suppress. “It warmed you once and
made you … very amenable, as I recall.”

Glaring suspiciously at him, Clea took another mouthful and said in a toplofty tone, “Oh, I shall not allow
the stuff to confuse me as it did before! I am aware of its properties and do not intend to betaken in
again! I must have been very tired that night —”

“And you are fresh and full of lively spirits this evening?” milord inquired smoothly, watching her
expressive face.

“Evening?” Clea was momentarily distracted. She hated to admit to him that for her the last few hours
had passed in a sort of daze of exhaustion. She peered around her. Through cracks in the walls of the
huge old barn, long streaks of golden light were lancing, making dizzying patterns of the dust and chaff
that floated in the air as Thor and the mare stamped and shifted uneasily in their strange quarters. “Why,
so it is! We shall be in Scotland before you know it,” she added, a very mischievous notion suddenly
presenting itself to her weary mind. “Will you mind very much giving up your freedom?”

If she had not been so tired, or so full of good food and cognac, or so relieved that his lordship was
evidently not planning to torment her further at the moment, Clea would probably never have conceived
of, or tried to execute, the daring plan that had just occurred to her. It was, in brief, to appear so eager
for the marriage that the nobleman would draw back in alarm and release her. For Clea was sure Lord
Ranulf did not really wish to marry her — perhaps did not even intend doing so — but was merely using
the dash to Gretna Green as a means of punishing the widow or protecting her victim.

So now, in the hazy golden glow of twilight, the girl glanced up at her captor with a smile sparkling with
mischief … only to encounter a hard, intent scrutiny that at once startled her out of her little game.

“You are concerned at my loss of freedom?” he asked harshly.

“I — I naturally supposedyou might be,” stammered Clea, caught out by his unexpected reaction to her
joking comment.

Although the intent gaze did not waver, a wide, cruel smile stretched his well-shaped lips. “I can see
several advantages in the situation when the bride is you, madam,” he said in a dark voice that
immediately set Clea’s nerves to jangling.

“Advantages?” she heard herself repeating in a voice whose childlike tone of surprise disgusted her.

“Oh, yes,” said her tormentor softly. “When we are married and I have you secure in Malyon Keep,
there are a number of things that I shall find …pleasurable. ”

Clea swallowed nervously. The situation was getting out of hand. Surely this fierce nobleman did not
intend to ally himself with a woman for whom he had shown such deep contempt? She stared at him
soberly.

“I am sure you are teasing me — or that this is another way of meting out punishment for what you think I
have done, but I assure you —”

“Do not bother trying to bamboozle me, Lady Dearborn. I was not born yesterday. It is disgustingly
evident that you envy the success your little niece has had in catching herself a rare prize in the marriage
stakes. Of course, one sees why she was more successful than you —”

Unable to bear the cruelty of that comment, Clea lashed out blindly, “If you think so little of me and my
chances in the marriage mart, then why have you bothered to interfere in my affairs? A sensible man
would have left the matter in the capable hands of Lord Glendon, who is certainly not attracted to a great
lump like me. You are a fool to abduct a graceless female —”

“Enough!” roared Lord Ranulf. For some reason he could not identify, the expression on the girl’s face
caused him a sharp pang of distress and made him feel contemptuous of his heavy-handed tactics. Even if
she was all that his rancorous informants had suggested, she was a woman and surely deserved gentler
treatment at his hands!

Lord Ranulf did not stop to wonder why this woman, among all the females he had ever met, should
arouse such extremes of passion in him. He had lashed out at her in anger with a judgment she most
certainly deserved, yet at her stricken look he had felt a veritable monster and now found himself anxious
to soothe the pain he had obviously given. He stood above the woman, glaring down at her with
uncomfortable concern.

She was crying!Two great tears were sliding down the soft cheeks, and more moisture made her great
golden eyes glisten like rare jewels. Milord took a deep breath. This must stop, he warned himself,
clutching desperately at his usual cool disdain for the female sex.

Before he could make a comment, however, the woman had lifted her hands and childishly wiped the
tears from her face. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “It was just that your … remark hurt so much.…”

The nobleman groaned silently and cursed his own heavy-handedness. Before he could offer an apology,
Clea went on quietly, “I think it is time we talked. There is something you do not know, Lord Ranulf.”

With a feeling akin to horror, Lord Ranulf Malyon realized that the woman was going to tell him
something that would put an end to this mad journey.And he did not wish that to happen! She would
try to convince him that the gossips lied; that she was not setting out lures for her niece’s fiancé; worse,
that she was actively promoting the match and her absence from London might actually delay or end it!
He could feel a sweat of anxiety bursting out on his forehead at the thought that with a few words this
noble female would force him to put an end to their relationship!

He stopped her speech with an insufferably arrogant gesture. “Do not say another word. I am tired and
wish to sleep.”

The girl frowned at his abrupt withdrawal. “But my lord, it is something you would wish to know —” she
began to protest.

“Silence!” roared the Viking in his most masterful tones.

Clea had had more than enough of this man’s insolence.

“I shall not be silent, you monster!” she shouted, her voice almost as loud as his. “Idemand that you listen
to some facts that will change your whole attitude in this matter!”

Lord Ranulf groaned inwardly. He had been right in fearing that her disclosures might end their idyll
before it had even begun! Would a show of force stop her from spoiling everything? He strode forward
and seized her shoulders in a grasp of iron. Then he bent and took her lips, which were parted with

astonishment and anger, with his.

It was the most earth-shaking kiss he had ever experienced. It went on until Lord Ranulf’s head began to
whirl and his knees threatened to buckle. Almost reluctantly, he lifted his golden head and glared down
into the wide, glazed golden eyes so close to his.

“Nowwill you be quiet?” he demanded fiercely.

“What?” asked Clea dreamily, reluctant to return from the world of exquisite pleasure into which her
Viking’s kiss had plunged her.

The marauder grinned with delight. His kiss had affected her as much as it had him, then. Good! It was
clear to him in that magic moment what the safest — andbest! — argument was if he wished to convince
this lovely creature to do as he said. And just to make sure that she accepted his decision, he bent his
head and kissed her again, taking the precaution of drawing in a deep breath first to sustain him through
the exercise.

Clea did not offer any argument.

Go to Contents

Chapter 20

hen Lord Ranulf finally raised his head, he took a deep breath and stared down with complacent

pride at the dazzled satisfaction on the woman’s face. It was still turned to his, as it had been during the
kiss. Long dark eyelashes rested softly against rosy cheeks, hiding the large amber-gold eyes that so
attracted him. The glorious mane of white-gold hair had worked its way out of the snood in which it was
usually confined and was flowing down over his arm in a shining wave. Lord Ranulf was just transferring
his proprietary gaze to the graceful neck and the soft, tantalizing swell of breasts when the heavy eyelids
lifted and the glowing golden eyes met his possessive glance.

Slowly a wave of delicious color swept up to bathe the woman’s face as she realized how unrestrained
her behavior had been. If he had not known better, Lord Ranulf would have been very sure that this girl
was still a maiden. Her air of confusion strengthened the illusion.

Clea met the admiring, complacent gaze honestly.

“I am Clea Bradford,” she said quietly. “I permitted you to think I was Lady Dearborn so that I could
protect my aunt against the ill will you said you felt for her.”

She waited, quiescent in his arms, for his judgment.

Lord Ranulf tried to come to terms with this new, upside-down situation. His task was the harder
because he still held the delicious woman close to his chest. Clasping her thus, he was sharply conscious
of the differences in the male and female anatomies. He was tempted to explore the delightful differences
more thoroughly, but was diverted from this dangerous course by an impatient wriggle on the part of his
captive. It was obviously an attempt to get his attention; it certainly served that purpose. The big man
caught Clea in a tighter grip and played desperately for time.

“You are not getting away from me so easily,” he told her firmly. “If I believed you, which I do not, I
should require to know much more about the deception you have just admitted to practicing on me. I
should ask youwhy you maintained the hoax when there was no longer any need for it; when I had

forgiven you — that is, Lady Dearborn, if you are not she — for her ill treatment of my poor cousin and
had even carried an inebriated woman back to her house and put her to bed —”

During this unfair and confusing speech, Clea’s body had been stiffening in the nobleman’s grasp as her
temper rose. By the time he had alluded to his scandalous behavior in her bedroom, Clea had decided to
ignore the wonderful feelings the creature seemed able to arouse in her whenever he touched her and
concentrate on the outrageous things he was saying.

“Iam Clea,” she announced in the face of his evident disbelief. “And you had no right to make me drunk
and then carry me off to my bedroom!”

“You enjoyed it very much. And so did I,” said the shameless creature, smiling at her in a way that
brought a blush to her face again. Lord Ranulf observed it with satisfaction. “If what you say is true,” he
drawled, ignoring her efforts to squirm out of his grasp, “what threats did Lady Dearborn hold over you
to force you to aid her in entrapping Lord Glendon? For it was officially announced in London that Miss
Cleanthe Bradford had accepted the earl’s proposal. Ifyou are engaged to the man, why does he escort
your aunt so frequently? He was driving her in his curricle when I sent that note to you.” His heavy golden
eyebrows drew down into a frown over eyes suddenly iron-hard. “Are you, in fact, engaged to him? If
you are Clea Bradford, you must be!” He took his arms from around her, caught her shoulders in a fierce
clasp, and shook her.

Clea did not know whether to weep or shout. The maddening creature had her at her wit’s end. Her
reason told her that she had better get away from his disturbing presence as soon as possible, yet the feel
of his big, hard hands on her shoulders sent a thrill of pleasure through her. She raised wide, beseeching
eyes to meet his stern challenge.

“It is a long story, milord, and a tangled one. Will you do me the kindness to listen while I tell it to you?”

Lord Ranulf glared at her. She was such a charmer! He found her magnificent, statuesque body far more
attractive than that of the fluffy little kitten who was her aunt — if this one was, in truth, the niece. He had
a very deep fear that knowing the whole story might force him to return her to London. He was not sure
he could accept that resolution to the situation with any kind of grace. But it was becoming clear to him
that the matter must be settled soon, for he was becoming more entangled in the female’s net with every
minute he spent in her presence. At this rate, it would not be long before he would be unable to part with
her under any circumstances. He had visions of himself doing in earnest what he had only threatened to
do as a ruse to get the girl out of London; that is, carry her off to Gretna Green and tie her to him with
bonds that could not be broken.

And she would probably hate him for the rest of her life if he behaved in such a berserker fashion! Lord
Ranulf sighed and accepted the civilized role. “Very well, I shall listen to your story. But the first thing I
wish to hear is this:Do you, whoever you are, intend to marry the Earl of Glendon? ”

He held his breath as he waited for her answer.

“Of course I do not,” Clea said crisply. “That was just one of Aunt Floss’s attempts to save my face in
society.”

“That woman is dangerous!” muttered Lord Ranulf, but Clea noticed that his anxious expression had
eased and a smile was softening the stern line of his well-cut lips.

As briefly as she was able, Clea related the details of Aunt Floss’s great plan to give the two women a
little pleasure after the grim years at Dearborn Hall. “I know my aunt hoped to make a suitable match for
me, and I, for my part, was reluctant to spoil her unselfish fantasy. I knew I had nothing to offer a beau of

the ton.” She ignored his instinctive gesture of protest and added grimly, “As you were honest enough to
remind me! Still, I longed to visit the museums and to attend the concerts — such ajoy ! At least I have
had music, no matter what becomes of me now!” Clea ended with a sob.

Lord Ranulf was horrified at what he had done to this lovely girl. He was trying to find some way to
excuse his gross brutality when the girl collected herself and went on.

“We were offered the sponsorship of Lady Bowser, who had known my grandmother and mother. She
sent the earl to invite us to a dinner party. Our new clothes and our rented house were paid for by the
money you instructed your lawyer to pay Aunt Floss for the Dower House,” she inserted grimly, recalling
the charges he had made against Aunt Floss.

Lord Ranulf was remembering them, too, and wishing with all his heart that he had kept his mouth shut —
or cut out his tongue before hurting Clea so deeply. So powerful was his self-condemnation that he
hardly attended to rest of her story. He was recalled to the present situation by the sound of her voice
challenging him.

“Well, milord, are you satisfied that I am Cleanthe and that my engagement to the earl was a desperate
ploy on the part of a loving aunt to save face for her ugly, awkward niece? And that a very gallant Lord
Glendon agreed to go along with the pretense until the Season was over so that I should not be
humiliated?”

Lord Ranulf groaned. He was still holding the girl in his arms, but his clasp was light and tentative, not
fiercely possessive as before. He knew he should release her before he began his apologies, but
somehow he could not bear to do so. After what had occurred, she might never permit him to come
close to her again. The very thought of riding all the way back to London beside her, which, of course, he
must in all honor do, without ever touching her again, filled him with a new and powerful despair.

“Clea,” he began slowly, and searched the lovely face so wonderfully close to his. She was perfect for
him, dammit! he raged. The right size, and the right feel in his arms, and the taste and scent and warmth of
her were what he had been missing all his life! “Clea, I cannot let you go.”

There, it was out!

The girl considered his startling statement with slowly widening eyes. She was reluctant to believe that her
difficult Viking knew what he was saying.I cannot let you go. It was the stuff of dreams, a fantasy come
true, unbelievable! That this splendid creature with his golden mane and his hawk’s nose and his piercing
eyes that could warm amazingly until they seemed to burn into her very soul … this wonderful, big man
who actually towered above her own six feet and made her feel small and delicate! And now desired!
Could she believe him?Why was he saying this?

She asked him.

Lord Ranulf groaned with frustration and shook his difficult love once, sharply. How many ways could a
man tell his destined mate that he loved her, desired her above all things, could not live without her and
still retain his reason? Surely he had made all that clear?

He frowned down into her worried face. He was making a botch of it, he feared; yet what more did the
girl want? For the first time in his life, Lord Ranulf wished he had spent more time — any time! —
learning how to deal with females. And then, really seeing her dear, anxious face so comfortably close to
his own, he had an inspiration. He would appeal to her womanliness, let her take the lead! Women knew
all about such things, didn’t they? He put on his most beguiling face, remembering how he had felt when
he wanted his father to buy him his first horse.

“Dear Clea,” he coaxed softly, “I need you so much! I cannot endure life without you!”

Then he stared intently down into her sweet countenance, trying to judge whether the ploy had worked
or not.

For her part, Clea was in a quandary. She could not help suspecting the new, wheedling note in her
Viking’s voice, quite unlike any approach he had ever made to her. And yet, if it were true …! If indeed
he did need and love her enough to wish to marry her?

At this point, the worldly sophistication to which she had been exposed during her brief visit to London
took charge. With a sense of enormous depression, Clea realized that his lordship had not mentioned
marriage. Was he offering her acarte blanche? She raised her beautiful eyes to his in anguished question.

The nobleman was quickly aware that his chosen woman was in some doubt about her answer to his
question. She does not love me, he thought, groaning. Then, scanning her worried expression, he was a
little comforted to realize that, had she been merely wishing torefuse him, she would have had no such
difficulty as she was presently experiencing. Grimly he faced his fate.

“Are you going to marry me or not?” he demanded.

The dawning delight on Clea’s face forever removed his fears.

“Oh, yes, Ranulf! I should like that above all things! May we be married at once? Before dear Floss gets
me engaged to someone else? For I suspect she has more than atendre for Lord Glendon, but she would
not take him from me and leave me without a fiancé. In full sight of the ton, I mean. So she will be looking
about for someone else —” she babbled.

“Quiet,” instructed her new fiancé gently, and then he silenced her in a way that was very satisfactory to
them both.

By the time Lord Ranulf had assured her of his undying devotion and secured her pledge of her own, it
was dusk in the old barn. The newly affianced man peered around him with great dissatisfaction.

“Why I ever picked a place like this for us to spend our first night —” he began morosely. “It is scarcely
fit for the horses, to say nothing of ourselves.”

Clea considered the problem gravely. “It will be very uncomfortable,” she agreed. “Now that we have
settled our differences, can we go on to an inn?”

Lord Ranulf pursed his lips. “It would not be suitable for us to share a room, or even to be lodged at the
same time at a public hostel without a chaperone,” he advised her firmly. He must look after his
wonderful love very carefully; it was clear to him that she had little idea of how to look after herself.

“Do you wish to proceed to Gretna Green at once, then?” the girl asked. It was a wonderful feeling to be
socared for by this great, beautiful male!

Her Viking shook his head. “Too far for us to ride in one night. And the same applies to Malyon Keep. I
cannot wait weeks to be alone with you and to have the right to love you as I wish,” he said
discontentedly.

Clea gazed up at him with adoration. “Whatever you say,” she breathed. She had never been in love
before; it was a marvelous experience, she decided, especially when one knew one’s love was returned!

The man gave her a suspicious glance and then grinned delightedly. “It is clear you intend to be a

biddable wife,” he told her. “I think I shall like that — to begin with.”

Slowly the look in Clea’s golden eyes changed and sharpened with mischief. “You had best make the
most of my docility while it lasts, milord,” she advised with a smile.

“You mean I may wake up one morning in bed with a virago?” teased her Viking. “I promise you I can
handle her.”

“Do not be too sure,” his beloved warned him. “And now how do you propose to get me back to
London without causing a scandal?”

“Watch me,” boasted Lord Ranulf.

Go to Contents

Chapter 21

s his luxurious carriage trundled northward toward Malyon Keep, the Earl of Glendon viewed his two

female companions from under lowered lids. He was sitting with his back to the horses, having, of
course, insisted that the ladies accept the more comfortable, forward-facing seats. The two women, so
unlike in appearance, age, personality, and experience, had still managed to create a very restful, pleasant
atmosphere during the two days that had so far passed. Lord Glendon thanked his lucky stars that an
undertaking so liable to disaster had so far been most successful.

True, they were still a long way from the ancestral home of Lord Ranulf Malyon, to which they were sure
he had taken Lady Dearborn’s niece. But with every mile that passed, the earl was more convinced that
this joint effort to rescue Cleanthe Bradford was going to result in a bonus for himself. Dear little Floss
was learning to trust him and to rely upon his judgment. And Lady Bowser obviously approved of Floss,
of him — and any liaison they might make. As long, amended the earl wryly, as it involved a ceremony at
St. Paul’s! Well, he was willing to accept even that if it meant that he might have the little widow for his
own!

But first, of course, they must rescue Clea from her savage northern lord.

The ladies had drowsed off against the elegantly padded seats. The earl stared out the window at the
serene landscape of tended fields, neatly trimmed groves, and charming old stone churches that made up
his view. The setting sun was gilding everything in a gentle haze. Faced with all this beauty, the earl
became aware that he was more than ready for his dinner. He glanced back at the ladies. It was time he
called a halt to the day’s progress and settled his passengers in some suitable hostel for the night. Lady
Floss, who had exhibited real concern for the fate of her niece, might urge that they press on, but Lord
Glendon was privately of the opinion that the Amazonian girl could look out for herself pretty well. From
certain things Floss had said, it was more than possible that the massive northern nobleman had a soft
spot for Lady Dearborn’s niece. Lord Glendon devoutly hoped so. The sooner the fellow married Miss
Bradford, the sooner the Earl of Glendon could lay claim to the aunt.

His excellent courier had gone ahead of Glendon’s carriage to arrange for service at the best available
hostel, and within the hour milord and his guests were settling comfortably in their rooms, preparing for a
meal that was to be served to them in the private parlor of the establishment. The food was better than he
had dared hope, and the wine was unexceptionable.

Lady Bowser, who was very much enjoying this foray into the country under such elegant conditions,
sipped a glass of a superb liqueur and nodded. “Rum brandy, I should hazard.”

Lord Glendon agreed. “We cannot get this quality in London. One of the advantages of living in the
country.”

“One of the few,” added Floss gloomily. “Sir George, however, refused to trade with the smugglers. He
always said that no foreign brandies or liqueurs could compare with good Scotch whiskey!”

“Indeed?” commented the earl, his low opinion of George Dearborn confirmed by that chauvinistic
statement.

Lady Bowser had just given the white-faced Lady Floss a long, considering glance. Now she rose and
walked over to the younger woman. “It is past time you were in bed, my dear,” she said gently. “I’ll see
you upstairs, child. Good night, and thank you, Michael. It has been a pleasant day.”

The ladies were halfway up the front staircase and Lord Glendon was standing at the foot to see them
safely up, when the door leading from the stables was thrust open and two large figures advanced into the
inn hallway.

The earl found himself staring at Lord Ranulf and Miss Cleanthe Bradford. When he noted the girl’s
bedraggled appearance and weary countenance, he felt a surge of raw anger against the insolent giant
who was, unforgivably,grinning at him. Lord Glendon strode toward the travel-worn pair. Only the
thought that the two ladies now nearing the top of the staircase might be frightened or outraged at a
public brangle kept him from challenging the abductor on the spot.

As it was, he confronted the mocking nobleman with a countenance of stone. “I shall deal with you as
soon as I have seen Miss Cleanthe to her aunt’s room,” he snapped in a guarded voice.

Clea’s tired head jerked up at the threat evident in milord’s tone. She knew very well how she must look
and quite understood the earl’s suspicions and anger, but she really could not suffer any heroics at this
moment. So she took the initiative.

Facing the outraged earl, she said sternly, “You will mind your own business, Lord Glendon. This is my
fiancé you are speaking to.”

Lord Ranulf was betrayed into a laugh at this smashing setdown, and the earl’s rage flamed fiercely. Who
was this great awkward female to speak thus to him, when she and her savage cavalier had caused dear
little Floss so much anxiety and pain? Ignoring her, he said between clenched teeth, “I shall meet you in
the courtyard in an hour, Malyon!”

“If you do,” snapped the termagant, refusing to be ignored, “Ishall tell Aunt Floss that you have ruined my
only chance at a happy marriage, and thenyou will have to go through with that absurd scheme of hers
and many me! And how will you like that?”

The earl was compelled to admit that he would dislike it very much. He already had his own plans for a
happy marriage and they did not include an Amazonian fiancée. He hesitated an instant too long and lost
control of the situation — if he had ever had it.

“She has you outmaneuvered, I think,” commented Lord Ranulf judiciously. “I would suggest that you
yield to force majeure and let my valiant shield-mate have her own way. She’ll get it anyway, you know!
She’s got me tied hand and foot — and I love it,” he added hastily, with an eye on his belligerent darling.

The earl felt the necessity to make one more effort. He said in a louder voice than he intended, “I shall
require you to attend me in the private parlor in one hour, Malyon. I shall have to hear a clear explanation
of this abduction before I can permit you to pay your addresses to this lady. And as for you, ma’am, you

would do better to remember that youare a lady and behave less like some lightskirt ragamuffin —”

“Howdare you?” challenged the outraged voice of Lady Dearborn, sweeping down the stairs like a small
lioness whose single cub has been threatened. “Can I believe my ears? What did you call my niece? No,
do not repeat the vile canard!” She prevented his shocked mumble of apology. Putting her arm as far
around her huge niece as it would go, she led the startled girl toward the stairs.

Lord Ranulf, taking pity on his erstwhile opponent, offered to explain the whole matter, using the
wheedling voice that had served him so well with Clea.

Lady Floss was of a different metal. Silencing him with a lethal glare and a single, hissed “Savage!” she
shepherded the reluctant Clea up the first two steps of the stairway.

The two men, observing her progress with varying degrees of alarm, were stunned to behold Lady
Bowser standing at the head of the stairs, openly convulsed with laughter.

“If you could see your faces!” she gasped. “And also the faces of your audience,” and she gestured to
the group of gaping yokels who were grinning and nudging one another at the door of the taproom.

It was too much for the arrogant earl, who had never had as much trouble with any woman, even his
mother, as he had had with, and because of, this one small female. With a muttered curse, he turned and
strode past the sniggering farmers and out the front door of the inn.

“Oh, what have you done?” wailed Floss.

“From what I was privileged to hear, the question should be: ‘What haveI done?’” advised Lady
Bowser, chuckling.

“But that’s exactly what I said!” protested Floss. “What have you done? We have lost the earl!” And she
stared despairingly at the still open door.

“He’ll come back,” said Lord Ranulf. “You Dearborn women become an addiction. I myself do not ever
expect to recover from you.” And he smiled at her with a gentleness that quite startled all three ladies.

“Will you go and get him?” begged Floss humbly. “Tell him I’m sorry I said anything to anger him?”

“But do not let him hurt you,” warned Clea. “He wasvery angry when he left.”

“Then perhaps Lady Floss should go after him,” teased Ranulf, who was enjoying the whole affair a great
deal too much for Clea’s taste.

Floss’s sudden smile was dazzling. “I should like that,” she confessed. “Where do you think he has
gone?”

Lord Glendon suddenly appeared in the open doorway. It seemed he had not gone far, for he had
certainly overheard the conversation. “Have you no sense at all?” he berated Lady Floss. “What a
totty-headed idea, to go out into the night in a strange village to look for — for …” His expression
softened. “Would you really have gone after me?” he asked gently.

“I was afraid I had lost you,” Floss admitted softly.

It was as though no one but the two of them existed. The fascinated group from the taproom was
following the exchange with avid interest. “Better than the Harvest Fair,” opined one watcher. Lady
Bowser decided that the public display had gone on quite long enough and moved down to take

command.

“The ladies will come up to my room,” she announced firmly. “We have had — and provided — enough
entertainment for one night. In the morning, we shall all have breakfast in the inn parlor, at which time
these private matters may be settled decently and in order.”

No one, not even the taproom group, approved of this Spartan decision, but Lady Bowser’s dignity was
great enough to carry the day. It was a deeply disappointed party that wended its way up the stairs, and
four of them at least were resolved to be in the private parlor at an early hour the following morning.

Go to Contents

Chapter 22

domineering Lady Bowser refused to listen to any excuses as she saw her two charges into bed. Her

unvarying answer to requests, demands, and pleas was a firm “In the morning!”

Finally exhausted by their own emotions as much as by the rigors of traveling, aunt and niece were
cuddled up in one vast four-poster, asleep. Lady Bowser looked down at the two widely dissimilar
young women with soft eyes. They were darlings, both of them, but two more different females in person,
manner, and behavior she had never seen. It was to be hoped that each of them would win through to the
happiness she so richly deserved.

Lady Bowser definitely approved of Lady Floss and Clea.

In the private parlor below, two wary noblemen were morosely considering the excellent French brandy
they were drinking.

After a lengthy silence, the earl said gruffly, “How else was I to act? You had run off with the chit —”

“Would you call her a chit?” asked Lord Ranulf doubtfully. “She seems to me to be larger than life,
magnificent, rather than a wisp or a minikin.”

“I see I have met a pedant,” sneered Lord Glendon, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Lord Ranulf sensed his companion’s unwillingness to quarrel and acknowledged the truce.

“I suggest that we join forces,” he said with his wolfish grin. “I suspect that we are neither of us up to
managing the Dearborn women on our own.”

Lord Glendon drained his glass and sighed agreement. He gestured to the host to bring another round.
“What is your plan?” he asked cautiously.

“That you do not drink any more of this so excellent brandy tonight. We shall need clear heads to deal
with Lady Duenna in the morning.”

Lord Glendon gave him a sour glance but admitted the wisdom of his suggestion and dismissed the
yawning innkeeper with a generous tip. When the fellow had left them, the earl challenged his companion
again.

“Well, what are we to do?”

“I am going to announce that Miss Bradford will marry me as soon as I can make the arrangements,”

replied the Viking firmly. “I would suggest that you take an equally firm tone with Lady Dearborn. After
all, Lady Bowser is neither their mother nor their guardian.”

“She’s their best friend in London and has sponsored them graciously in the ton,” argued Lord Glendon.

The Viking quickly showed how little weightthat argument carried with him. “It is my sworn purpose to
get Clea out of London and away from its fashionable fribbles and flirts as soon as possible. She is mine,
Glendon, and I shall not tolerate any attempts to get her away from me.”

Lord Glendon was not overly alarmed by this fierce statement of ownership, since he had his sights on
quite another quarry. “I shouldn’t think Lady Bowser would put many obstacles in your path,” he
soothed. “After all, it’s a damned good match for the ch — for the girl,” he amended. “And it’s plain as a
pikestaff thatshe wants you.”

The pleasure this statement gave Lord Ranulf quite wiped out any resentment he might have felt toward
his companion. “Yes,” he murmured, “Clea does seem to, uh, admire me. As much as Lady Floss dotes
on you, in fact,” he added with his Viking’s grin.

In perfect charity, the two noblemen said good night and proceeded up to their own rooms.

The following morning, when Lady Bowser’s maid entered her mistress’s room, she found that lady wide
awake and in a benign temper. “You will go next door at once and help Lady Floss and Miss Bradford
to dress,” she ordered. “See that they both look their best, please. It is an important day for them.” And
she smiled like the cat who had found the cream.

“Oh, have we located Miss?” asked Flora, who had been asleep during the events of the previous night.
“What a good thing you insisted that Lady Floss pack fresh clothing for her niece.”

“Just so. Now, get to work. Do not disturb me until after you get them both down to the parlor for
breakfast.”

It was not necessary to awaken the young ladies, Flora discovered. When she entered their bedroom,
aunt and niece were holding an anxious discussion, which they immediately ended, with guilty faces, as
they realized they had an observer.

“I am come to help you dress for breakfast,” said Flora calmly.

“I cannot appear in my travel-stained garments!” wailed the larger of the two ladies.

“That’s no problem, miss,” soothed Flora. “Your aunt has brought several costumes for you.”

Thus reassured, Clea permitted herself to be dressed in a modish walking costume of soft bronze wool
and to have her hair brushed until it fell in a magnificent mane down her back.

“He will like that,” promised Floss.

It was not necessary to name the gentleman who would be impressed.

In truth, any gentleman privileged to observe the two charmers — so different, yet each one lovely —
who entered the parlor half an hour later would have been hard put to find any fault with either lady. Any
fears on Floss’s part that the parlor might be empty were immediately dissipated. Actually, the room
appeared almost crowded by the imposing persons of the two handsome men who advanced to meet the
ladies with every indication of delight.

“Lady Floss!” said the more elegant of the two males, advancing and bowing over Floss’s eagerly
extended small hand.

Clea’s Viking strode over to her, took her in his arms, pulled her close to his massive body, and kissed
her hard.

When at length he raised his head to notice the smiling pair across the room, he said, deep-voiced, “I
needed that!”

“So,” said Clea bravely, “did I.”

“It seems we have agreement.” Lord Glendon chuckled. “Now all that remains is to convince Lady
Bowser that you are the best possible match for Clea.”

The Viking gave his glorious love a possessive look. “Let any man — or woman! — try to part us,” he
intoned as solemnly as a vow.

Assessing the two huge, magnificent human beings before him, Lord Glendon smiled. “Who would
dare?” he quipped.

Lord Ranulf had had enough of milord’s teasing. “Do you need any help in straightening out your own
affairs?” he asked provocatively, his glance going from Lord Glendon’s face to that of Lady Floss, now
blushing adorably.

“I can handle it,” the earl said with a warning glance.

The Viking had put up with a great deal of harassment in the last few days and was willfully determined to
indulge his own sense of humor. He nodded judiciously.

“Being such a man of the world, you will know how to word the announcement that you are breaking off
with one lady in order to marry her aunt,” he mocked.

Both ladies looked very sober at this ill-timed jesting. But Lord Glendon rose to the taunt.

“Not as much trouble as you will face, my giant friend,” he said silkily. “For you will have to announce
that you have stolen another man’s affianced wife.”

Neither of the men was grinning now.

Clea glanced from their set faces to the alarmed countenance of little Floss.

“You will stop this childish bickering at once,” she commanded.

“Or else?” demanded the earl dangerously.

“Or else neither of you will be announcing anything!” snapped Clea fiercely. “Do you wish to spoil the
happiest moment of Floss’s life?”

“And of yours?” wheedled the Viking, staring with great satisfaction at his militant love. What a partner
she would make! No feminine shilly-shallying or vapors or tricks here! Just straightforward, honest
dealings such as a man could feel comfortable with! He had a sudden magic vision of Thor and the sturdy
mare racing along the sands below Malyon Keep bearing two laughing humans. How her magnificent hair
would toss in the wind like a banner! He hoped she would sing as they rode. She had such a sweet,
strong voice!

He was recalled from this dazzling daydream by the feel of a warm pair of lips pressed demandingly on
his own.

“You were not attending to me,” explained his Valkyrie, pursing her lips invitingly close to his. “You
asked me if this was the happiest moment of my life,” she explained kindly. “I was answering you.”

“Answer me again,” wheedled the besotted Viking. “The same way.”

“I said it was not,” said Clea softly. Before he could protest, she went on, “The happiest moment of my
life will be when you take me as your wife. And for the rest of our lives,” she added scrupulously.

“Oh, yes!” breathed the Viking, and began to kiss her again.

After observing this performance with interest, Lord Glendon turned to his own dear Floss. He took her
small hand in his and looked down into the beautiful little face with barely concealed hunger.

“Are you going to let Malyon have all the happiness?” he challenged gently.

“How can he?” whispered Lady Floss, “when I shall have it all myself, loving you … my dear lord?”

“How soon will you marry me?” he demanded. Visions of the dowager countess and her bitter tongue,
and all the scandal mongering that would begin when his broken engagement was discovered, filled him
with unaccustomed dread. He had never really cared too much about vicious gossiping tongues, but he
could not permit his little love to be hurt.

When he tried to explain something of his feelings, the “planning” look appeared on Floss’s charming
features.

Having been warned of it, the earl waited anxiously.

After a moment, Floss’s dazzling smile lighted up her face. “I have just the plan!” she announced gaily.

“Some action that will protect us from the gossips?” Lord Glendon probed hopefully.

“Yes. We shall send Lady Bowser and Clea and Lord Ranulf back to London in your carriage — andwe
shall proceed to Gretna Green and get married. Then no one can find anything to say against us!”

Laughing so hard that he could not explain to his adorable little totty-head about the enormous error in
judgment she was making, the earl found her proposition too enticing to be rejected. He would take his
darling at her word, wed her romantically at the border, and thereafter be so happy with her that nothing
anyone could say would ever mar their joy.

Lady Bowser soon put that fantasy to flight.

Go to Contents

Chapter 23

here ensued a lengthy and occasionally acrimonious discussion. Finally, it was that wily campaigner,

that knowledgeable man of the ton Michael, Lord Glendon, who solved their problem. Since neither of
the young ladies could conceive of a greater joy than to be wed to her chosen cavalier, and since each of
the noblemen desired no greater boon than to marry the lady who had chosen him, the only real obstacle
seemed to be the undeniable furor that the unorthodox switching of mates would arouse in the beau

monde.

“A nine days’ wonder won’t even be in it,” advised Lady Bowser gloomily. “I venture to predict that not
one of you will ever be able to show your front in society again.”

“Do you mean we shall be banished to the country for life?” asked Lord Ranulf hopefully.

Lady Bowser favored him with an indulgent smile. “I dare say it will not troubleyou , you northern
barbarian, but your wife and children may wish to toddle up to town occasionally to enjoy the concerts
and other civilized pleasures.”

Lord Ranulf was about to laugh off such a preposterous idea when a trace of wistfulness on Clea’s
expressive countenance caught his attention. It was true: His future wife had a remarkable craving for
music and books and even oil paintings. Could he deny her the freedom of the city for the number of
years it would take for the scandal to be forgotten?

Floss had the happy thought that they might bring the amenities of the arts to the country. “Michael can
invite you both to Glendon and hire musicians to perform for us. And we can come and visit you at
Malyon Keep, Clea, and …”

“The arts do not flourish in my neighborhood,” Lord Ranulf informed them. “The closest we get is the
amateur theatricals presented by old Lady Cardess and her cronies every Christmas. Harrowing.”

“I doubt whether my dear mama would permit an orchestra to perform at Glendon Hall,” admitted Lord
Glendon uncomfortably. “She has rather settled in there, and I have been content that she have the run of
the place while I live in London.”

Since the very thought of spending time with the countess appalled everyone present, even Floss had to
admit that her plan was not a good one.

Lord Glendon squared his splendid shoulders and smiled tenderly down at his little love.

“I may have a solution,” he began slowly. “Since the thing that will keep gossip alive is the titillating idea
that someone may have stolen someone else’s betrothed, then we must demonstrate thatno one is being,
ah, left in the lurch. No matter which couple marries first, the other couple will be viewed as having been
rejected.”

“Bound to be,” agreed Lady Bowser gloomily. “Cast off. Abandoned. Repudiated. Unloved.”

“Oh!” breathed Floss, conscience-stricken already.

The earl beamed at her. “But if we four were married on the same day, in the same place, in thesame
ceremony?” he suggested.

“Then no one of the four could be said to have been rejected or abandoned!” exclaimed Floss
triumphantly. “You arebrilliant , Michael!”

Lord Ranulf, inspired by this stroke of genius, proposed that the double ceremony be held at Malyon
Keep, since its northerly position would make it difficult for anyone but a few invited guests to crowd in
to view the proceedings. Even wary Lady Bowser gave generous praise to the scheme, and the
gentlemen exchanged grins of mutual congratulation. Then, while the others were busily implementing the
details of the ceremony, the earl caught Floss’s eye and gestured unobtrusively.

She followed him quietly out of the parlor and up the stairs to his room.

When he had her safely inside, Lord Glendon locked the door. “Since we have Lady Bowser’s sanction
on our marriage, I feel I may have a private word with you without scandal,” the nobleman began.

“Oh, yes!” agreed Floss. She would have agreed if her beloved had said the moon was made of pink
silk.

“It has occurred to me,” Lord Glendon continued, “that I have not, in fact, actually asked you to become
my wife and the future Countess of Glendon.”

He stared at her small, worried, pretty face sternly. Never could it be said that Glendon had failed in any
courtesy to his beloved. This must be a moment to be remembered!

Floss swallowed hard. What was the matter with her wonderful nobleman? And then she thought she had
it. He was shy!

“Will you marry me, milord?” she asked softly.

The earl seemed startled. Then he smiled indulgently. Foolish child! She was afraid of losing him. “Of
course I will. Nothing could stop me! ButI must askyou. It’s the custom, you know.” He stepped
forward and took her small hand firmly in his. “Lady Dearborn, will you do me the honor of accepting my
hand in marriage?” he said formally.

“Nothing could stop me,” Floss echoed his earlier comment, and what her echo lacked in formality it
gained in sincerity.

The earl decided that this was going very well. He bent and kissed her expertly. Somehow, with this little
witch, even a kiss had a special savor. His mind boggled at the possibilities.

“I think I can learn to enjoy this very much.” Floss smiled when she had caught her breath. And then,
dimpling up at him happily, she added, “Your mama will be so pleased to have you off her hands and
settled at last!”

Lord Glendon gave a shout of rueful laughter and kissed the rosy lips again. While he was doing so, he
realized that no matter how irrelevant or outlandish her remarks might be, thanks to this adorable little
totty-head he would never have to fear his formidable mama again.

Go to Contents

Coda

month later, two splendid figures galloped along the beach below Malyon Keep at sunrise. Above

them loomed the ancient castle, gilded by the dawn light. To their right, the North Sea glistened gold,
celebrating the beginning of their new life.

Ranulf glanced across at his lady, who was mounted on Valkyr, the magnificent white mare he had found
for her. Clea rode well, he thought proudly, as she did all things. At his special request, her lovely hair,
unbound, streamed in the wind of their passage, a silken banner — just as he had dreamed of it. Ranulf
treasured the bright happiness in her face as, laughing, she rode beside him.

Even Thor seemed to have accepted the situation and was beginning to make overtures to Valkyr for a
closer equine understanding.

Ranulf’s joyful laughter rang in the crisp morning air. “Wife!”

Clea met his ardent look with an answering smile.

“What is it?” she called almost breathlessly. Her new husband set a demanding pace! “What do you want
now ?” And she grinned like a naughty urchin.

“Sing for me!” commanded her Viking.

Even after the night they had just spent together, he could not quite free himself from a lifetime of stern
self-restraint, a wariness — although his Clea was fast showing him how wonderful mutual trust and
openness could be. He could not yet share with her the vision he had had of this very scene, however; of
the two of them pounding along the sand together, riding north, as free as a pair of adventurous Vikings
setting out toward the unknown.

Yet he knew hemust have the dream fulfilled, in all its freedom and beauty, as a talisman for their future
life together.

“Sing for me, my wife!” he commanded again, but his dark eyes, blue as the northern sky at dawn,
beseeched.

Clea caught her breath at the raw hunger she glimpsed in her husband’s gaze. Without a thought of denial
or false modesty, she lifted her voice in the old love song “Greensleeves,” which she had changed to suit
her heart.

“Ranulf was all my joy,
Ranulf was my delight,
Ranulf is my heart of gold …”

Shouting his satisfaction, Lord Ranulf raced along the beach beside his own true love, his dream joyously
fulfilled.

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