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was Fate's
perversity that made her take such excruciatingly detailed notice of
Lord Perfect.
    "Lord Rathbourne," she
said, still feeling short of breath, still burning with
embarrassment. Of all the men's arms in all the world, she had to
fall into his .
    "You said we don't travel in the same spheres,"
he said. "But we must, for here we are."
    "Yes, and I must be going," she said, turning
away.
    "We were seeking a drawing instructor," he
said.
    Arrrgh.
    She turned back.
    "For Lisle," he said. "My nephew. The one
who—er— annoyed Miss Wingate yesterday. This one, in
point of fact." He nodded at the boy.
    "That girl only said my drawings
weren't very good," said Lord Lisle. "She didn't tell me
how bad they were— but Lord Hargate said my drawings are execrable ."
    Lord Rathbourne simply glanced down at him, and the boy
hastily added, "Miss Wingate, I mean. She was so good as to
offer her expert opinion. She was too kind, it turns out."
    Bathsheba had been wrong yesterday about Olivia getting
an Idea in nine and a half minutes. Clearly, she'd already had one
and begun acting on it.
    It was not hard to guess how Olivia's
mind must have worked: Here is a nob,
who must have pots of money . Naturally,
like her DeLucey forebears, she had viewed the young Lord Lisle as a mark .
    Not that Bathsheba was any more noble. At the mention of
drawing lessons, she had paused, hadn't she, and commenced
calculating how many drawing lessons at what rate would take her to a
new neighborhood in a month or less.
    "Olivia has altogether too many opinions," she
said. "Worse, she rarely keeps them to herself."
    "The fact remains," said Rathbourne. "My
nephew cannot draw. If he cannot draw, he cannot realize his
ambitions."
    "Ambitions?" Bathsheba repeated, so astonished
that she stopped calculating. "What need he do more than live,
to realize his ambitions?"
    She turned to the young Lord Lisle.
"One day you will be the Marquess of Atherton," she said.
"You may draw— and paint—and sculpt—as ill as
you like and no one will dream of finding fault. Your acquaintances
will say you are sensitive or you have an eye for beauty. They will beg for one of your works,
which they will display in the stables or the guest bedchamber
reserved for visitors they wish to be quickly rid of. Why on earth
should you make yourself bored and cross with drawing lessons?"
    "I know I'll be the Marquess of Atherton someday,"
the boy said. "But I'm going to be an explorer as well. In
Egypt. An explorer must be able to draw."
    "You can hire someone to do the drawing for you,"
she said.
    "You had better take the hint, Lisle," said
Rathbourne. "The lady is not eager to have you as a drawing
student."
    "You were not listening properly," she said.
"That is not what I said."
    "I know what you said," the boy said. "You
think I will not take it seriously."
    "You must make sure you are very serious," she
said. She made herself look seriously at the matter, too, recalling
certain harsh facts of life that erased the gleaming heaps of coins
from the picture. "As your uncle is no doubt aware by now, I
should have to make special arrangements for you. In any case, it is
not at all wise to continue this discussion here."
    She allowed herself to meet Lord Rathbourne's gaze. Did
she see relief in those dark eyes?
    It was only the briefest flicker, but it was emotion of
some kind, and what else could it be?
    She should have realized: If Rathbourne had learnt her
name, then he must know everything else about her. She doubted there
was a single member of the British aristocracy who did not know who
Bathsheba Wingate was.
    In that case, he was not serious about hiring her. He'd come only to indulge the boy…
and perhaps himself.
    Perhaps he had another sort of association in mind, and
the boy offered a convenient excuse.
    No one expected a man, even a perfect one, to live a
celibate life. The world would still consider him the embodiment of
the noble ideal if he kept a mistress, as long as