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All of London knows the creditors are pounding at the door while the brother is under the hatches and persona non grata at his club.”
    During Bramley’s denunciation, Fenton’s eyes never left the lovely creature who moved with such fluid grace, who spoke to her companions with such animation, and whose every gesture conjured up in him the almost unbearable urge to whisk her away so he could have her all to himself. Again.
    This was what he’d hoped to find in a wife. He didn’t want some obedient miss who knew nothing of how to whip up his desire or make him feel a man—the very elements that made Miss Brightwell the most desirable contender yet for his lifelong companion.
    Though, of course, a companion of any sort would be better than nothing.
    “Your fanciful tales, Bramley, are no impediment to my desire to further my acquaintance with Miss Brightwell.” He offered his friend a curt smile before realising his error and amending, hurriedly. “I mean, to be introduced to Miss Brightwell.”
    Desire was at the heart of it. She had bewitched him.
    Now, here she was, presented to him on a platter, and he was not going to let her slip away again.

    * * * *

    The Earl of Quamby shifted the weight off his withered leg. He gripped Fanny’s arm for support as she helped him onto a gilt settee beneath a potted plant with luxuriantly sprouting leaves. In a thin, rasping voice, he said, “Never have I seen you in greater beauty, my dear Miss Brightwell. But if my instincts are as finely honed as I believe them to be, I’d say the flush on your cheek was due to some fascinating object of the male species amongst us this evening.”
    Transferring his gaze from the lavish water display before him, complete with leaping goldfish, to the point upon which Fanny’s eyes were focused, he added, “Young Alverley didn’t come up to scratch, I heard. But then, I did warn you.”
    Fanny jerked her head around but the Earl’s regretful expression did not suggest he’d heard anything else that might reflect badly upon her.
    Her relief was short lived. Lord Slyther knew and he was extracting the greatest price she could pay. She fingered the ring that her loathsome future husband had given her. It hung on a chain around her neck and he’d be expecting to see it as a sign of her dutiful submission when he arrived here this evening, though the rumour that gout had laid him up in bed offered a sliver of hope for her temporary deliverance. She shuddered as she recalled the feel of his fingers when he’d fastened it there. It might as well have been a cowbell signifying ownership. How he’d enjoyed her submission.
    Antoinette patted her on the shoulder. “Are you thinking of Lord Slyther again, Fanny?” Her sister sounded genuinely sympathetic as the Earl’s attention was claimed by one of his handsome young acolytes. “You must not let it upset you. Really, I am quite surprised, for I have never seen you display feeling like this. I’d have had him quite happily.”
    “Then obviously I am more discerning than you, Antoinette,” Fanny sniffed, retreating further behind the potted palm. “Have you not considered what liberties marriage allows a man? Perhaps this is not the place to say it, but beware of offers made by creatures who make your skin crawl, for you’re going to have to please them in ways you can’t imagine!”
    Antoinette offered Fanny a knowing smile. “I am not as naïve as you think, Fanny, and it doesn’t bother me one bit. As long as I have a title and the respect I deserve and all the pretty clothes I could want, I don’t care what I have to do.”
    Fanny glanced over her shoulder, fearful that Lord Slyther was advancing upon her at that very moment.
    Dear Lord, to imagine the man of her desires was at this moment not ten feet away. Though dressed now in the height of sartorial elegance, she’d have recognised him anywhere. How could she not? The dark curl that flopped over one brooding eye, the