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the narrow carpet runner, now quite threadbare, that was one of the few remaining adornments of the Caruthers city house. Every painting, sculpture and piece of furniture that could be sold had been, leaving the library in which they sat devoid of all but a pair of scuffed, creaking leather chairs in front of the fireplace and moth-eaten velvet drapes in a hideous shade of puce. Even the built-in mahogany bookcases lining the walls had been denuded of their contents, save for a few cheap editions of popular fiction Mortimer had been unable to sell.
           “You'd best go, hat in hand, and charm the lady, son,” St. John said, ignoring the baron's restless pacing. Although disappointed that Brand's windfall had proven chimerical, Sin was not surprised. He had spent enough time in Britain to know the vices of the aristocracy. His own father, second son of a squire from Kent, had escaped by fleeing to Jamaica one step ahead of his creditors.
           Brand poured himself a generous portion of brandy, which he detested. “Damnable island. A man can't even buy bourbon here.” He tossed down the alcoholic libation like medicine, then said with resignation, “Here's to charming an old woman. I bet she's a veritable hag.”

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
           Miranda took a swallow from the glass of water and replaced it on the massive, ugly Gothic Revival table across from her high mahogany desk. Although she detested the ornate heavy furnishings with which her late husband had filled his office, she had kept them. They imparted an aura of masculine power, and she had learned to make herself comfortable within it. Right now she needed all the courage she could muster if she was going to lay her bold proposal before Lord Rushcroft...Major Caruthers.
           Dared she do it? It smacked so closely of the arrangement her father and husband had made eighteen years ago. No, it is nothing like that. I only want Lori's happiness. Was her logic faulty, motivated by her fear of Geoffrey Winters? While her daughter had been out riding with Abbie, Pelham's boy had arranged “accidental” encounters twice in Hyde Park, all within the space of a week. He had managed to sit next to her at the Southingtons' musicale on Friday afternoon and danced twice with her at the Hortons' ball Sunday night. The last event had really started tongues wagging. One more waltz and they would be all but engaged. Or Lori would be ruined.
           She could send her daughter to Liverpool to visit Will's distant cousins, but that seemed cruel in the midst of Lori's first London season. And who was to say Geoffrey Winters would not sneak across country after her, with dire consequences? The boy seemed bent on making trouble in spite of her clear warnings to him regarding his suit.
           No, this was a better solution—if she and the baron could agree on terms. Summoning her courage, she rang for Timmons to show him into her office.
           In the waiting room, Brand took note of the opulent furnishings. Thick Brussels carpeting in a deep maroon and green floral design covered the floor, accented by the dark green wall covering. The heavy rosewood Gothic Revival desk and chairs dwarfed the anemic, mousy-looking man who rose at the sound of a tinkling bell. Like a lap dog , Brand thought scornfully as the great lady's secretary scurried into her lair, closing the massive walnut door behind him.
           Here he was in the heart of “the City,” as London's central financial district was known. This was his last chance. If this old crone refused his request for a loan, he would toss back his claim to the barony and return to America on the next ship before the tax collectors got wind of his cache of valuable horses and confiscated them. He had tried every means at hand to lift his estate from disaster, but it was impossible without an infusion of cash.
           He and Sin had broken their backs for the past