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for a fledgling career as a flirt. Caro intended that Windermere, when he returned, would find a very different wife from the naïve girl he’d callously wed and abandoned.
    “Did you come here today to see Cynthia?” she asked.
    Denford knew just what she was up to. “Playing the mother hen, Caro?” he asked.
    “Cynthia’s naught but a chick, and you are a big bad fox.”
    He leaned in, his mouth inches from her ear. “I could be persuaded to turn my wicked attentions elsewhere. Remind me again why I’ve never seduced you.”
    A great many women found Julian irresistible, but she’d never been one of them. “Perhaps because neither of us was interested.”
    “I don’t think that can be the reason. I’m always interested.”
    “Until a year ago, I was married to your close friend.”
    “No, I don’t think that’s it.”
    Caro rolled her eyes.
    “You deserved better than you had from Robert,” he said, no longer teasing.
    “I won’t hear a word against him,” she protested.
    “You never will,” he replied.
    “I was happy with him. I loved him.” Doubtless Julian, who regarded her with the keen observation he accorded everything, especially a picture he wanted to buy, had noticed that she didn’t say Robert loved her. It wouldn’t have been a lie. Robert had loved her, almost until the end. By the end, he’d loved nothing except the shake of the dice, the turn of the next card.
    “Time to move on,” Julian said. “You should look for another husband, or at least a lover.”
    He was right. If nothing else, a husband might save her from financial straits.
    Or get her into a worse mess. At least, in her mutton-fisted way, she now had control over her income. She used to dread Robert’s coming home to announce he’d ordered a dozen cases of claret, or bought a masterpiece from an unknown artist. The walls of her drawing room were jammed with such oeuvres, though better them than the huge sums tossed away at the tables. She could have tried to stop him, but she never did, any more than he attempted to manage her. That was their pact when they went their merry way to Gretna Green, a pair of children tossing away the shackles of convention. No more guardian, no more mother. They would always do exactly what they wished.
    “I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to be wed again,” Julian said, “but a little amour would set you up. I am offering my services.”
    “How flattering. I’ve always wanted to be the recipient of charity.” There was no desire in his blue eyes. “If I accept your offer, will you leave Cynthia alone?”
    He flashed his rare genuine smile, an unguarded one that revealed the generous man Caro knew lay buried beneath the ruthless cynic. Deeply buried. Sometimes it was hard to remember he existed. “Don’t bluff a bluffer, Caro. I might just take you up on your offer. Then where would you be?”
    “I won’t be your lover—not that you wish it—and I won’t let you hurt Cynthia. I’m warning you.”
    Julian raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re a frightening woman, Mother Caro. There’s nothing wrong with offering occasional respectable escort to the wife of one of my oldest friends when he is unable to do so.”
    “The friend you haven’t spoken to civilly in at least five years. Leave Cynthia alone.”
    “I hear and obey.”
    He would, of course, do just what he wanted. But not before Caro had a chance to warn her inexperienced friend and give her some much-needed advice about dealing with attractive rakes.
    “Why are you here, then? Not to dine with a group of young artists whose work you despise.”
    “I called because I heard an interesting rumor about the Farnese Venus. ”
    “I heard that rumor too. It’s nonsense of course.”
    “If you still have it, I’ll buy it from you.”
    “I thought you didn’t have any money.”
    “I can always find money to buy a really great picture, and the Venus is one of the best small Italian masters I’ve