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lengths, through such deceit?
    All traces of humor vanished from his handsome face—a face she could cheerfully claw the eyes out of. “Your scheme is a brilliant one, which I have no doubt will be a huge success. Why wouldn’t I want a chunk of it?”
    She shook her head, holding on to her control by some small thread of determination. “I will not let you destroy what I’ve worked so hard to accomplish.”
    “Destroy? Why the devil would I want to destroy it?” He looked as though he thought her daft to even suggest it. “No, I want to help you make it the greatest thing London has ever seen.”
    “I don’t want or need your help.”
    His expression was far from contrite; his brilliant eyes bright. “Then that’s unfortunate, because we’re partners, Vienne. Whether you like it or not.”

Chapter 3
     
    O bviously she had shot the wrong man.
    Immediately after discovering Trystan’s machinations, Vienne climbed into her carriage and instructed her driver to take her to Lord Angelwood’s home. She had time to stew during her journey, and her earlier outrage strengthened. So, on the heels of Angelwood’s wary butler, she stormed into the earl’s study.
    His Lordship, at his desk and teacup in hand, looked up with a resigned expression on his handsome face. “I thought I might have a visit from you today.”
    “What the devil were you thinking?” she demanded as soon as the door closed behind the departing butler. “You gave Trystan Kane my marker!”
    “I didn’t give it to the man. He asked for it as payment. I had to consent; it was a matter of honor.”
    Vienne snorted. “ Your honor—at the expense of mine.” She dropped into a chair, slumping as much as her corset would allow. “What were you thinking, mon ami ? You know the boy and I have history.”
    Angelwood rose from behind the desk, crossing the Axminster carpet to pour a generous measure of bourbon into two glasses. He gave one of the glasses to Vienne when he returned. “He assured me he meant you no harm. Are you here to tell me he lied to me?”
    “I don’t know.” She took a slow sip, and the liquor burned all the way down. “He claims to want to make the venture a success, but I cannot believe that—not completely. He has the look of a man with something to prove, and my business will suffer for it.”
    “Perhaps he wants to prove himself to you,” the older man suggested, leaning against the edge of his desk rather than sitting behind it once again. “Perhaps he wants the venture to be every bit as successful as you wish it to be. Perhaps having his input will prove a good thing.”
    She shot him a disbelieving glance. “Of course, you would be on his side. You are both men.”
    “Yes. Trystan Kane is a man, my dear friend. That is a fact you would do well to remember when next you have dealings with him.”
    She shrugged off the suggestion, though his words burrowed into her brain like a worm in an apple. Years had passed since she and Trystan had their affair. He wasn’t that boy anymore, but a man. He was older, as was she. And the progression of time was not nearly as kind to a woman as to a man. He increased in social value with age—like fine wine. But a woman began to lose worth after twenty, socially souring like vinegar.
    She was on her way to bitterness while Trystan Kane had yet to reach his full potency, and there wasn’t even five years difference in their ages—but those years might as well have been fifteen for all the differences between them.
    Yet she would always remember that he was the only male to ever say he loved her. No women forgot such a gift, no matter how old or bitter she was. Foolish romanticism remained despite a woman’s experience and knowledge, no matter how clear was her vision of the world. Concerning her time with Trystan, there was still a tint of rosiness. But that fondness had been directly related to his youth. Now that he was older and better acquainted with the world, he