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lost in thought, she barely noticed as he crossed the room to place them by her chair. It was her custom to scan the morning and evening papers, just in case any tidbits of gossip had managed to make news before she’d become aware of them, and it was a pastime in which she usually took great amusement, for the papers were so often wrong.
    Today, however, she couldn’t stir up much interest as the butler crossed to her side and placed a stack of scandal sheets on the table by her chair. “The evening papers, my lady.”
    “Thank you, Jervis.” She dismissed him with a preoccupied wave of her hand and frowned at the pile of newspapers, fearing some of them had already noted Trubridge’s arrival from Paris and were mad with speculation as to why he was in town.
    Despite her bold words to him, Belinda knew it was unlikely she’d be able to prevent him from finding a bride, particularly if he were as desperate, as much in haste, and as willing to use dishonorable tactics as he had implied. Nonetheless, she was determined that every heiress in London and her parents, too, would at least be aware of his character and his intentions beforehand. It was up to her to warn them; but such warnings would have to be issued with subtlety, or she would appear to have a personal axe to grind, and her words would be discounted. Also, she wouldn’t put it past him to sue her for slander if she went too far too fast.
    Calling on the mothers, whispered consultations . . . yes, that long-established method would work, but it would take time, and if he were truly prepared to ruin a girl to gain his objective, time was something she did not have. But other than her tongue, what other weapons could she employ?
    Belinda sat up straight in her chair, inspiration striking with sudden force. There might be a way, she realized, and glanced at the clock. Yes, she had just enough time to pay a call, and that one little visit might be all she needed to do to prevent the Marquess of Trubridge from taking some innocent girl’s virtue and fortune.

Chapter 3

    I t was a common misconception that one had to have money to stay at a luxurious London hotel, but Nicholas knew otherwise. One of the few benefits of being a titled peer was that one need not have ready money to engage a suite of rooms, and for any member of the Landsdowne family, Claridge’s was the London hotel of choice. The staff, bless their trusting hearts, wouldn’t dream of asking Landsdowne’s son to pay in advance, and given the fact that he had a mere seventeen pounds, four shillings, and sixpence in his bank account at present, Nicholas was happy to make use of his family name to obtain accommodations, especially since it was his father’s latest attempt to bring him to heel that had brought him to London in the first place.
    Landsdowne’s letter informing him he’d been cut off and would remain so until he had a suitable wife had been quite a shock, but only because he hadn’t known his father had that sort of power over his inheritance. But in hindsight, he supposed he should have anticipated something like this. After all, control of his money was control over him, and that had always been the old man’s greatest obsession. What Landsdowne couldn’t ever seem to accept was the fact that he no longer ceded the old man that sort of power. Though his father’s move did force him to marry to secure his financial future, he intended to find a wife of his own choosing, not one chosen for him.
    Of course, Lady Featherstone’s refusal to assist him in his search did make his goal a bit trickier to achieve than he’d originally envisioned, but it didn’t change it. He had to marry, and the only question now was how to set about it without her help.
    The morning after his visit to Berkeley Street, he had little chance to speculate on the topic, however, for he’d barely sat down to breakfast before there was a knock on the door of his suite.
    Chalmers, his valet, paused in