âYou will be helping me find a husband?â

His teasing smile gave way to a sheepish expression. âMy sister has decided that I will, so it seems highly likely. When I arrived, she presented me with the following list of gentlemen Iâm supposed to bring to call on you. Were you unaware of my sisterâs plan to have me bring you a husband?â Lord Westin asked.

âNo! That is, I was aware of the plan, but I didnât know that you were to be a part of it. She said that she knew the man to help put the plan into action. I hadnât the slightest notion that she meant â¦â

âMe?â Lord Westin also rose to his feet, the motion fluid and graceful.

She decided then that no man should be able to move with the kind of lethal grace he did. Nor, Emma continuedâsince she was already in a making-pronouncements-moodâshould any man be quite as handsome as the earl.

Dear Reader,

I want to thank you for picking up Engaging the Earl and seeing it through to the end! You enable me to do what I love mostâcraft stories that hopefully warm the heart and lift the spirit.

Iâve been in love with Marcus since he waltzed into the drawing room in his sisterâs story. He was everything I felt a good brother should be â¦ protective, loyal and perhaps comically aggravating. But in his own tale, he became a complex hero â¦ more complex than I thought he would be. Little did I know in the beginning that Marcus would have a long list of faults and foibles. Crazily enough, I think it only made me love him more.

And then thereâs Emma. Forced to shoulder a heavy burden, she continually had to deny her own wishes and desires in order to serve the greater benefit of her family. But in spite of her strength and courage, she let fear govern her actions, even to the point where it separated her from the man she loved.

These two needed each other. And in a way, I needed them. Writing Marcus and Emmaâs story continually reminded me that Godâs provision is greater than my biggest imaginings and that there is no situation He canât redeem if only I let Him.

I hope youâve been blessed by this love story. And I always look forward to hearing from my readers. I can be found online at www.mandygoff.com or can be reached via email at mandy@mandygoff.com.

Blessings,

Engaging the Earl

Mandy Goff

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Do not fear, for I am with you; do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help you, surely I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

âIsaiah 41:10

To Cheryl, who has been a truer friend than I ever deserved. Considering the countless hours we spend plotting and brainstorming, our shared frustration over searching for just the right word, and your willingness to read my manuscripts again â¦ and again â¦ and again, I can honestly say that I would not be able to do this without you. Youâll never know just how much I thank God for putting you in my life.

Acknowledgments

As always, my deepest gratitude to Daniel and Brie, for making my life not only complete, but also full. I love you both so much that I could never explain well enough to do the depth of it justice.

To Mom, Dad and Megan â¦ for simply being wonderful. I love you all.

And, of course, many thanks to my editor, Elizabeth Mazer, who offers her wisdom, insight and expertise as I chase my dream.

Chapter One

Emma was going to be fired.

She never should have given in to her parentsâ entreaties to lie down and rest awhile after supper before she returned to her employersâ house. But Emma had been so tired that a chance for a nap had been too tempting to resist. Opportunities for rest at the Roth residence were scarceâher young charges saw to that. But Emma had assumed her parents would wake her before the hour grew too late. It appeared that in this case, as in so many others, they hadnât employed simple common sense.

Emma bid a hasty farewell to her parents, both of whose eyes were bleary with sleep and surprise after she barged into their bedroom. The clock in the hall struck midnightâwhich had been the alarm to rouse Emma from her slumberâand was still chiming as she closed the front door and stepped out onto the street.

At this hour, there was little to no chance of finding a hackney cab on her parentsâ quiet, shabby street. Her best opportunity at hiring a hack to take her back to the Roths meant going a few streets over where there was more trafficâand rather more danger, as well.

Even this late, that part of the city still bustled with activity. Light, laughter and the smell of gin poured out from a pub she passed. Emma wrinkled her nose in disgust. She was leery enough passing through this area while visiting her parents during the day, and now with night bearing down on her, she was frightened.

Minutes into her walk, the feeling of something creeping along the back of her neck made Emma stop in her path and turn around. Other than some ruffians many paces behind, however, no one was there. Chiding herself for being paranoid, Emma pulled her pelisse tighter around her and quickened her step.

Footsteps on the stone walk behind her made Emma tense again. This time, however, she kept walking without turning to see what was behind her. She didnât have time for any foolishness. Her employers had been expecting her return four hours earlier. If Emma didnât find a hack soon, she would have to walk, which would add another hour or so to her journey.

And Lady Roth didnât brook such tardiness.

Possibly it was nothing but a trick of the mind, but Emma felt like when she sped up, the steps behind her sped up, as well.

Something coming from the left caught Emmaâs attention, and when she looked, an attractive gentleman was approaching her with all possible haste. The glint of determination in his eyes made her step falter. For a moment, all Emma could do was stand stupidly on the sidewalk, watching the man come closer.

Iâm about to be robbed. Or murdered.

Emmaâs hesitation gave the stranger enough time to come abreast of her.

âDarling,â he said, taking ahold of her arm and propelling her forward, âwhere have you been?â

Emma stared at him, her mouth agape. In her surprise, the stranger was able to drag her forward several steps.

âGet away from me,â she said after a secondâs pause as she dug her heels into the sidewalk to slow the onward progression. But the command lacked any heat or force â¦ no doubt because she was too shocked to be authoritative.

Clearly her lack of forcefulness was amusing, because the gentleman laughed, loudly â¦ as though he was playacting for an audience. âDonât play your games, my love. Someone might think Iâm trying to abduct you.â

Did he just nudge her?

No matter how hard she pulled or twisted, Emma couldnât break herself free of his hold. âThatâs exactly what youâre trying to do,â she hissed back. Screaming wouldnât have been much help because thus far no one had paid their little tableau any attention. No doubt such interchanges were commonplace in this area and hardly worth notice or intervention.

âNo,â her assailant murmured in a voice solely for her ears. âIâm trying to protect you.â

The statement was so ludicrous, Emma couldnât even respond. Clearly the only person she needed protecting from was him.

âA manâs been following you,â he whispered.

Abandoning her attempts to free her arm, Emma swiveled to look behind them. That would explain the chills along the back of her neck. And the footsteps. But she hadnât seen anyone. So far, the only person to accost her was the man pinned to her side.

âJust let me go â¦ please,â Emma pleaded, âIâll be fine.â

He huffed. He actually huffed. âCould you be quiet? Iâm trying to think.â

Think about where youâre going to dispose of my body?

The man might be nicely dressedâmuch too nicely for this part of townâand Emma might have thought that his expression, when he smiled, was most pleasant. But just because the stranger was handsome didnât mean he wouldnât murder her and dump her body in an alleyway.

So this time, she yanked against his hold.

Hard.

Instead of freeing herself, though, she caused them both to stumble. Emmaâs shoe caught on the hem of her dress, and there was a suspended moment when she lost her balance. Instinctively, her grip on the gentlemanâs arm tightened, probably to the point where she was digging her nails into his skin. And when she flailed her free arm at the same time that he leaned forward to offer assistance, Emmaâs elbow connected with something hard.

And if his muffled âoomphâ were any indication, the something hard was probably his face.

That further startled her â¦ to the point that she wobbled even more wildly. Emma would have fallen face-forward if the man hadnât hauled her upward and against his chest.

Her first thought was that his embrace felt unexpectedly nice.

Of course he had to spoil the effect when he opened his mouth.

âEnough,â he snapped. âIâm only trying to help you.â His annoyance was impossible to miss.

Emma was supremely agitated herself. Both because of his interference and the fact that she couldnât seem to push herself away from him â¦ maybe a little more so about the latter. An interlude with a possibly deranged strangerâalbeit a handsome oneâwouldnât have been welcome at the best of times, but this was really not a good day. Lady Roth was probably watching the clock, ticking off each passing minute with a mean-spirited glee. The viscountess didnât much care for Emma. Which was fairâEmma didnât much care for her, either, or the very spoiled Roth children. But she needed to keep this job. Her parents were almost entirely dependent on her income.

âNo oneâs around now,â she said to her self-proclaimed rescuer, casting a look about them. âSo while I thank you for your help, I must be on my way.â

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Emma didnât give him a chance.

âLet. Me. Go,â she said forcefully.

And apparently loudly enough to arouse the curiosity of a passing constable.

The short, stocky officer retraced his steps, walking back toward them. Emma could have cried with relief.

âWhatâs the trouble here?â the lawman asked.

Iâm being harassed by a bedlamite, Emma wanted to shout.

She didnât have a chance to utter the first syllable, however, because the man, who smoothly released her from his hold, was already chatting with the officer.

âHow are you, Constable Hilliard?â the stranger asked, tipping back the brim of his hat and making his face more visible.

The law wonât care how attractive you are, youâre still going to Newgate, she thought when she got a better view of his face.

It was admittedly very attractive. Dark eyes. High cheek-bones â¦ a nose that would have been the model of perfection if not for the small, almost unnoticeable bump from where it had likely been broken. And his lips, which were curved in a strained smile, most certainly werenât unpleasant to look at. Her eyes traveled back up his face, locking momentarily with his. Emma wanted to shiver at the depth of them.

In the few minutes that had passed, however, his eye was getting increasingly swollen. For a brief moment, Emma felt a pang of guilt for elbowing him, but had he only let her go, she wouldnât haveâaccidentally, of courseâgiven him what would likely become a black eye. And he was clearly crazy â¦ possibly homicidal. She needed to keep reminding herself of that before she softened or allowed herself to feel too badly.

When the constable saw the gentlemanâs face, he floundered for a moment. Then, after several seconds of righting his uniform, seemingly making sure no crease was misaligned, he executed a smart little bow. âMy lâI mean, Mr. Fairfax, I didnât recognize you at first. How are you doing, sir?â

âFine, Hilliard, fine.â The man now identified as Mr. Fairfax indicated Emma with his free hand, âIâm just seeing this lovely lady home safely. There are some ruffians about tonight.â

The lawman, who seemed eager to please, bobbed his head in agreement. âThere certainly areâ

âHavenât had any trouble out here tonight, have you?â Mr. Fairfax asked.

âNot too much,â Constable Hilliard answered automatically. But then he looked at Mr. Fairfax closer. âThough it looks as if you might have met your share of trouble.â

Mr. Fairfaxâs hand went up to touch his swollen and bruised eye. âOh, this,â he said. âOnly a bit of an unexpected tussle.â

âSomething youâd like me to take care of for you?â the constable asked, eager and ready to please the man on Emmaâs arm. Apparently he was someone of importanceâor at least of more importance than this neighborhood usually boasted.

And with that thought came the sudden fear that Mr. Fairfax might try to have the constable apprehend her. Emma felt faint.

But when the moment came that Mr. Fairfax could have exposed Emma for her unintentional crime, the strange man waved off the constableâs question. âItâs of no concern,â Mr. Fairfax dismissed.

âWell,â Constable Hilliard said, for the first time addressing Emma, âitâs a good thing Mr. Fairfax found you. Heâll get you wherever youâre going safely.â

And that would be helpful, she thought, if he could somehow manage to get me there four hours ago. As it stands, Iâm growing later by the minute, and this additional delay is hardly helping. She smiled tightly at the constable in response.

As if he sensed her frustration, Mr. Fairfax swiftly drew the exchange to a close. âGood night, Constable Hilliard.â Then he wasted no time pulling her away and down the sidewalk. âMy carriage is not far. Iâll take you home,â he said to Emma.

Emma let herself be pulled along, while trying to decide exactly what she should do.

It was hardly ideal to accept an escort from a man she had not properly met. If she saw anyone who knew her, the resulting scandal would be sensational. But who were they likely to encounter at this hour? And the constable had seemed entirely convinced that Mr. Fairfax was respectable. The most compelling reason of all to go along with him was that she wouldnât have to walk back to the Roths, costing herself even more precious time in the process.

So Emma allowed him to guide her past the puddles of indefinable liquid on the street, away from the leers and jeers of men congregating in their path. And it was actually rather nice not to feel exposed and in danger.

Mr. Fairfaxâs carriage appeared in the distance. Within minutes, she was safely ensconced in the luxurious coach and had given Mr. Fairfax the Rothsâ address, which he conveyed to the driver.

âI appreciate your assistance,â Emma said rather grudgingly once the gentleman took a seat across from her.

The man had helped her a great deal. Emma had not spotted a single hack during her exchange with Mr. Fairfax and then the constable. Were it not for Mr. Fairfaxâs offer of his escort, she would be facing the unpleasant prospect of a long walk through some rather unsafe streets.

Not that a carriage ride would save her from being fired.

âWhy so pensive?â Mr. Fairfax asked quietly.

âIâm wondering what my employer will say about my tardiness.â She didnât know what possessed her to share that; her plan had been to enjoy the ride in stony silence, not wanting to converse with Mr. Fairfax any more than necessary.

âEmployer?â he repeated. âYouâre going to work at this hour? What do you do?â

âIâm a governess.â

âAh,â he said.

It was on the tip of Emmaâs tongue to ask him what that meant, but she bit the question back.

Mr. Fairfax stretched out his long legs, and because of the close confines of the carriage, Emma felt even more crowded. She resisted the urge to shy away from him.

âWhat were you doing in this part of town so late?â he asked.

Emma had no intention of answering that question.

âThatâs personal.â The words came out more snappish than sheâd intended.

Mr. Fairfax frowned. âThis isnât a safe place for a gently bred lady to be.â

âI hardly think that would concern you at all.â Emma bristled at his tone.

Mr. Fairfax didnât back down. âYou need to think carefully about where you travel, especially at night.â Along with the I-know-better-than-you attitude came a strong note of disapproval.

âDonât trouble yourself, Mr. Fairfax. I think I can manage without your pearls of wisdomââ A phrase she decided on instead of her first choice, which had been âoverbearing dictates.â

His nostrils flared. âHad I not troubled myself this evening, you would have found yourself robbed â¦ or worse,â he said ominously.

âSo you say,â Emma said stubbornly. She didnât want to concede the smallest point to her new adversary. âI never saw anyone behind me anyway.â

âI came to your assistance before he had a chance to accost you,â Mr. Fairfax argued.

The battle over who could be the most intractable continued until the carriage rumbled up to the Rothsâ townhome. Emma made a move toward the coachâs door, but Mr. Fairfax was faster. Swinging the door open, he jumped down to the street and reached out his hand to help her descend.

âThank you for your unnecessary assistance,â she grumbled, dropping her hold on his hand once both of her feet were on the ground.

âMy pleasure.â He bit out the words.

When Emma began walking toward the back of the house, Mr. Fairfax followed her.

âWhat do you think youâre doing?â she hissed, reaching around, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the shadows.

âWalking you to the door,â he said, as though he were a typical gentleman escorting a young lady home after a leisurely stroll.

Their situation was anything but typical.

âAre you mad? What if someone sees you?â

âWho do you expect to be awake at this time of night?â he asked with a lift of his eyebrow.

Emma didnât bother mentioning that Lady Roth was undoubtedly waiting for her. âYou canât very well tell me you expect a band of ruffians or thieves to be hiding behind the bushes, waiting to accost me,â Emma said instead.

Mr. Fairfax obviously thought answering her wasnât necessary, because he only held out his arm, indicating she should lead and he would follow. Throwing her hands up in disgust, she resumed her walk to the house and didnât bother to look back to see if he was following.

But of course he was.

When they reached the servantsâ entrance, Emma motioned for Mr. Fairfax to step back into the shadows. Surprisingly, he complied without comment, and she blew out a heavy breath of relief.

âI suppose I should thank you for the escort,â Emma said, hesitating on opening the back door.

âBut youâre not going to?â Mr. Fairfax asked with a smirk. The shadows obscured most of his expression, including his injured eye. Emma briefly noticed the effect was actually quite dashing.

âThank you,â she replied, working to push the errant observation out of her mind. Her words of gratitude sounded rather grudging, however. Very grudging.

âIâll wait here until youâre inside,â he told her.

Emma didnât argue. Even with only their brief acquaintance as a guide, she knew it would have been pointless. But she did steal one last look at the handsome man standing in the shadows before she pulled the door shut behind her and stepped into the darkened kitchen.

Back in the carriage, Marcus Fairfax, the Earl of Westin, relaxed with a sigh as the driver turned toward home. His evening had run on longer than heâd expectedâand the conclusion of it had been rather more exciting than anticipated, too. He prodded gently at his injured eye and winced at the sting. The fiery little governess had gotten in quite a good blow. He wouldnât be able to see his face in the glass without remembering her for a few days at least.

Not that he was likely to forget her anytime soonâinjury or not.

In fact, he couldnât remember the last time a woman had so thoroughly engaged his attentionâdespite the fact that many had tried to spark his interest over the years. Marcusâs title was old, his name was well respected and his fortune was considerable. Not to mention he still had his health, his wits and all of his teeth. Even half so many attributes would be enough to draw the notice of matchmaking mamas and their ambitious daughters. But none had caught and held his eye like the young woman who had seemed so very determined to escape his company.

He was still musing on the fire in her eyes when the carriage pulled up in front of his town house. Before Marcus could open the front door, however, someone pulled it open from the inside. The earl was mystified to find Gibbons standing on the other side. The butler looked remarkably alert, considering the lateâor rather, earlyâhour.

âGibbons?â Marcus asked, blinking in surprise. The servant actually doing his job during daylight hours was notable. This was flabbergasting.

His butler looked just as surprised to see him. The eye, Marcus supposed.

âWere you waylaid by a band of ruffians, my lord?â the older man asked.

âNo, Gibbons.â Marcus sighed.

âAttacked by a throng of marriageable young misses?â

Closer to the truth, Marcus reasoned, but still, he shook his head in denial.

âTrip over your feet?â

âLeave it, Gibbons,â Marcus ground out. Gibbons was an old family retainer and, as such, had the liberating knowledge that his position was secure. However, for some reasons mystifying even to him, Marcus was too fond of his butler to dismiss him. Although the notion was occasionally tempting.

Gibbons quirked a smile but then sobered suddenly. âThough Iâm curious to know who accosted you, weâve no time for game-playing, my lord,â he said as though the persistent questions were somehow Marcusâs fault.

âI couldnât agree with you more,â Marcus said, stepping into the house. His eyesâwell, the one that wasnât swollen shut, at leastâwere tired, and his tongue felt thick and unwieldy. Heâd been up now for nearly twenty-four hours, and fatigue weighed heavily on him.

âIâm going to bed now, Gibbons,â Marcus said, pulling off his greatcoat and passing it to the butler.

âI think you might want to go to the blue salon instead,â Gibbons suggested.

âHas my bed been moved there?â Marcus quipped.

âI donât believe you left explicit instructions for us to do so in your absence.â

âThen I can visit the blue salon tomorrow. Right now, Iâm going to sleep.â Thinking was becoming a struggle. If Marcus didnât move quickly, he might end up sleeping in Gibbonsâs chair because he couldnât make it any farther.

âShall I tell your estate manager to rest while he awaits your leisure?â

Marcus stopped in his path to the stairs. He turned to face Gibbons, trying to ignore the knot forming in the pit of his stomach. But Gibbons wasnât smiling, smirking or doing anything that suggested he was joking.

âGrimshaw is here?â he asked.

Gibbons nodded. âHe arrived twenty minutes ago.â

What could his estate manager want? Marcus knew that whatever had happened, Grimshawâs coming to see him in the middle of the night was an ill omen. Anxiety momentarily banished his fatigue, and the earl nearly sprinted to the salon.

âGrimshaw? What are you doing here?â Marcus asked as he entered the room. Any thought of exchanging pleasantries faded at the sight of his employeeâs haggard expression.

âMy lord,â the older man said, rising from the chair. He took a step forward as though to shake Lord Westinâs hand but then quickly stepped backward. âIâm sorry to have woken you.â

Marcus could have corrected him, but he didnât bother to. âIâm only surprised to find you here so early,â he said instead.

Grimshaw nodded. âForgive me, my lord. I wouldnât have intruded were it not of the utmost importance. But once I received the news, I left immediately for London.â

âWhat news?â Countless possibilities paraded through his mind, each one more dire than the one before.

âYou made an investment with Lord Rutherford for some American timber,â Grimshaw said slowly.

Marcus nodded. He only vaguely remembered the investment itselfâGrimshaw handled those detailsâbut he did recall the estate manager mentioning it to him several months ago. The investment seemed sound, and Marcus had authorized the man to deal with it accordingly.

âWhat about it?â Marcus prompted when Grimshaw hesitated.

âThe ship transporting the goods has been in a storm. We canât say for certain, but Iâve received some information that the ship and the merchandise â¦â Grimshaw trailed off, obviously unableâor afraidâto say anything else.

âThe ship and the merchandise, what?â Marcus pressed.

âWell â¦ they might have â¦ itâs not certain, you understand â¦ really, we wonât know anything further until more information surfaces â¦â Yet Grimshaw still didnât get to the crux of the matter.

âGrimshaw, itâs much too early in the morning to be playing guessing games.â

âThe ship has most likely sunk,â the estate manager blurted.

Marcus thought through the ramifications for a few moments before he said anything.

âItâs certainly a tragedy if thatâs the case, Grimshaw. But Iâm more concerned about the crew and any other people who might have been aboard the ship. We can only pray that the reports are untrue.â

âBut the merchandise, my lord?â

Marcus waved the concern away with a negligent slash of his hand. âUndoubtedly, it would be unfortunate. But itâs hardly worth traveling across the country before dawn. I appreciate your diligence in keeping me informed, but I donât see that this is a matter of any urgency. Surely nothing can be done until the reports have been confirmed.â He made a move toward the door to call Gibbons to ready a room. âStay here tonight and get some sleep before you return to Westin Park.â

âYou donât understand, my lord â¦â

Marcus sighed and paused in his trek. âIâm not pleased to have possibly lost the funds. But that is paltry in light of the other concerns if the ship has indeed sunk. Thatâs why Iâve never gambled much money in schemes. They all have the potential to fail.â

At this, Grimshaw lowered his gaze to the floor.

Marcus noticed the change in his demeanor. âWhat is it, Grimshaw?â

âYouâve trusted me for years with your estates and with your investments, have you not, my lord?â

Marcus nodded. Nothing about the shift in conversation inspired confidence in him.

Grimshaw nodded almost reflexively. But he still wouldnât meet Marcusâs eyes. âAnd youâve given me the liberty to handle the funding as I saw fit, for the most part.â

âYes?â More a question than an answer.

âI might have funded the investment from the Americas with a larger than usual portion of your ready funds.â

The knot of worry in Marcusâs gut grew and twisted his insides until they felt like mush. âHow much?â he managed.

âIn hindsight, more than I should have,â Grimshaw hedged.

âWhat does that mean?â

âBad news â¦ if the ship has sunk â¦ which of course we donât know for sure â¦â Grimshaw added hastily.

Marcus didnât want to ask this next question, but he had to. âIf it has sunk, what does that mean?â

The time it took his estate manager to answer was grossly exaggerated by the fear gripping Marcus. âIt means youâve lost most of your fortune.â

Even though Marcus had been bracing himself, the news still hit him hard. He raised a hand to rub his weary eyes and flinched when he pressed on the growing bruise. It was almost laughableâearlier that evening, he had fancied himself a heroic rescuer, sweeping in to save the fair maiden.

But who was going to ride to his rescue?

Chapter Two

Across town, Emma Mercer found herself occupied with her own need for rescue. As expected, sheâd entered the Roth residence to find herself summarily dismissed from her position. To make matters worse, Lady Roth had not even allowed her a nightâs rest before setting her on the street, with her belongings already stowed in her valise by a maid. Notably missing among those belongings was any type of letter of reference.

Emma couldnât return to her parents.

Yes, sooner or later, sheâd have to tell them she had lost her position, but she couldnât bear to wake them with that dreadful news so soon. Not until she devised a plan to find different employment and provide them with the income on which they depended.

That left her with only one place to goâOliviaâs house.

At Oliviaâs, the butler, an imperturbable man by the name of Mathis, showed her immediately into the drawing room as though there was nothing unusual about a predawn visitor. Olivia joined her there minutes later, still in her nightclothes but with an alert and determined expression. One lookâplus whatever information Mathis had given herâwas apparently all it took for Olivia to understand exactly what had occurred.

âI never liked you working for that puffed up snob anyway,â Olivia, the Marchioness of Huntsford, announced as she entered the room, talking over Emmaâs attempts to apologize for the early hour. âYou are far too good for those terrors she calls children, and besides, she gave you scarcely any time at all to come by and visit me.â

âThis isnât exactly good news, Olivia.â Emma felt compelled to interject. Although her friendâs enthusiasm had a grudging smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

âNonsense, this will be like a holiday, having you hereâbecause, of course, youâll be staying.â Olivia continued. âAnd none of your protests about it being extra trouble, or me being too kind. Iâm being entirely selfish in looking forward to having you stay with me. Mathis will have a maid prepare you a room in no time at all, wonât you, Mathis?â

âCertainly, my lady,â the butler replied with such assurance that one might have supposed he always kept rooms at the ready for newly dismissed governesses.

âThere, you see?â Olivia said as she seated herself on a sofa. âNow, while Mathis takes care of that, why donât you sit down here with me and tell me all about it?â

Relief and gratitude poured over Emma in a wave as she all but collapsed onto the seat next to her friend. Soon, the whole story had come outâoversleeping at her parentsâ house, rushing back to the Rothsâ, the confrontation with Lady Roth ending in her swift but final exit. The only thing Emma left out was her meeting the manâMr. Fairfax. But surely she could be forgiven for glossing over that. It had, after all, been merely a chance encounter with a gentleman sheâd likely never see again.

Olivia listened with her usual amount of patienceâwhich was to say, none whatsoeverâinterrupting frequently with exclamations of surprise and outrage on her friendâs behalf. Emma was used to constantly having to bite her tongue around Lady Roth and the little terrors masquerading as children, and around her parents. Frankness was a sure way to offend the former and hurt the latter. Despite the bleakness of the situation, it was relaxing to finally say exactly what she thought without fear of the consequences. If Olivia were the type to be easily offended, they never would have become friends in the first place.

Granted, a marchioness and a governess were an odd pairing for a friendship. The origins of the friendship had been equally unique. During a walk through the park a few months earlier, David, one of the Roth children, had flung a handful of mud at his sister, Marieâonly to have it miss and hit the unsuspecting Marquess of Huntsford as he and his wife were strolling. Emma had been suitably mortified, but the Huntsfords had been cheerful and gracious.

Since then, Olivia had been a stalwart friend. A stalwart friend who was now entirely too eager to find a silver lining in Emmaâs situation.

âWe just need to build the proper strategy,â Olivia continued.

âFor what?â Emma asked, her dread rising as she wondered how much of the conversation her reminiscing had caused her to miss.

âFor finding you a husband.â

âOlivia,â she said in a warning voice. Considering the evening sheâd had, and the early hour, Emma could think of a hundred reasons not to have this conversation. Maybe a thousand reasons.

Her friend paid her no mind, which wasnât surprising at all. âEmma, itâs a good plan.â

âYour suggestion hardly constitutes a plan,â Emma argued. âBesides, who would have me?â

The question was met with a blank stare. âYou must be joking, Emma. There are no end of eligible bachelors in Town for the Season. It will be a small matter to make one of them fall in love with you.â

âBut do you think Iâm going to find it that easy to just fall in love with someone myself?â And Emma prepared herself to receive a lecture on how she shouldnât be choosy. Not only was it much too early for the plan, but for lectures, as well.

But Olivia didnât chide. She looked rather crestfallen. âIâm sure thereâs someone out there who you might find â¦â

âNever mind, Olivia. I know,â Emma said gently because she couldnât stand how her friend looked when she thought her brilliant planâthat wasnât so much of a planâwasnât going to work. âBut I still donât see how I can be expected to compete with the other eligible ladies.â

âTheyâll be foolish to try to compete with you,â Olivia insisted. âYouâre beautifulâno, donât shake your head, itâs nothing more than the truthâyouâre kind, generous, practical, good with children and youâre from a highly respectable family.â

âA highly impoverished family, you mean. Uncle is the one with money, and he doesnât speak to Papa.â

Olivia waved the problem away. âHeâs a recluse. He doesnât speak to anyone. No one will expect you to be his closest correspondent. Simply the fact that you are his niece and therefore, eventually, his heir will earn you entrance into many circles.â

âBut my uncle wonât be the one to provide me with a dowry.â

âSo weâll find you suitors who donât need to gain money from marriage.â Olivia reached out to take hold of Emmaâs hands. âTruly, Emma, a husband is what you need. As a governess, you will always be subject to your employerâs whims. Youâll never have security, never have stability, never truly be able to help your parents in any lasting way since youâll never be able to guarantee your income from one month to the next.â

The last bit was a low blow, but Emma had to admit everything Olivia said was the truth.

âI know this may not be exactly what youâd planned for your life, but can you at least try?â Olivia asked. âIf it doesnât work, weâll figure out something else.â

Olivia looked so hopeful, Emma could only nod. âI suppose I can try,â she said grudgingly.

âWonderful!â Olivia exclaimed. And her mouth quirked into a smile, and her eyes sharpened. âIt really would be the perfect solution. A handsome, wealthy, godly gentleman will fall madly in love with you and all of your problems will disappear.â

âBut I wouldnât get my hopes up, Olivia.?â¦ My agreement to try doesnât mean â¦â

It was no use; her friend was hugging her as though Emma had fulfilled her most earnest desire.

âIâll put together a list of the most suitable gentlemen, and weâll go from there.â

âAnd how am I to meet these suitable gentlemen?â Emma couldnât help but ask. She covered her mouth to hide a yawn.

âLeave that to me,â Olivia insisted. âI have just the man in mind to help.â

Two days after the incident in Cheapside, Marcus wasnât in any better mood. There had been no further news on the status of the ship, so heâd spent his time reviewing his accounts, trying to determine just how badly heâd be impacted if the ship was truly lost.

Very badly indeed, as it turned out.

âSo youâre convinced the ships are lost?â Marcus asked during his morning meeting with Grimshaw and the Fairfax family solicitor, Mr. Wilbanks.

âIâm afraid so, my lord,â Grimshaw said with a sigh.

It was clear that this financial struggle concerned Grimshaw just as much as Marcus. Marcus had learned that his estate managerâs cousin was one of the timber merchants involved with the investment. That explained why so much had been funneled in a single projectâGrimshaw had seen the opportunity to help his cousin and benefit his employer with a potentially highly profitable venture. Heâd acted with only honest intentions, but his family loyalties had made him disregard the risk.

The guilt over acting with so little foresight was clearly weighing on him now.

âWhat can we do if the ships are gone?â Marcus asked. He was unwilling to give up hope that everything might, in fact, turn out fine.

However, his solicitor, Mr. Wilbanks, an older gentleman who had served Marcus and his father before him for years, was silent; obviously, he thought the worst.

âThe numbers arenât good, my lord,â Wilbanks said with the same dejected manner as Grimshaw. âIn your grandfatherâs time,â he explained, âthe entirety of the familyâs income came from the rents on your estates. It was your father who made the decision to begin investing in various enterprises with the surpluses from the estate fundsâa practice which you have continued, and which has doubled your income.â

Marcus already knew the familyâs financial history, and he wanted to tell Wilbanks to speed up the explanation. But instead of barking at the solicitor, he tried to wait patiently.

Wilbanks took a steadying breath before continuing.

âBut all of the monies in the investment accounts were used for this timber project of Lord Rutherfordâs. If the ships are lost, that portion of your income is gone. It will take years of surpluses from the estates before you would be able to build those accounts up enough to begin investing again.â

âHow much is going to be left?â Some claimed Marcus was rich as Croesus, which might have been an exaggeration, but the truth of the matter was that his accounts had been quite large. And now they were emptyâand would remain so, unless the ship and its merchandise could be recovered.

All was not lost, Marcus supposed. He did still have a vast amount of property at his disposal. Property that earned a fair amount of incomeâenough so he would hardly have to worry about starving, or lacking a roof over his head.

But all the other uses he made of his moneyâthe charitable donations, the investments into facilities to help the underprivileged, all his plans to use his wealth and position to drive interest in generating labor and housing reforms â¦ it would all have to come to a halt. The very thought was appalling.

Wilbanks fumbled, but Grimshaw seemed to take pity on the solicitor, naming a number that made Marcus wince.

âItâs enough to maintain your estates until the next round of rents come in,â the estate manager continued, trying to be consoling. âAnd to cover moderate personal expenses. Not much more than that, though. No lavish living,â he finished.

âMr. Wilbanks,â Marcus said, turning toward the solicitor, who looked like he might rather be having his teeth pulled out one by one and without any numbing effect than to be sitting in the room with them. âIs that right?â Marcus didnât care so much about the not living lavishly part â¦ but it would have been nice if there had been something other than eking by on the horizon.

âFrom what I can tell of the paperwork â¦â Wilbanks sighed. âYes. It is, unfortunately, true.â

âHow long?â Marcus croaked, his throat and mouth parched.

âHow long until what precisely, my lord?â Wilbanks asked. He looked twitchy and uncomfortable. Grimshaw didnât look much better.

Marcus scrubbed a hand down his face. âHow long until we can recoup?â

The solicitor consulted some papers in front of him. âIt is difficult to say. The estates generate sufficient funds to cover most living costs. Unfortunately, most of the income from the recent rents collection went into the investment funds. The estate expenses are, of course, paid first, so there are no outstanding costs there, but the monies in your personal funds will have to last you until the next rent collection date. At that point, the situation should become more stableâand if you are careful with your expenses, then you may still have some surplus to go back into the investment accounts.â

After Marcus muddled through the headache-inducing explanations, he decided that at least that was a bit of heartening news.

âI will also see about possibly leasing out some of your secondary estates to bring in some more funds,â Wilbanks continued, âbut any significant expenditureââ Wilbanks tiptoed carefully around the reform investments Marcus had discussed with him so many times ââwill have to wait for â¦ Iâd say six or seven years, at the least. If you begin to conserve, make cutbacks, then the funds will, of course, accumulate fasterââ

âI donât care about whether or not Iâll be able to go purchase a new pair of boots every week,â Marcus interrupted.

âWould you be willing to temporarily raise the cost of rent from your tenants?â Wilbanks asked bluntly.

âNo,â Marcus said before the man even had time to close his mouth on the question.

âNot even to helpââ

Marcus slashed his hand through the air. âI said no.â He wasnât going to burden his tenants to fund his own social-reform agenda. âWeâll find another way.â He didnât know whom he was trying to convinceâthe two downtrodden men, or himself. âAnd I wonât abandon all hope that the ship is, indeed, safe.â

Grimshaw opened his mouth to speak then promptly closed it again. Another time or two of the same routine, and the estate manager finally found his voice. âI wouldnât get my hopes up, my lord. No one has heard from the ship. Nor have any of the rescue ships sent out located any sign of it.â

âIâll continue to pray,â Marcus said.

The two men stayed for only a few more minutes. Really, there was nothing left to discuss. And when Marcus was left alone in his study, he felt the weight of his predicament bearing down on him.

What was he going to do? The urge was strong to stay in his study and keep searching his finances for answers. Pouring over ledgers and account books wouldnât make a difference in the reality of the situation, however. He trusted Wilbanks and had no reason not to take the older man at his word. If anyone knew the state of the familyâs coffers, it was the solicitor whoâd been serving the Fairfaxes for years.

Marcus was trying to devise an outing that would occupy his mind for a bit when his butler brought in a letter from his sister, Olivia.

Drop whatever youâre doing. I urgently need to see you.

Less than half an hour later, his sisterâs butler, Mathis, barely had time to open the front door of the house before Marcus was pushing his way in. In the time it took him to ride to the Huntsford town house, heâd had ample opportunity to envision what might be wrong. After Wilbanks and Grimshawâs ill tidings, the earl was primed to expect the worst.

Mathisâs stoic exterior should have given Marcus some reassurance that things were fine, but the butlerâs expression never changed. A thief could have a gun trained on him, and the most the older man might do was blink.

And because of his completely unflappable nature, Mathis didnât say a word about seeing the Earl of Westin with an eye that was an impressive display of mottled blues and purple.

A butler who didnât feel the need to offer unsolicited commentary on everything â¦ it was a refreshing change.

âYour sister will meet you in the yellow parlor, my lord,â Mathis said.

Without asking the location of the yellow parlor, Marcus headed down the hall. In the months since his sisterâs marriage, Oliviaâs new home had become as familiar to him as his own.

Marcus paced the length of the room while he waited for his sister to appear. Just when he was seriously beginning to contemplate going and finding her, the door opened.

âGood morning, Marcus,â Olivia said cheerfully.

âWhat is it? Whatâs wrong?â Marcus asked, taking a few steps toward her.

Oliviaâs brow furrowed in confusion as she hugged him. âNothing,â she answered.

Marcus still wasnât convinced. âHas something happened?â

âNo.â She paused. âWhy would you think so?â

âYour letter said to come immediately. It sounded â¦ frantic.â

âI think you probably read too much into my request,â Olivia said with a shrug.

âWhen your request contains the word urgently, I donât really have to read into it much.â

âWeâre not here to discuss your overly active paranoia,â his sister returned. âBesides, Iâm in no mood to argue with you. I need your help,â Olivia said, taking a seat and offering to ring for tea.

After declining the tea service, Marcus relocated to a chair, curious to hear about Oliviaâs problem â¦ hopefully, it would distract him from his own. Whatever was wrong with his sister was consuming enough that she had yet to ask him about the injury to his eye.

Not that he minded that omission from the conversation, of course. Olivia would be much too amused by the story. Not to mention when Nickâher husband and Marcusâs best friendâfound out, Marcus would be lucky if he ever lived down the humiliation.

âWhat do you need my help with?â

He was pleased Olivia had come to him for assistance. Since sheâd married, she hadnât seemed to need her older brother anymore. And as someone who had spent his entire adult life caring for his sister, the sudden change after her marriage made Marcus feel a little bereft.

âIâve a made a list,â Olivia said, digging in the pocket of her skirts and finally producing a folded-up slip of paper.

âA list?â he echoed, taking and unfolding the paper so he could read it.

His sister sat quietly while he scanned down the rather long collection of names.

âWhatâs this?â he asked finally.

âA list.â

Marcus barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. âYes, I think I have a fairly good understanding of what constitutes a list. But all I see on here are names. Would it be too much to ask what the significance of them would be?â

âThose men,â Olivia continued, pointing to the paper, âare eligible bachelors.â

Marcus stared at her, waiting for further explanation.

âTheyâre for a friend.â

âA friend?â Skepticism oozed in his voice.

Olivia sighed. âItâs a complicated matter, Marcus. And Iâm going to need your assistance and discretion. So Iâd appreciate it if you would at least try not to be difficult.â

âI hardly think my trying to make sense of your inadequate explanations should classify as being difficult.â

Olivia sighed. âI have a friend who needs a husband.â

Marcusâs cravat tightened, and his mouth was suddenly so parched he wished heâd accepted the tea. He couldnât dismiss the suspicion that Olivia had more of his involvement in mind than just being a keeper of the list.

Clearing his throat, he scrambled for an easy way to break it to her that he wasnât going to be eligible bachelor number one. âOlivia â¦ you understand I have quite a bit to focus on right now â¦â he began, âand Iâm not in any place to be considering taking a wifeââ

Olivia rolled her eyes. âDo you see your name on the list, Marcus?â

âWell â¦ no â¦ butââ

She waved her hand as though to shut him up. âThen stop being dramatic. I certainly wouldnât have put you there.â

âAnd whyâs that?â Marcus asked before he could consider the advisability of voicing such a question.

This earned him another look. âI doubt my friend would have you,â she said breezily.

âIâm considered a fairly decent catch by most of the matchmaking mamas.â Marcus couldnât believe himself or the words coming out of his mouth.

âShe seems to think a scholarly gentleman will suit her.â

âI was at the top of my class at Oxford.â Clearly he was out of his mind.

Olivia only stared at him.

âFine. Iâm not on the list â¦ not that I want to be,â he added just in case he hadnât been clear on that. âSo, since Iâm not worthy to be there, would you mind telling me what you think Iâm going to do with it?â

âYou know the gentlemen on that list, right?â she asked.

Marcus nodded.

âHow difficult would it be for you to arrange to bring some of them by here to meet my friend while sheâs staying with me?â Olivia picked at an invisible piece of something on the skirt of her dress as she asked the question.

He wasnât going to refuse her. There was little he could refuse his sister. But that didnât mean Marcus planned to give in easily.

âYou want me to round up the men and parade them through the house like a Tattersalls auction?â he asked.

Olivia rolled her eyes. âI donât want them all here at the same time, Marcus. It would make much better sense for you to bring them by individually.â

He gaped. âThere are at least thirty names here.â

âI donât want Emma to have to settle,â she said as though he were a barbarian for suggesting otherwise.

Emma.

So that was the mysterious friendâs name. He liked it, Marcus decided. Not that it mattered what he thought of the name or even the woman herself. Supposedly, they wouldnât suit.

âSuppose I decide to help,â he said finally. âWhy exactly would I be doing it again?â

Olivia sobered. As she leaned forward, Marcus saw the concern lurking behind the humor in her eyes. âEmma really needs a husband, Marcus. I want to helpâand I told her that you would be happy to, as well. You do want to help, donât you?â

âA damsel in distress?â he muttered.

Olivia nodded, without any trace of irony.

With that, he was sunkâand he could tell Olivia knew it. But before he could say anything, there was a gentle tap at the door.

âCome in,â his sister called out, and Marcus could hear the door behind him open.

âOh, Iâm sorry,â a womanâEmma?âsaid. âI didnât realize you had company.â Her voice was pleasant, Marcus noted. Low and sweet, and â¦ oddly familiar.

âNo, Emma,â Olivia said, motioning her forward. âYouâre fine. Please come sit with us. Marcus and I were just talking about you.â The woman crossed around the room to take a seat beside Olivia, giving Marcus his first look at her. It was a struggle not to let his shock show.

Damsel in distress, indeed, he thought to himself, as he stared at the governess from Cheapside.

So this is Emma. He looked down at the list of names in his hand and frowned. He hadnât liked being left off the list even before he knew for whom it was intended.

For some reason, he liked it even less now.

Chapter Three

âMaybe I should leave the two of you to your meeting,â Emma said, rising from her seat and preparing to make her escape from the room.

âNot at all,â Mr. Fairfax answered before Olivia had a chance to. His smirk widened.

A red-hot blush stole through Emmaâs cheeks, making her feel like the temperature in the room had risen dramatically. âNo, truly,â she argued, âI can talk to Olivia later. Right, Olivia?â she asked, looking to her friend for assistance.

Either Olivia was oblivious to Emmaâs distress, or she found the situation humorous, because the marchioness didnât seem willing for her to go.

âOf course you wonât leave. I have to introduce you,â her friend said.

âYou really donât,â Emma muttered. She was sure no one had heard her until she noticed that Mr. Fairfaxâs smile had widened impossibly further, and his eyes glinted mischievously.

âMarcus, allow me to introduce my friend, Emma Mercer.â She smiled at Emma, as though to reassure her that Mr. Fairfax wouldnât bite. âAnd Emma, this is my brother, Marcus Fairfax, the Earl of Westin.â

Her brother?

An earl?

Emma thought she might throw up.

She had punched an earl in the face â¦ albeit accidentally. Was there any way to slink out of the room and pretend sheâd never knocked on the door?

Sadly, it appeared too late for that option.

âThere was no need for the introductions, Olivia,â the man said, drawing Emmaâs gaze.

Emma hated the fact that he was more handsome than any man had a right to be. And she hated the fact that sheâd noticed.

âThere isnât?â Olivia asked. Her look of surprise was almost comical. If Emma had been inclined to find anything about the situation remotely humorous, that was.

Mr. Fairfaxâthe Earl of Westin, she amendedâlooked to be enjoying himself far too much. He nodded. âWho do you think gave me the black eye?â

Marcus barely contained his laughter. He wasnât sure whose expression amused him most. Olivia looked like she might fall out of her seat â¦ either that or injure her neck because she kept whipping it back and forth between Marcus and Miss Mercer.

As for the other lady â¦ Well, Marcus quickly decided that anger only made Miss Emma look even more appealing. Which was fortuitous, he supposed, because she looked mad enough to blacken his other eye. Purposely this time.

âWho â¦ she â¦ you â¦?â Olivia couldnât seem to form a complete thought. With each half-uttered word, his sister looked at him and then back at her friend. The gaze leveled at him was slightly accusatory.

Miss Mercer had her hands folded together in her lap, a beatific look on her face as though to suggest she would be the last person capable of doing anyone bodily harm.

Marcus could have made it easy on her. Could have explained to Olivia that the injury was accidental. But he wasnât in the least inclined to do so and ruin the fun of the moment. Heaven knows, he could use some amusement after the fear and uncertainty that had swamped him for the past few days.

Finally, Olivia settled on a reponse. She turned to look at her friend. âYou hit Marcus?â Oliviaâs tone was surprised â¦ not censuring.

The young woman looked like she was about to answer, even though Marcus thought it seemed pretty clear that the only thing she wanted to do was pick up her skirts and run from the room. âWell â¦ we â¦ itâs really â¦â

He was going to be a chivalrous gentleman and rescue her. âDonât look so surprised, Olivia. I recall you having a violent streak of your own.â

The comparison was enough to rile the previously tongue-tied Miss Mercer. âI hardly have a violent streak!â she defended. âIt was an accident.â

Marcus made a âhmmingâ noise deep in his throat. Mostly just to irritate his sisterâs friend. He found that he quite liked the high flush on her cheeks and the fire in her gray eyes.

âAnd even if it werenât accidentalâwhich it was,â she added as an impassioned aside to Olivia, âyou would have deserved it for accosting me.â

If Miss Mercer had noticed how wide Oliviaâs eyes grew with speculation at that statement, she probably would have stopped her passionate defense. As it was, with the two women sitting side by side, Marcus was the only one with the benefit of reading both expressions.

Oliviaâs was the height of amused curiosity.

Miss Mercerâs bordered on horrified.

Smothering a laugh, Marcus interrupted her. âI was rescuing, not accosting. Which you wouldnât have needed had you not been on such an unsavory street at such a late hour.â

Miss Mercerâs eyes narrowed. And Marcus had the distinct impression that she might now like to punch him in the mouth instead.

âI was perfectly safe.â She turned to Olivia as though she was about to try and convince her friend of the truth of that statement.

Marcus could tell by Oliviaâs expression that his sister was too busy trying to smother her own smirk than trying to tamp down her interest in the saga unfolding before her. âDonât worry about me, Emma,â she said, her voice almost choked with laughter. âIâm just listening quietly.â

Emma whirled back on him. âAnd you should tell her it was an accident!â she nearly yelled. âItâs not as though I would have hit you on purpose.â

âYou wouldnât have?â he asked, keeping his face as impassive as he could manage.

âThat might not be true right now,â she nearly growled at him.

Olivia rose suddenly from her seat. âDid someone call for me?â she asked no one in particular, as though the room were populated with at least a hundred people.

âNo!â Emma said at the exact moment Marcus said â¦

âMaybe.â

Olivia smiled approvingly at him. With a nod, she brushed out her skirts and began walking toward the door.

âI think Iâll just go check,â Olivia said. She spared a look for Emma that was probably supposed to be apologetic. But her expression was too speculative to be sincere. âItâs a big house. People are always needing something. You just never know.â Then the marchioness shrugged.

âNo, you never know,â Marcus agreed, relaxing back against his seat, enjoying the rapid-fire emotions that flitted across Miss Mercerâs face.

While he would never be so ungentlemanly as to accuse a gently bred woman of doing so, he couldnât help but notice to himself that his sister ran from the room.

Leaving a murderous-looking Miss Mercer in her wake.

âNo one was calling her,â the lady said unnecessarily.

âNo, they werenât,â he agreed with a small smile.

âYouâre an awful person,â she said then.

Marcus tensed a little, wondering if heâd taken his teasing too far and now she was truly put out with him. âWhyâs that?â he drawled slowly.

âFor letting your sister think I hit you. She might be upstairs packing my bags for me.â While the words had a forced lightness to them, Marcus could hear the genuine fear underneath.

All the humor drained from the situation. And Marcus felt like a cad.

It was impulsiveâand probably foolishâbut he rose from his seat and crossed the few steps to be at her side. He covered her hands with one of his, stopping her from wringing them together.

âOliviaâs doing nothing of the sort. Honestly, if she thought youâd hit me on purpose, sheâd probably be out buying you a gift. I can only estimate how many times sheâs wanted to do the same.â Marcus hoped his smile put her at ease.

That brought out what looked to be a genuine smile â¦ although a small one. Marcus felt a flash of elation and pride at having wrested that expression out of her anxiety. And when he noticed that she hadnât tried to pull her hands away from his, he felt something else â¦ something warmer, more indefinable.

âOlivia shut the door behind her,â Miss Mercer said then, surprising him with the sudden change in conversation.

But Marcus followed her gaze and laughed. His sister was nothing if not enterprising.

âSo why do you think she ran out of the room?â Miss Mercer asked after a few seconds.

Marcus grinned. âShe was giving us some time alone.â

The complete innocence in Miss Mercerâs expression was refreshing. âWhy?â she asked.

âTo see what we would do.â

âWhat weâd do?â she echoed.

Marcus nodded. âShe probably thought you might like the chance to punch me again.â

Miss Mercer laughed. It was the first time heâd heard her do so, and Marcus decided that she was exceptionally beautiful when she laughed. Her gray eyes twinkled. And as she tossed her head back, some of her shiny black hair slipped out of her fancy arrangement, tumbling to her shoulders. Her full lips quirked in a smile.

âSo what did Olivia think you might want to do?â the lady asked. A guileless question.

Why, then, did Marcus want to answer her with a kiss?

Not that he would, of course. No, it was a completely inappropriate urge, and â¦ and a ridiculous idea, besides. His lack of sleep was playing tricks with his head. After years of ducking and dodging every predatory female on the marriage mart, surely he wasnât succumbing to tender feelings just because a pretty womanâthis particular pretty womanâsmiled at him. The very idea was absurd.

Yet, for all that, he was still careful to take a step away from temptation before he answered.

âOlivia likely thought Iâd want to talk about the particulars of finding you a husband.â

Emma choked.

On air.

âYou will be helping me find a husband?â

His teasing smile gave way to a sheepish expression. âMy sister has decided that I will, so it seems highly likely. Sheâs accustomed to getting her way. Iâd like to lay the blame on her indulgent husband, but Iâm afraid her indulgent brother was the first to set the trend in place.â

âSo you will â¦ that is â¦ youâI donât understand.â Mentally, she scolded herself for sounding like such a ninny, but really, how was she supposed to respond? Olivia had truly asked the man sheâd assaulted to find her a husband? What if he married her off to a boxing master in revenge?

âIâm here today by Oliviaâs summons,â the earl explained. âWhen I arrived, she presented me with the following list.â He waved a piece of paper in the air. âItâs the names of all the gentlemen Iâm supposed to coerce into calling on youâby means of physical force, if necessary.â

Emma felt her back go rigid. Coerce into calling on her? By physical force? As if a man would have to be tricked or strong-armed before heâd consider courting her?

âIâm teasing, Miss Mercer,â he said, sitting back slightly when he must have felt her stiffen.

âI know that,â she snapped.

âWell, I wasnât teasing about Oliviaâs plan, but I am certain no coercion will be required once the gentlemen of London learn you are here,â he amended. âThatâs truly my role in this arrangementâto arrange introductions.â

âI suppose I should be flattered by your optimism,â she said briskly. Rising quickly from her seat, Emma was almost surprised that the earl didnât topple over to the floor. She hadnât realized until then how much heâd been leaning against her.

âWere you aware of my sisterâs plan to have me bring you a husband?â Lord Westin asked.

âNo! That is, yes,â she stammered, turning her head to hide the blush. âThat is, I was aware of the plan, but I didnât know that you were to be a part of it. How could I have? I had no idea that you were her brother until moments ago! She said that she knew the man to help put the plan into actionâI assumed she meant her husband. I hadnât the slightest notion that she meant â¦â

âMe?â Lord Westin also rose to his feet, the motion fluid and graceful.

She decided then that no man should be able to move with the kind of lethal grace he did. It wasnât decent. Nor, Emma continuedâsince she was already in a making-pronouncements moodâshould any man be quite as handsome as the earl.

Handsome men didnât bother her in general. And sheâd known quite a few individuals who she would say had been given more than their fair portion of beauty. Oliviaâs husband, for instance. The Marquess of Huntsford was attractive. In a completely nonthreatening, pleasant way.

Not so with the earl.

It wasnât merely the handsomeness â¦ although there certainly was that. It was the shrewdness, the playfulness and the intensity in his eyes, which all seemed to coexist in some strange commingling.

But Lord Westin was the last man for whom she should let herself feel an attraction. Olivia had recruited him to help her find a husband, which clearly meant that she did not consider him to be a good prospectâand who would know better than the manâs sister? Besides that, Emma couldnât help but remember the condemnation in his eyes in the carriage on the way to the Rothsâ, when he scolded her for being in Cheapside. What would he think if he knew that her parents lived so nearby? Surely an earl would disdain anyone with such low connections.

Why should that thought bring her pain? What did she care for his good opinion? He was overbearing and teasing and â¦ and he smirked too much.

âMaybe I should go find Olivia. Maybe she needs help with â¦ whatever it is sheâs doing.â Emma at least had the presence of mind to be embarrassed by her pathetic excuse. That didnât, however, stop her from moving toward the door as she spoke.

âI doubt my sister needs your help eavesdropping,â he returned. With only a few, long strides, Lord Westin was by her side.

âIâm sorry if my teasing you has upset you,â he said seriously.

Deciding to take his proffered olive branch, Emma assured him she was fineâjust worried about Olivia.

When Emma had turned her back to him and was preparing to continue her path toward the door, Lord Westin said suddenly, âYou never did tell me what you were doing in Cheapside.â

âThat was intentional,â she returned.

There was a little too much fervency in his tone for the question to be only polite curiosity. But she still had no intention of answering.

Oliviaâs brother was probably a perfectly decent and caring man. Clearly he had been concerned that his joking had upset her. Maybe he wouldnât treat her with disdain if he knew the truth. But Emma still didnât want to tell him.

Nick and Olivia were the only people sheâd told all about her familyâs circumstances. Not that there were many people she could have told. Lady Roth had been entirely uninterested in the details of why sheâd sought a position, and there was no one else to whom Emma was close. But even telling her friend had made Emma feel exposed and ready to be judged. She never forgot that she was associating with the nobility.

The Mercers were a respectable family, but even when her father was at his wealthiest, heâd never been a member of elevated society. The second son of a landed gentleman, her father was a scholar â¦ a scholar who was unfortunately an abysmal custodian of the money heâd received as his inheritance in lieu of the estate that had passed to his older brother.

And now even that money was nearly gone. Emma didnât want Lord Westinâs pity once he discovered how desperate circumstances were for her family. She didnât want to think about how differently the earl might treat her if he knew the truth.

Sheâd seen similar situations far too many times during her employment with the Roths. If Emma happened to be visible during one of the familyâs parties, the young men would flirt with her and act as though they valued her presence and conversation above all else.

The moment Lady Roth let it be knownâin a voice that was much louder and shriller than necessary, in Emmaâs opinionâthat she was nothing more than the governess, most of the gentlemen would scurry to far corners of the room. The ones who stayed werenât doing so for any noble purposes.

Emma knew how these kinds of things worked. With the exception of her friends Olivia and Nick, nobles didnât waste their time with those outside their social spheres. And wrong though it might be, Emma was enjoying the ease of this moment with Lord Westin too much to spoil it.

So she clamped her lips together. Let the earl think whatever he wanted. Because as far as she was concerned, nothing he came up with could be quite as bad as the truth.

Chapter Four

Emma really shouldnât have climbed up in the tree. It didnât matter that Oliviaâs rather extensive garden showed no signs of other inhabitants. With a bit of a self-deprecating smile, she thought that if Lady Roth could see her now, the viscountess would feel vindicated in terminating Emmaâs employment. Who wanted a tree-climbing hoyden watching over her children?

Olivia and Nick were both gone, visiting Nickâs aunt, the Duchess of Leith. Emma had been invited but wasnât quite ready to face anyone else in the ton. Especially since there was one particular member of high society that she couldnât seem to get out of her head.

Stop thinking about him.

Really. It will do you no good.

Youâre being a fool.

Ever since the day before, when sheâd realized who Mr. Fairfax truly was, Emma had alternated between being irritated that he hadnât immediately told her who he was, and being irritated with herself for caring at all. Climbing the tree had been a desperate attempt to find something to occupy her mind, which had been much too busy with thoughts of the Earl of Westin. She hadnât even attempted climbing trees since she was a child, and in her aggravated state, it had seemed the perfect challenge for the moment. Frankly, even now she was rather impressed that she hadnât broken her neck. But now that she was treed for the time being, she was left with nothing to do but think.

Her first priority had to be finding another job.

Sheâd agreed to go along with Oliviaâs plan, but surely the husband hunt her friend envisioned would never succeed. It was ridiculous to think that rich, eligible men would form a line to catch her attention. And besides, any man who did fall all over himself to earn the favor of a former governess of no particular distinction could hardly be sensible. How could she depend on a man like that to shelter and protect her and her family? No, sheâd have to do as she had always doneârely on only herself.

It had been three days since Lady Roth had dismissed her without a letter of reference. Three days since she should have gone straight home and confessed everything to her parents. Emma hadnât been able to do it yet, though. She hadnât been able to fortify herself enough to see her motherâs and fatherâs hearts break.

Waiting, in the hopes of having some good news of a new position to alleviate the bad tidings of her lost job, was perhaps the most asinine plan Emma had ever concocted. But staying with Nick and Olivia made it so easy for her to not go home yet, to keep the problems to herself for a little while longer. To hope that some wonderful new opportunity would come to light soon.

Emma had already written to the different agencies in London, praying that they might have families in need of a governess. And while her personal contacts werenât extensive, Emma had sent missives to anyone she could think of, asking if they, or anyone they knew, needed a governess or even a ladyâs companion. Too little time had passed for her to receive any replies.

Father, let me find a job, had become a constant prayer. And let me forget about that irksome earl, had become a constant follow-up.

And while Emma was an avid believer in the power of prayer, she never felt any kind of confidence afterward that her entreaty would take care of the matter where Lord Westin was concerned.

Her life had spiraled so far out of her control that Emma wasnât certain sheâd ever be able to rein it back in. Like a leaf tossed about by the gusting wind, she had little say over what happened to her anymore. And it scared her. Giving up control didnât come easily to her. Surrendering her concerns to God sounded fine in theory, but it was one of Emmaâs biggest struggles.

âWhy am I not surprised?â

Emma started from her position on the branch, shaking the stout limb until she feared she might fall.

âCareful,â the voice cautioned her.

She looked down toward the ground, wishing she could disappear farther up into the tree when she saw that it was Lord Westin standing below her.

Where had he come from?

âYouâre not about to drop out and knock me down, are you?â His mouth curved in a smile, and Emma felt her own lips upturn in response.

Emma said, smirking, âNot unless you provoke me.â Which, considering their short, volatile history, was a distinct possibility.

Lord Westin, once assured that she wasnât going to be taking a nasty tumble, stepped back a few feet. He leaned almost negligently against a gatepost opposite her tree. âIâll try to be mindful of that, then.â

Emma tried to look as stern as possibleâsomething a bit difficult considering the undoubtedly ludicrous picture she presented. âYou would do well to do so.â

âSo, are you in the tree for any particular reason or are you indulging a long-held desire to be a bird?â The gleam in his eyes teased her.

âI thought it might be a peaceful place to contemplate,â she hedged.

For a moment, Emma was afraid heâd mock her, but Lord Westin nodded solemnly. âUnderstandable.â

The two of them stared at each other for a few moments â¦ it couldnât have been too long, just enough time to make Emma look away uncomfortably. She hated the fact that her wit and social graces seemed to fail her when he was around.

âDid you wish to be alone?â she asked finally.

âNot really,â he replied.

Emma waited for him to say more, but Lord Westin didnât offer any explanations.

âAre you sure?â she persisted, âBecause I could leave if you wish me to.â

âNot at all. You were here first.â As he shook his head, Emma noticed how delightfully mussed his hair looked.

Emma couldnât think of anything else to say. She decided that whatever the rest of the conversation held, it would be preferable if her part took place on the ground rather than in the air. Emma thought about asking him to help her down, or at least asking him to turn around so she could descend with a shred of her dignity intact. But without knowing how she would possibly phrase either question, Emma stared at the distance from her feet to the ground. And she jumped.

Lord Westin was at her side in an instant, steadying her by wrapping his arm around her waist.

âAre you all right?â he asked, looking her over as though sheâd fallen headfirst.

âIâm fine, Lord Westin,â Emma said, trying to step back and regain the distance between them.

âDonât do that again.â His voice was harsh, commanding. His jaw was set, and his hands were a vise around her.

Her chin raised, and her eyes glinted in defiance. âHow do you think I usually get down?â

Grudgingly convinced that besides being perhaps addled in the head, there was nothing wrong with her, Lord Westin released his hold and stepped away.

As soon as he let go of her, she felt the most disconcerting stab of emptiness.

âI stand in amazement that you made it to adulthood,â the earl drawled.

Emma could tell he was trying to calm his own panic by the way he was breathing slowly, exhaling audibly. It was oddly pleasant to have someone so concerned about her welfare even if âshow concernâ for the earl seemed to translate to âbe bossy and insufferable.â

âYou and my parents,â she quipped.

His expression sharpened with interest. âYour parents? I havenât heard much about them.â

Thereâs a very good reason for that.

For a moment, she couldnât think of a single thing to say. âItâs not like youâre brimming with stories about yours,â she countered. If sheâd been thinking more clearly, Emma would certainly never have brought up the undoubtedly painful subject. She knew from previous conversations with Olivia that their mother had committed suicide after her husbandâs death.

The Earl of Westinâs face shuttered, becoming a blank mask.

âIâm sorry,â Emma said, her voice earnest. She even took a few steps forward, thinking she might grab his hand â¦ some physical touch to try and imbue her regret into him.

âDonât apologize.â His voice was gruff, although not angry.

But she couldnât leave it there. Emma already felt like a brat for firing back at him. So in an effort to offer an olive branch, she said, âI shouldnât have brought up such a painful subject. Olivia has told me about your motherâs â¦â Emmaâs words trailed off as her brain caught up to what sheâd nearly said. In her rush to apologize sheâd forgotten that the circumstances of the former Lady Westinâs death were a secret.

Society would shun Olivia and Marcus if it were known that their mother had taken her own life. âTh-that is to say,â she stammered, âshe has told me what a struggle it has been for you both to come to terms with your losses.â

He gave her a considering look. âI see that Olivia has told you a great deal, indeed. The two of you must be quite close.â

Emma nodded. âI donât know what I would have done without her these past few days.â

The considering look sharpened. âAnd just how many days have you been here? Since about the night that we met?â

Emma shrugged. âLady Roth didnât appreciate my tardiness.â She tried to sound unconcerned. Lord Westin didnât need to know how devastating and upending her termination was. Or how confused and adrift she felt over what to do next â¦ join Olivia in a husband hunt or confess to her parents and beg for their forgiveness?

He frowned. âSheâs not exactly a sympathetic figure, is she?â

âI see youâve met her, then â¦â she joked.

His chuckle was low and warm. âSo, what are your plans now? I know my sisterâs plans for youâbut youâve already shown that youâre entirely unwilling to fall in line with othersâ expectations.â He cast a significant glance up at the tree sheâd so recently conquered. âDo you agree with her intentions to find you a husband?â

Emma averted her eyes, suddenly embarrassed. âIâm still trying to figure that out,â she said quietly.

Despite her attempts to look away, brown eyes bored into hers. The inspection was so steady that Emma had to force herself not to be the first to break the connection. âWhat do you want?â he asked.

Why did she feel like the question was something more than it seemed?

âTo be happy.â

Her words hung in the air, almost taking on a life of their own. No matter how awkward she felt or how much she might have wished that she hadnât been quite as frank, it was too late to change the moment.

And when Lord Westin whispered, âMe, too,â she was fine with that.

When Marcus saw the wistfulness in Miss Mercerâs eyes, he couldnât help but be moved. Heâd come into the garden with his mind full of all of his own problems. Another round of endless hours spent analyzing his accounts had brought him no good news. But Miss Mercer, in a situation far more pitiable than his, still seemed to cling to hope for the future. He admired her for that.

What would bring her the happiness she sought? Was it a husband, as Olivia seemed to think? She would hardly be the first woman in London to seek happiness in a wealthy match. Yet Marcus didnât really think that she was a single-minded husband-hunter. While he couldnât claim to understand the feminine mind, something about the fiery young woman being so materialistic didnât quite ring true to him.

But could he really deny his help in trying to make Miss Mercerâs life better? Since sheâd lost her job, maybe finding a spouse was her only hope.

He chose not to examine the way that thought rankled.

Marcus had come to call on Olivia today with the sole purpose of telling her that he couldnât participate in her matchmaking scheme. Getting his affairs in order to enable him to live on his new and much-reduced income would be an enormous undertaking. Heâd have little time to devote to arranging routs and luncheons to find Miss Mercer a husband. But now, in light of her wistfulness, Marcus found himself reconsidering.

As he stood there looking at her, Marcus resolved that he wouldnât tell his sister ânoâ just yet. Admittedly, he wasnât thrilled with the prospect of what he was going to have to do, but if it would bring a smile to Miss Mercerâs face â¦ well, that might make the ordeal worth it.

Chapter Five

Emma shifted nervously in her seat in the pew beside Olivia. This was her first week at church since sheâd begun working for the Roth family. While Lady Roth was a faithful church attendee, she hadnât wanted to be bothered with having her offspring underfoot during her time with God. So Emma had always been relegated to staying at the house with the children. Sheâd always tried to find a moment to herself at some point during the day to say her prayers and read some passages from her Bible, but sheâd wished for the chance to attend a regular worship service again.

A wish that she was regretting now.

Oh, the church itself was lovely, and she had no reason to believe the service itself would be otherwise, but even though they had arrived only ten minutes earlier, the stares were already starting to grate. The other churchgoers had quickly noticed the unfamiliar face in the Huntsford pew and were abuzz with rumors and speculation.

Emmaâs seatmate was just as badâthough Oliviaâs speculation was of a rather different sort. âThatâs Mr. Beckett,â she said, nodding discreetly at a stout gentleman of perhaps four and twenty making his way down the aisle. âPleasant man, good family, income of, Iâd say, four thousand a year. Very fond of cats. You like cats, donât you?â

âI â¦ No, actually, I hate them,â Emma replied. Olivia looked momentarily disconcerted.

âPity,â she murmured, before her expression cleared. âStill, there is his cousin, Mr. Wainwrightâthe one in the blue jacket. Handsome, donât you think?â

While she nodded, Emma remained uncomfortable. Mr. Wainwright was likely considered handsome, by most women. It was hardly his fault that he did not quite match her idea of a truly handsome manâtall, tanned, dark hair and eyes along with an irritatingly engaging smile â¦

She was relieved when the minister began welcoming the congregation, signaling that the service was about to begin. But her relief shifted to shocked dismay when the Earl of Westin slid into the empty space to Emmaâs left. âSorry Iâm late,â he muttered to the rest of them.

Both Nick and Olivia whispered back words of greeting. Emma, however, wasnât able to do much more than force herself to continue breathing. Why did Lord Westinâs presence seem to take the air out of the room? It was disconcerting. And even more disconcerting was the fact that none of the other gentlemen Olivia had pointed out had affected her nearly so strongly.

As she tried to ignore the fact that the lack of room on the pew meant that Lord Westin was practically pressed against her, Emma shot furtive looks at the other gentlemen in the congregation. Oh, they were all pleasant-looking enough. Some even could be called quite handsome.

Emma slid her gaze to the left. Her attempt at catching a discreet peek at the earl was thwarted when she caught his gaze. A corner of Lord Westinâs lips quirked in a smirk, and he raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

Instead of responding to the wordless query as to why she was casting furtive glances his way, Emma stared at her hands, clasped in her lap. Hopefully, heâd turn his attention back to the minister so he wouldnât notice that her face was an undoubtedly unbecoming shade of crimson.

What was it about the earl that simultaneously bothered and intrigued her? Emma pondered that question seriously for a few minutes, but came to no conclusion. While not having a wealth of expertise on the subject of men, sheâd known her share of charmers and rogues. In all fairness to the earl, however, Emma could hardly deem him a rakeâbut a charmer, most certainly.

That assessment of him made Emma feel a bit better about the fact that she was quite unable to stop thinking about him. After all, it could hardly be her fault when the man was an accomplished flirt. She would simply do her best to avoid him â¦ well, as much as their close connection would allow.

The ministerâs impassioned plea for the congregation to show Christâs love to othersâwhich was really a yelled statementâroused Emma out of her thoughts. And she immediately felt ashamed for them. Here she was, in Godâs house, too distracted by the man sitting next to her to focus on anything else.

To add another sin at her feet, Emma had missed most of the sermon while rambling about in her mind. Whatever it was must have been fairly rousing because an elderly woman a few pews away brushed at gathered tears with a square of linen. A quick look to her right showed Olivia staring at the front, obviously as engrossed in the reverendâs closing as sheâd been in the entire message.

Good job, Emma. Your first time back at church and you donât even pay attention.

Saying a quick, silent prayer of repentance, Emma folded her hands demurely in her lap, ready to listen to the rest even if her mind became so full of other thoughts that it burst. And as was her luck, Emma was in time to hear the closing thoughts and the calls for the congregation to heed the wordsâwhatever they had beenâof the message.

The reverend concluded his closing with a plea for the congregation to remember the Earl of Westin in prayer.

Emmaâs eyes immediately swung to meet the manâs beside herâshe couldnât help the reflex. Was something wrong with Lord Westin? Was he sick? In trouble?

Naturally she was concerned. Who wouldnât be? It didnât mean that she felt anything other than supreme irritation at his presence. Emma was simply concerned, wondering what could be so dire that the earl sat stiff and unyielding beside her.

And why did he look so panicked?

Marcus tried to shutter the emotions running through him before Miss Mercer noticed something amiss. His hands clenched. Every muscle in his body clenched in anticipation. What did Reverend Beresford know? How much did he know, and who had told him? Most important, what was the minister thinking, bringing up his financial difficulties in front of the whole congregation?

It wasnât as though his new âcircumstancesâ wouldnât surface eventually. There were too many wagging tongues in the ton to ever believe heâd be able to keep something as intriguing as a shipwreck and lost fortune quiet. Marcus wanted more time before it came out, however. He wanted certainty, not merely grim speculation or even near certainty.

But Reverend Beresford seemed oblivious to Marcusâs discomfort.

âHis lordship might not appreciate me taking the liberty to discuss this with everyone â¦â

His lordship certainly wouldnât.

ââ¦ but prayer is powerful. And I think we should ask God to give him courage â¦â

And restraint.

ââ¦ to accomplish his task.â

What?

âBeing a voice for societyâs abused and neglected is never easy. Lord Westin needs our prayers that he remain a tireless champion of Godâs work.â

Marcus could have whooped with relief. But embarrassment quickly followed. The eyes of those in the congregation honed in on him. Heâd always tried to avoid any kind of attention for the work he was trying to do in Parliament. Seeking rights for the underprivileged and ignored wasnât a platform for him to build a political career. The earl wasnât fighting for any reason other than to right a wrong.

The stares had almost a tangible weight. Though he noticed the person closest to him was studiously avoiding his gaze. Interesting.

Marcus could honestly say heâd never been so glad to have a preacher begin to pray. At least then everyone should have their eyes closed instead of training them on him. When the congregation was dismissed, Marcus didnât stand right away. He wanted to give the curious folks time to make it out the door.

As though the rest of the family sitting on the pew wished to show their solidarity, neither Olivia, Nick nor even Miss Mercer moved. The four of them watched as others strolled along, chatting with their friends and acquaintances.

âAre you all right?â Miss Mercer leaned over to whisper.

The lovely lady couldnât have surprised Marcus more if sheâd kissed him on the cheek.

Instead of answering, he turned to smile politely at her. âAm I that obvious?â he asked.

âNo,â Miss Mercer rushed to assure him. âI was just watching closely.â

His strained smile shifted into an honest grin. When she realized what sheâd said, Miss Mercerâs face flushed. âThatâs not exactly what I meant,â she said.

âIâm fine, thank you,â Marcus said quietly instead of pressing her on her statement.

âGood,â Miss Mercer said on a sigh. Marcus wasnât sure if that was necessarily a statement about his well-being.

âEmma, look,â Olivia hissed, gesturing in a manner that Marcus supposed his sister considered subtle. âThereâs Baron Chiversâand heâs looking right at you.â

Marcus had heard of the baron. Actually, the man was supposed to be a decent sortâif a bit young still. And Chiversâs mother was actually one of the most giving, generous women Marcus had ever met. Baroness Chivers ran a charity for downtrodden ladies.

Marcus looked casually over in the direction his sister had indicated. Though he hadnât met the baron before, it wasnât difficult to identify him. In fact, it would have been nearly impossible to miss him. He had his motherâs hair, his fatherâs bearing and an absolutely besotted expression on his face as he stared unabashedly at Miss Mercer. The speed with which Chivers took an interest in Miss Mercer bothered him â¦ although Marcus wasnât precisely sure why.

Well, he had an idea of why, but it was better not to think about ridiculously foolish things. It would be absurd to be jealous. Even before the recent stress to his finances, marriage had not been in his plans for several more years, at least. And now, of all times, the burden and expense of a society wife was the last thing he could handle. Besides, he was all wrong for a woman like Emma Mercerâeven his sister, Olivia, had said so, and every ounce of reason and practicality he possessed told him that was for the best.

So why did it feel wrong to think of Miss Mercer becoming the wife of any man in London except him?

Chapter Six

Three days later, it had become widely known that there was an incredibly beautiful, unmarried lady staying with the Marquess and Marchioness of Huntsford. As a result, Marcus found himself having to fight a sea of callers to get in the front door of his sisterâs house.

Not that he was vying to add his name into the sea of potential suitors, of course. Heâd simply wanted to get away from his home and the pile of letters on his desk reminding him of the work he could no longer do, the assistance he could no longer offer. Some time spent with Emâthat is, with Olivia would be the perfect distraction.

âUnusual burst of activity, isnât there, Mathis?â he asked the butler once he was shown inside.

âThanks to Miss Mercer, my lord,â the old man said with a surprising grin.

That stopped Marcus in his tracks. Heâd never seen Mathis smile. Ever.

It was almost enough to make him remain in the foyer and interrogate the servant as to what had truly happened, but the door was opening once again to let in two more ladies, a mother and daughter. Marcus knew them by sight, although not by name. The younger of the two looked like sheâd just swallowed an entire lemon. The mother, on the other hand, looked like sheâd be glad to wipe the sour expression off her daughterâs face so long as no one was around to see her do it.

âI suppose my sister is â¦â he began asking Mathis.

Only to be interrupted with, âIn the yellow parlor, my lord.â

âOf course,â he muttered, hurrying to beat the newest arrivals in there.

But Nick caught him in the hallway before he could make it to the parlor.

âMarcus?â Nick asked in surprise. âI didnât know you were coming by today.â

Why did Marcus feel guilty to be caught by his friend? It wasnât as though he was doing anything wrong. He was paying a call on his sister â¦ and on the woman heâd promised to help find matrimonial happiness.

When Marcus didnât say anything, Nick steered him toward the stairs. âYou donât want to go anywhere near that part of the house. Trust me on that,â he said.

âIs that so?â Marcus asked, hoping that he didnât sound overly interested.

Because he wasnât â¦ overly interested, that was.

âI canât count how many people have been in and out in the last day or two. I think Iâm going to have to send Mathis away to one of my country estates to recuperate for a while,â Nick said with a laugh.

âThat bad?â Marcus asked. His voice was a little more dispassionate than he might have preferred it to be. Because there was an incredibly fine line between sounding too interested and not sounding interested enough. Either way was suspicious. And with someone like Nick, a former spy who thrived on the subtle clues a person unwittingly gave away, Marcus wanted to be certain not to draw any undue attention.

âItâs almost humorous,â Nick said. âI think I understand better how you felt being responsible for Olivia all those years.â

Marcus thought back to having to fend off Oliviaâs more ardent suitors and found that the thought of Miss Mercer receiving similar attention bothered him just as much.

But only in a different sort of way.

âAny offers for her hand?â Marcus asked, only joking in an effort to keep the conversation going while Marcus tried to figure out how much information he could pry for without Nick reporting to Olivia that he was interested.

âOne yesterday,â Nick said without laughing.

âYou jest,â Marcus said, so surprised that he almost stumbled on the steps. âMiss Mercer hasnât even been out to any events in society yet. How would a gentleman know enough about her in only a few days of afternoon calls to want to marry her?â

Nick shrugged. âSheâs very beautiful. The man came calling with his mother yesterday. Apparently, the young buck decided from meeting her that the two of them would suit very well.â

Marcus waited for some punch line â¦ like that the gentleman had been the infamous Viscount Danfield, an errant suitor of Oliviaâs who had loved his mother more than he loved good sense.

Nick didnât immediately confirm or deny, however.

âIt was Danfield, wasnât it?â Marcus said, trying to prompt him to finish the joke.

Nick shook his head. âNo. Baron Chivers.â

A proposal from the baron already? He certainly acted quickly. Too quickly.

Wasnât there some fable or cautionary tale about a man who made up his mind too fast and how he was likely to quickly change it again? If there wasnât one like that, then there should be.

âSo was Chivers heartbroken when you sent him away?â Marcus asked as they finally crossed into Nickâs study. He was striding perilously close to sounding overly concerned. Yet he didnât seem capable of stopping himself.

Nick looked at him, the expression inscrutable. âI didnât send him away.â

It was beyond belief. âYouâre going to let someone court Emma after only speaking to her once?â the earl asked, outrage and indignation lacing his words. All thoughts of discretion were forgotten in the haze of his incredulity.

Nick held out his hands in surrender. âEmma needs a husband â¦ a fact which my wife reminds me of daily â¦ hourly even. What kind of person would I be to turn away someone as kind as Chivers?â

âHeâs an infant,â Marcus countered, immediately incensed by the suggestion that the baron might be a suitable match for Emma.

Nick gave him an odd look. âHeâs only a few years younger than we are,â he said, his expression suggesting that Marcus was acting crazy.

âA few years can make a large difference,â Marcus defended.

Nick didnât dispute that, but he also didnât back down. âEmma can decide for herself if they suit,â he said, much too nonchalantly for Marcusâs liking.

The earl could feel himself getting angry. How would Emma, who had never been a part of societyâs marriage mart, know anything about what would be best for her? That was why she needed Nick and Olivia to intercede for her. But obviously, his sister wasnât going to be any help. Marcus had looked at the names on that list â¦ and he hadnât been overly impressed with any of them. Olivia seemed quite prepared to throw Emma at any gentleman who stood still long enough â¦ except for her own brother, of course.

And now his best friend was also turning out to be a traitor. Stopping Chivers should have been the first thing Nick did. It would have sent a message to the other suitorsâthat any attempts to secure Miss Mercerâs affections were going to be taken seriously and handled with the utmost care and discernment.

Instead, Nick had essentially declared open season for any jackanapes who wanted to try and woo a beautiful woman.

âI actually think Emma will probably get along quite well with Chivers,â the marquess said as though he couldnât bear to leave the subject alone.

Marcus couldnât sit down like Nick invited him to do. He was suddenly filled with so much restless energy he thought unless he could pace back and forth the length of the whole house heâd have a fit.

âYes, youâve made that clear,â Marcus snapped.

Nick didnât acknowledge the abrupt change in tone or the way Marcus looked like he might want to bloody Nickâs nose.

Nick shrugged, the gesture at once careless and calculated. âActually, I believe Chivers is downstairs, without his mother this time. You may want to go see for yourself how they get along since you wonât take my word for it.â

Marcus was halfway across the room by the time Nick finished his thought. And Marcus was on the other side of the door by the end of it. And as such, and since he didnât turn around, he couldnât tell that his friend was trying â¦ rather unsuccessfully, actually, to muffle his laughter.

Emma didnât want to be rude to the guests, but wasnât there somewhere else everybody would rather be? She understood that, at the moment, she was a curiosity, a stranger everyone wanted to inspect for themselves. But she was weary of the constant deluge of people with their endless questionsâ¦.

Are you related to Mr. Albert Mercer, that wealthy recluse from Cornwall? âYes, heâs my uncle.â

How long do you plan to remain in Town? âUntil Iâm needed back home.â

What musical instruments are you accomplished in? âNone. At all.â

Question â¦

After question â¦

After question â¦

And Emma wanted to scream.

That would defeat the purpose of being nice to the eligible young men who came calling, however. Olivia sat in one corner of the room, doing her best to keep the most gossipy of the women away from her â¦ a service for which Emma was inexpressibly grateful. That left only a few of the younger women, who had obviously come to see whether Emma was going to be any serious competition.

The rest were gentlemen, varying in ages and stations in life. There was a viscount, a baron and, if she remembered the introductions correctly, there was also an earl in the mix. It was unusual for such loftily titled men to come calling upon a nobody.

She supposed she could credit the interest in her uncleâs rather bizarre behavior. But for all his elusive and reclusive ways, the size and scope of his assets had always been sufficient to ensure that Mr. Albert Mercer was well respected in society and would, no doubt, have been well received if he could be bothered to venture to Town. No one knew, of course, that Emmaâs father and uncle hadnât spoken since her grandfather passed away. Her uncle, the oldest son, had inherited the Cornwall estate, and Emmaâs father had been given a healthy stipend of money.

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