A Scoundrel By Moonlight. Anna Campbell

      “Isn’t it?” he said gloomily, wandering to the dressing table and picking up a delicate Meissen shepherdess. The simpering expression mocked his pretensions to taking on his brilliant father’s mantle.

      “I’ll see more of you.”

      He sighed and replaced the figurine. “Yes, and my tenants will be pleased I’m home.”

      “There’s no substitute for the lord of the manor.”

      “Perhaps not,” Leath said shortly. “But I can’t angle for influence in London and be here at the same time.”

      “No,” Lady Leath said without offense. “But a period of reflection won’t go astray. It’s time you thought about a bride.”

      Startled, he bumped the crowded dressing table, setting the china figures and glass bottles rattling. “What?”

      His mother regarded him patiently. “Don’t pretend it’s an outlandish suggestion, James. You need an heir. Right now, you need more than an heir; you need allies. If this mess hasn’t taught you that a man can’t stand alone in politics, nothing will.”

      “With the stink surrounding the family name, who would have me?”

      “Don’t be a fool. You’re the Marquess of Leath. Anyone with a scrap of acumen knows that you’ll return stronger than ever.”

      “So nice that my private requirements count in this decision,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

      His mother didn’t smile. “You’re not an amorous shepherd in a poem, James, free to bestow his heart and hand where he likes. Fairbrothers marry for advantage, not because they fancy a pretty pair of blue eyes.”

      “You loved my father.”

      Her face softened. “I did. But even if I didn’t, I’d have married him.”

      Leath struggled to contain his surprise. And disappointment. He’d always thought his parents had married because they were soul mates. Yet it seemed that they’d married for the same cold-blooded reasons as most other aristocrats.

      “My wife and I will enjoy a mutual regard.” He must marry to continue the line—and a woman from an influential family was the obvious choice. While he mightn’t pant after neck-or-nothing passion, nor could he be completely pragmatic about his choice. He was a man before he was a politician, however ambitious he might be.

      This time his mother smiled. “Of course, that would be ideal.”

      Ideal but not essential, he noted. His mother continued, “What about Marianne Seaton? She behaved perfectly when Sedgemoor got entangled with that dreadful Thorne woman. You might balk at Camden Rothermere’s leavings, but her father would make a valuable friend.”

      Poor Lady Marianne, jilted when the Duke of Sedgemoor fell in love with the notorious daughter of a scandalous family. A love match that had only caused trouble. Just as Sophie’s love match had. Still some hitherto unsuspected part of Leath’s soul revolted at the idea of marrying without affection.

      “Mamma, I can choose my own bride,” he protested, even as he pictured lovely, sedate Marianne Seaton in the Fairbrother sapphires. They’d match her eyes. Which seemed a dashed stupid reason for proposing to a chit.

      “What about Desborough’s sister? An engagement would heal the rift between you. Honestly, I could box Sophie’s ears for ruining that match.”

      A chill slithered down Leath’s spine. “Lady Jane is forty-five if she’s a day, not to mention a dedicated spinster.”

      His mother sighed. “Pity she’s too old to bear children.” She paused and Leath hoped the discussion was over. A hope quickly shattered. “If only Lydia Rothermere hadn’t married that penniless libertine. She was a marvelous hostess, and a Rothermere match would silence talk of a feud.”

      “God made a mistake when he created you female, Mamma,” he said drily. “You’d make a capital prime minister.”

      She laughed and dismissed his comment with a wave, although it was true. “I’m a mere woman, James.”

      He smiled, hoping that she’d stopped listing possible marchionesses. “And clever as a fox.”

      “You flatter me, darling.” Briefly he saw the beautiful girl who nearly forty years ago had captivated the brilliant marquess with the glittering political future. Fate had played his parents some cruel cards.

      “Not at all.” He sank into one of the frail chairs near the blazing hearth. The chair creaked beneath his weight. He was a large man and the furnishings in his mother’s apartments were decidedly dainty. “Let me establish my credentials as a respectable landholder before we plot my walk down the aisle.”

      “You’ve always been a solid, reliable, thoughtful gentleman. People will eventually remember that. You’ll be back in London before you know it.”

      He smiled, while his vanity bucked at the description. What a dull dog he sounded. “Ever the optimist, Mamma.”

      “I have every faith in you.”

      Sometimes he wished she didn’t. Each step of his life, he’d carried the weight of his father’s unfulfilled promise and of his invalid mother’s hopes. No wonder he’d never kicked over the traces like his less burdened colleagues.

      Now he faced a solid, reliable marriage. The prospect was depressing. “I thought to find you all cast down with your own company,” he said. “You’re in better spirits than I expected.”

      “I was lonely at first. There’s no denying it.”

      “So what’s happened?”

      She looked almost mischievous. “Aha, I must reveal my secret.”

      Whatever she was up to, he was in favor if it lent her this spark. “Do tell.”

      She rang the bell on the side table. The door to the dressing room opened and a neat, fair-haired young woman entered, head lowered and hands linked decorously at her waist.

      Leath’s gut tightened with a premonition that the alignment of his planets changed forever. Of course, the girl was the mysterious Miss Trim who had kept him restless and intrigued past dawn.

Chapter 3

      “My lady?” The girl’s curtsy conveyed considerably more respect than she’d granted him a few hours ago, Leath was piqued to note.

      “Nell, let me show you off to my son.” The fondness in his mother’s voice troubled him, although only moments ago, he’d been grateful for whatever had brought about this positive change in her. His mother turned to him as if she presented a huge treat. “James, Miss Trim is my companion.”

      The girl poised in the doorway. She wore the same plain gray gown and her hair was still wrenched back. She looked biddable and competent. Why, then, was he so convinced that she was up to no good?

      During his sleepless hours, he’d wondered if his imagination exaggerated her attractions. Daylight didn’t lessen her physical impact. There was nothing flashy about Miss Trim, nothing vulgar. The purity of her features struck him even more strongly now than in candlelight. And that miracle of a mouth still made his skin itch with unwilling sexual response.

      “Good morning, Miss Trim,” he said calmly.

      Her gaze shot up to meet his. With a satisfaction completely out of kilter with the fact, he noticed that her eyes were a coppery brown, striking against her pale hair. “Welcome home, my lord.”

      “Thank you.”

      What the devil was she playing at, calling herself a housemaid? What the devil had she been playing at in his