The Secrets Of Lord Lynford. Bronwyn Scott

and open-necked shirt had hidden nothing. He’d been in utter, unmistakable déshabillé, yet he’d not once apologised for his appearance or attempted to cover it up. The primal woman in her, so rarely unleashed, had rattled the bars of her cage, thrilling at the masculinity on show, a reminder that she wasn’t dead after all. It was an uncomfortable revelation.

      Eliza closed her eyes. It had been so long since she’d felt anything akin to desire, or its milder counterpart, attraction. What a shock to discover it after five years of sexless living where she didn’t dare act either too much of a man or too much like a woman for fear she would be ridiculed for overstepping herself or taken advantage of for being herself. But what a most inopportune time for that discovery. She would have preferred Lynford to be a man nearing middle age, bearing a paunch at his stomach and silver at his temples with a conservative, tired air about him. She knew how to manage those men.

      Her husband had been such a man, thirty-seven years older than she when they wed. Those men populated the Blaxland Mining Corporation board of shareholders, but Lynford exuded alertness, energy, a fresh boldness. He thought himself infallible and perhaps rightly so. He was a duke’s son. He was used to asserting himself, used to ordering the world according to his desire. He was not a businessman, a man like her husband had been, who limited the scope of his world to balance sheets. And Lynford, unlike her husband, was most definitely in his prime.

      She had no such experience with a man like that: a man who looked at women and openly admired their beauty, a man who didn’t patronise, a man who matched her directness with his own. Nor could she allow herself to acquire such an experience.

      The one flicker of attraction she’d felt today had been nice in its own way, a reminder that she was more than a moneymaking automaton, but she could not fan it into anything resembling a flame. She had a daughter to raise and mines to run, her husband’s legacy to preserve so that her daughter would never know want and penury as she had simply because she’d been born female. Such pursuits did not leave room for passion. Such a task required that she walk a tightrope. One false step and all she’d worked for and all she envisioned for the future could be so easily lost.

      Neither did such a pursuit serve her as a patron for the school. She hoped by donating generously to his school, in return, Lynford would support her bid for establishing schools for children in the villages up and down the coast wherever there was a Blaxland mine. To mix business with fleeting pleasure could jeopardise that connection.

      Hence the reason for her visit today—to see if Lynford was worth the investment. Could he get the job done, or was he another lazy dilettante? She wanted to see that everything was well in hand for the opening reception. She would do her part to make sure the conservatory succeeded. Her own plans depended on it, as did keeping her own reputation intact. The trust of her shareholders was essential now as the Porth Karrek mine prepared for expansion. She’d learned early on after taking the reins of her husband’s business that one could never have too many friends, but a woman could have too many lovers—even just a single lover was often one lover too many. A misguided affair at this juncture could cost her everything, just as it had her mother, a widow left with a daughter and a fortune and no sense about how to manage the latter.

      The outcome had been obvious: her mother and her money had been soon parted thanks to an affair that had blinded her to the incompetence of her lover. Eliza had been fourteen when that had happened and she’d vowed she would never put her heart above money. Nor would she put herself in a position where money wasn’t readily available. She’d set out the next day to learn all she could about managing funds, starting with the bookkeeper for the family’s mine. Knowledge was power. She believed that education could keep the wolf from the door and it could buy her independence so that she needn’t rely singularly on a marriage to save her. There were too many women like her mother who hadn’t a clue how to manage their own freedom, who needed men. Eliza was determined to avoid her mother’s mistakes. This time, for this woman, Eliza vowed it would be different. She was far too astute to fall prey to the charms of a handsome lord.

       Two days later, the Academy Open House

      This time, it would be different. Eliza entered the conservatory’s drawing room with that mantra firmly entrenched in her mind. Tonight, she would be ready for the oh-so-attractive Eaton Falmage. His good looks and confident manner would not catch her by surprise. She knew what to expect now and this time they wouldn’t be alone—a point emphasised as soon as she arrived. The room was practically a crush and a very well-dressed one at that, with men in dark evening clothes and women in silks populating every corner of the grand salon. It was a far more robust turnout for the academy’s opening than she’d anticipated. This was no mere gathering of a board of directors and a few patrons. But then, perhaps the outstanding attendance stood to reason. When a duke’s heir gave a party, everyone wanted an invitation.

      Eliza unfurled her fan and began to stroll about the room, looking purposeful. No one need pity her aloneness. She’d made an art of it. Over the years, she’d become accustomed to attending events on her own and others had become accustomed to it, too. She arrived alone, she left alone. She’d learned not to be afraid of her own company. She actually rather enjoyed it. There was no conversation to worry over, no egos to flatter or polite compliments to muster. She could survey her surroundings at leisure, study her options and make her own choices as to how she spent her time and who she spent it with. At the moment she wanted to spend that time with Lynford. Congratulations were in order. A private smile skimmed her lips in satisfaction as she assessed her surroundings. Lynford had succeeded against what had looked like overwhelming odds. One would never guess that two days ago the place had been in varying states of chaos.

      Eliza scanned the room, her gaze glancing over the masculine decor done to perfection in shades of muted teal and beige against a backdrop of walnut panelling and chair rail that ran the perimeter, interrupted only by a bank of French doors opening to the gardens beyond where paper lanterns winked. She made a mental note of the gardens—those gardens might provide a convenient escape from the crowd should she need it.

      Her gaze hurried on, still seeking as it brushed over the multi-armed brass chandelier at the ceiling, the coveted Sébastien Érard, lid raised, at the front of the room—neither item enough to halt her rampant gaze. These were not the things she was looking for. She’d nearly completed her visual circuit of the room when she found him at last, standing at the fireplace, just feet from the Sébastien Érard. It was time to test her hypothesis.

      The fan in her hand halted its oscillation, her mind flooding with a certain sense of satisfaction. He was what she’d been looking for. Lynford stood in profile, talking with a group of men, all dressed alike in dark evening clothes, yet he was no more like them than the sun was like the moon. She knew instantly her mantra was wrong. This time was not going to be different after all, unless one counted the fact that Lynford was fully clothed. He was no less handsome for the more formal attire. Eliza began to ply her fan in earnest.

      His dark, tangled curls were tamed tonight, carefully styled into compliance, perhaps painstakingly so given the extent of their unruliness the other day. His jaw was smooth-shaven, setting off the strong planes of his face, the wide, almost simian flare of his nose, the broad, high sweep of his cheekbones beneath his dark eyes; in his face, the elegant classical construction was unabashedly at war with the harsh masculinity of his primeval ancestors. In evening clothes, the result was devastating. He stood out, a powerful stallion among the herd, a man born to lead no matter what his age.

      Tonight, authority’s mantle sat comfortably on his broad shoulders, not an ounce of that breadth fabricated, even if the rest of his body gave the impression of wanting to be out of doors tramping the moors and cliffs of Porth Karrek. His was not an indoor physique. Not that she should be assessing such things. Her attendance at the conservatory’s opening reception tonight was all business and business did not mix with pleasure. Ever. Hadn’t her experience with Miles Detford taught her that much? She had too much to keep her busy between the mines and the school. She could not allow herself to be distracted with useless speculation about the Marquess of Lynford. She certainly could not allow herself to be caught staring. He might