A Hasty Betrothal. Jessica Nelson

about her? Perhaps a man out for revenge? A man who had discovered a way to put his greedy hands on her money?

      Wrottesley.

      She shuddered. Had he succeeded in ruining her?

       Chapter Three

      Wrottesley was not home.

      Annoyed beyond reason, Miles rode back to his house with the urge to box the cad itching his knuckles. When he arrived home, he saw John’s carriage.

      He had barely gotten in the door when John appeared in his hall. “I suppose you’ve heard the news?”

      Miles handed his coat to his valet. “News?”

      “Regarding Elizabeth.” Her brother pivoted, disappearing into Miles’s study.

      Biting back exasperation, he followed John. This was not how he’d intended his morning to go. He hadn’t intended to tell John of Wrottesley’s perfidy against Bitt either, but since he was here, perhaps he already knew.

      Did he want Miles’s assistance? He rubbed his palms together, anticipating the moment Wrottesley learned the consequences of assaulting Elizabeth. He entered the study. As he made his way inside, his mahogany desk greeted him like an old friend, staid and reliable in the familiar room. He’d inherited this office from his late father. Sighing, he sank into the plush chair accompanying the desk.

      John watched him steadily from his own perch on a less comfortable chaise at the side of the room.

      “What’s this about Bitt?”

      His old friend leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Expression serious. “She has been compromised. But I suppose you know that already.”

      Miles felt his brows lift. “She has been in London only a month. What happened?” His mind raced. Last night, the cut direct he’d received, Elizabeth’s disheveled state...still, that should not be enough to get tongues wagging so quickly.

      Unless someone started the gossip. Someone intent on making her look bad.

      “It’s in all the papers. Not her name, specifically, but it might only take a few days for the ton to realize who this heiress is, and once that happens, she will be ruined. She was seen in the company of a factory owner.” John’s mouth tightened. “You were at that ball last night.”

      “What are you saying?” Miles asked flatly. But he knew. How foolish he had been.

      “No one knows that I am whatever man was described in the papers. And you say her name is not mentioned? There is no reason for you to be here, John. You’re distraught. Give it a day or so. The gossip will die down.” Though they had been good friends since childhood, they rarely saw each other now that John stayed busy with his estates and his work with the House of Lords.

      “I am here to demand honor for my sister.”

      “You believe I dishonored her?” Miles straightened in his seat. Shock curled through him. “I would never treat her in such a way.”

      “No, you wouldn’t.” John’s laugh was dry. “But according to that article, the ton believes you have.”

      “My name is not mentioned. I fail to understand how Elizabeth’s predicament is my concern.” And yet, even as Miles spoke, he realized that he did indeed see the part he had played. For if she really was on the verge of ruination, then his actions last night had partially caused the problem. He should have insisted she straighten herself. Or perhaps he should have returned to the ballroom by a different way.

      It had been so long since he’d attended a ball or paid any attention to society’s strictures. Not since Anastasia...and he would not have gone last night if it were not for the personal invitation.

      John dragged in a deep sigh. “I have come to insist you marry Elizabeth, should the need arise.”

      Panic, sharp and visceral, sliced through Miles.

      “Politics have turned you daft,” he said in a casual tone, hiding the terror rushing through him. He knew he owed John a great deal. He had been a bastion of support for Miles years ago when Anastasia died. As the powerful son of an earl, John had made sure the circumstances of Anastasia’s death were kept quiet and out of the gossip rags.

      But he could never marry again. He simply could not.

      “I know that your marriage was less than ideal,” John continued. “I would not demand this of you if I did not think it necessary.” He shoved a hand through hair a shade lighter than Bitt’s. “There is a chance the gossip shall pass. I have not spoken to my sister as of yet, but from what I’ve garnered, there is little to support the accusations.”

      “Speak to Elizabeth. It could be that she will happily retire to Windermar with the dowager duchess.”

      “Grandmother left for her estate this morning. She doesn’t stay in London long. I can’t imagine the uproar that would occur if she heard of this. Things are not so simple as you imply. There are other factors to consider.”

      “Your reputation?” he asked drily.

      “Yes, my reputation.” John narrowed his eyes. “I’ve worked hard for the latest bills that have passed the House. There is so much to accomplish and something like this...well, it tarnishes credibility. My parents come from a pristine lineage. Impeccable bloodlines. This is something that would drag our name through the muck for years to come.”

      Miles studied his friend. He cared little for reputations or the idle gossip of the ton, but would Elizabeth be able to live with disparaging her family? Would they ever let her forget what her lapse in judgment had caused?

      Not that he truly blamed her for her nighttime excursion. Wrottesley was the culprit, and the urge to soundly thrash him still ran through Miles. Revealing how Elizabeth left the ballroom and went outside alone would be indiscreet, though. And what would it accomplish to tell the full story? Then John would demand honor from Wrottesley, and Miles absolutely would never allow her to be joined to such a man.

      He owed John, though. His friend had shielded Miles and Anastasia’s family from gossip. He had used his influence to hide the truth of Anastasia’s death. Miles swallowed hard, hating what was to come, and yet knowing it to be necessary.

      Mouth dry, he said, “I shall speak to Elizabeth. I make no promises.”

      John left quickly after that. Miles called for his rig. The sooner he spoke to her, the sooner he could rid himself of this terrible sense of duty.

      Marriage.

      The very word turned him squeamish.

      He was shown into the Dunlops’ residence with little fanfare. He found Elizabeth in the library, surveying a shelf of books. He acknowledged that her lustrous hair and unique eye color were not so difficult to gaze upon. Her lips were delicately shaped and rosebud pink. John’s demand echoed in his mind.

      Miles enjoyed Bitt’s company. Felt a measure of affection for her.

      Perhaps a marriage of convenience was not so preposterous, after all.

      But he greatly hoped she rejected the notion. For all he knew, she had an admirer in the wings, waiting to rescue her.

      “Good morning, Bitt.”

      She heaved a sigh much too big for her tiny frame. “Miles Hawthorne. You are up early today.”

      “I went to take care of Wrottesley.”

      “And?” She turned to him, eyes questioning, wary.

      “He was not home.” He cleared his throat. “Another matter has been brought to my attention.”

      “I daresay it has to do with this morning’s gossip?”

      “John came to see me.”