Miss Bradshaw's Bought Betrothal. Virginia Heath

stance made him seem bigger. ‘Why ever not?’

      Unsure of how to explain why his presence was outrageous, she managed to stutter something incoherent while he glared at her as if she was mad. In the end the best she could manage was one word.

      ‘Because!’

      ‘Because what? Are you afraid that at some point during the night my manly urges might get the better of me? Do you fear that I might hammer down your door and ravish you, Miss Bradshaw?’ Evie nodded weakly, painfully aware of the ferocious blush that had now swamped her face and chest. To her complete mortification he laughed bitterly at the implication. ‘If I was a man prone to being unable to control his urges, madam, I doubt I would wait until later to act on them. Especially since the firelight is doing a wonderful job of turning your nightdress transparent and giving me a perfectly unencumbered view of your naked body beneath.’ Automatically, she used her arms to cover herself and her mouth hung slack in shock. He, on the other hand, regarded her with polite indifference.

      ‘I am dead on my feet and I have absolutely no intention of leaving my house now or at any time in the future. Goodnight Miss Bradshaw. Don’t bother locking your door. Your precious virtue is perfectly safe with me.’

      * * *

      ‘As he is not your fiancé, is already married and there are plenty of servants here as well as me, I do not think that there is any danger of your stay here being misconstrued as improper. In fact, it rather legitimises you staying here in the first place.’ Aunt Winnie nibbled on the tiny triangle of toast that she had procured from the extensive breakfast buffet laid out on the sideboard. Evie stared down at her matching toast mournfully and tried to ignore the tempting aroma of bacon wafting towards her nose.

      ‘That is as maybe, but now I am gravely concerned that Fergus has lied to me. His brother stated that Stanford House was uninhabitable and I have no intention of staying here for the duration.’ Although the house was quite lovely, she had hoped that she would be all alone. Being a guest rather put a dampener on things, especially as their unexpected host appeared to be quite rude. Seeking alternative accommodation that quickly was not something that she had planned for, not that she really had a plan.

      ‘We will make the best of it my dear. And think about it this way—if he has been fibbing it gives you another believable reason to call off your engagement when the time comes.’

      Aunt Winnie did make a valid point, she supposed. Her sham betrothal to Fergus was only a temporary means to an end. She got her freedom and he got five thousand pounds for the year she anticipated they would need to maintain their charade. The important thing was Fergus had agreed to those terms. In the grand scheme of things, she would have still made the bargain if she had known that his house was uninhabitable—only she would have instructed her attorney to find a suitable cottage for herself and Aunt Winnie immediately before announcing her engagement to Hyacinth. In many ways, if Stanford House was a complete wreck, then it stood to reason that it would take ages before it was in a fit state to hold a wedding. Evie could delay telling Hyacinth the truth for years—pathetic coward that she was.

      You see, Stepmother, I loathe my life with you almost as much as I loathe you. You are a mean, money-grabbing bully and I am tired of being your victim and of being Invisible Evelyn. Pitied, shapeless, plain and dull Invisible Evelyn. I feel as though I am dying inside.

      No matter how many times Evie had thought a version of those words they had never seemed quite right so she had bitten them back. Hyacinth was her father’s second wife. He had loved her, perhaps, and he had made Evie promise to be a good daughter to her. Unfortunately, if he had made a similar request to Hyacinth, her stepmother did not feel duty-bound to honour it. This separation would give her the distance she needed to pluck up the courage to say them. Probably by letter. Almost definitely by letter. One day...

      Out in the hallway, she heard the distinctive sound of a male voice and steeled herself to greet her fake fiancé’s rude twin brother. Under the circumstances, she had no choice but to rely on his hospitality until she had sorted out the mess, if the gentleman in question was prepared to extend his hospitality that was. Last night he appeared to be as enamoured of Fergus as she was, which was a worry and made her new situation precarious.

      He strode into the room looking just as dark and foreboding as he had last night and regarded his uninvited guests with an air of disgusted resignation. ‘Good morning, ladies. Miss Bradshaw.’ His eyes flicked from her face to her plain green frock and then back again shamelessly, making no attempt to disguise his disappointment with what he saw. Evie felt the blush creep up her neck and suffuse her face as she recalled his ridiculous claim to have seen through her nightgown and wondered if his disappointment was merely because she was intruding on his privacy or because he really did know what lay beneath the yards and yards of silk. He inclined his head towards Aunt Winnie and took her proffered hand. ‘I am Finnegan Matlock, Fergus’s brother. I have not yet had the pleasure of your acquaintance.’

      ‘This is my Great-Aunt Winifred. She has accompanied me as my chaperon.’ Even as she said it Evie could see the disbelief in his dark eyes. He was probably wondering what use an eighty-nine-year-old woman with a walking stick was as a chaperon, but then again, as Evie was highly unlikely to ever need the true services of a chaperon to protect her virtue, she tried not to be offended. Aunt Winnie was her only living blood relative and, despite the innate difficulties of transporting an octogenarian with rheumatism across the entire length of the country, Evie could have hardly left the poor woman alone with Hyacinth. Even though Winnie always gave as good as she got.

      ‘Welcome to Matlock House, madam.’

      ‘You are better looking than your brother, sir.’

      One eyebrow quirked with what she assumed was amusement at Aunt Winnie’s forthrightness, although he did not smile. ‘As we are identical twins, madam, I find that highly unlikely.’

      Aunt Winnie would not be swayed. ‘Yes, yes. I see the similarities well enough, young man. I am old, not blind. But there are distinct differences. I have always thought your brother looks untrustworthy. His eyes dart around too much when he talks. Yours are steady. And you wear your breeches better. Do you like to ride, Lord Finnegan?’

      Evie’s level of mortification ratcheted up a notch and she gave Fergus’s brother an apologetic smile. ‘Aunt Winifred is very outspoken.’ Her plain face was very probably glowing scarlet and that was a colour that had never suited her. Typically, like most people, he ignored her.

      ‘Yes, I do ride. Aunt Winifred—would you care to take a gallop over the fields with me?’ Although his face remained impassive his eyes appeared to be smiling. He definitely had better eyes than Fergus. Clearer. Not bloodshot. A little intriguing. The old lady giggled and swatted him with her hand.

      ‘And you are more charming than your brother. Talking of which, where is Fergus?’

      ‘As it is still morning and I dare say he has enjoyed his evening at the inn, unless he has changed his ways in the three years since I last saw him, I assume that he is still asleep. He never was one for daylight.’

      Three years? That seemed an excessively long time for any siblings to have not visited one another, let alone twins. ‘I take it that you and Fergus are not close, Lord Finnegan?’

      He answered with his back to her, more intent on loading his plate with the delicious steaming bacon than being polite to Evie. ‘To be honest, Miss Bradshaw, we are virtual strangers. Even as children we had vastly different characters. The only thing we have in common is the same face and the fact that we once shared the same womb.’ He balanced a piece of toast on top of his mountainous breakfast and carried it back towards the table. ‘Our parents often commented that we were as different as chalk and cheese.’

      Which probably accounted for the fact that Fergus had never mentioned that he was one of twins. Finn ate his breakfast heartily, but suddenly paused his fork halfway to his mouth as he noticed Evie’s slice of toast. ‘Are you not eating?’

      The familiar lie spilled out. ‘I am not particularly hungry.’ In fact, she was starving. She spent a great deal of her