Miss Bradshaw's Bought Betrothal. Virginia Heath

could tell, by her posture, that she was indignantly proud of herself. The beginnings of a smile nudged at the corners of his mouth.

      Underneath all of that awkward exterior, Miss Bradshaw had some gumption. It was obvious that she was not usually a person who took someone to task. Throughout the whole exchange her voice shook nervously and her neck bloomed with angry red blotches, but she persevered. Once she got started, there had been no stopping her. Most people just tolerated his brusqueness nowadays.

      Poor Finn Matlock. All bitter and twisted. Even his wife could not stand to live with him.

      It was quite refreshing to have been called on it for once. He actually admired her determination to stay at Stanford House just to spite him, although Finn doubted she would be quite so determined once she saw the place.

      He swung himself back on to Horatio and nudged the beast to wander slowly in Miss Bradshaw’s irate footsteps, while he watched her delectable, wet, rounded bottom sway as she stomped purposefully ahead a few yards away, resolutely pretending that he no longer existed at all. He doubted she would be quite so enamoured of the idea of marrying his dissolute brother when she saw his home. The only thing that would make Stanford House habitable would be to raze it to the ground and start again. Once she saw it, she would have to back down and return whence she came, and that actually did make him smile. Would she be all indignant and blotchy or would the squeaky, nervous Miss Bradshaw return? Either way, it would be entertaining to watch. For the first time in a very long time, Finn found himself actually looking forward to something.

       Chapter Four

      Evie had gone to bed feeling very proud of herself and then slept like the dead. The other Matlock, with his cutting words and his brooding, insolent eyes, had brought out a side to her character that she never knew that she possessed. For the first time in her life, she had stood up to someone and it had felt marvellous. He had made it plain that she was unwelcome in his house and she had made it equally as plain that she had no intentions of staying there or of being shipped back to Hyacinth and her malicious daughters. The very last place she would ever want to stay was with another obnoxious and nasty person who underestimated her and undermined her at every opportunity. Not after she had spent ten long years living with Hyacinth, having every ounce of joy and confidence gradually chiselled away until there was nothing left but the doormat she hated.

      Of course she was angry at Fergus. The shoddy behaviour of that vile wastrel was beyond the pale—however, it was not wholly unexpected. Not really. Not when one considered his weak character and intrinsically selfish nature—the two character traits that she had needed him to possess in order for her escape plan to work. She had not expected him to stay long in Yorkshire and in all honesty would have been glad to see the back of him had it not been for the fact that he had left her in the lurch as an unexpected and unwelcome guest of his brother.

      But she had not anticipated that he would bolt within a few hours of her handing over the first instalment of his payment. Fortunately, she had had the good sense not to give him the entire five thousand pounds in one go—the rest of the money was safely stored in a locked box amongst her small things in her trunk—although he had become quite unreasonable when she had explained this to him. In fact, just before he had left for the inn he had thrown quite a tantrum, but Evie had held firm. Two staggering examples of new-found assertiveness in less than twenty-four hours! Who’d have thought it? But one thing that she had learned from her stern father, and his many years of business, was that you never paid up front for goods or services you had not yet received. While Fergus might well have delivered her to the north, he still had to uphold the rest of their bargain. That meant, from time to time, he had to play the role of her fiancé for as long as she deemed it necessary.

      His curt letter had given her an address where she could reach him in York as well as a reassurance that he would go nowhere near London until Evie was satisfied that he could return without raising too much suspicion about their engagement. He made no apology for disappearing nor for failing to appraise her of the fact that he had left her at the wrong house, but he had been adamant that ‘good old Finn’ would look after her in his stead until he returned, which just went to show how little Fergus actually knew about anything.

      ‘Good old Finn’ could not wait to see the back of her and that feeling was quite mutual. The man was viler than his brother, but for completely different reasons. The fact that Fergus had apparently declined to tell his own brother the truth about their situation had given her pause and stopped her from sharing the contents of the letter. If Fergus did not wish his brother to know about their arrangement, there was probably a very good reason. It was obvious his twin was no fool, nor did he strike her as the type to suffer fools like Evie gladly. She sincerely doubted such an outspoken man would have a great deal of sympathy for her inability to stand up for herself in her own house. Selfishly, Evie had kept quiet because she had feared that she would be cast out on her ear if ‘good old Finn’ realised that the engagement was a sham and it was obvious he had little time for his wastrel brother.

      He had said that he and Fergus were as different as chalk and cheese. Now that she had some experience of both of them that really was a very apt description. Like chalk, Fergus Matlock was weak and slowly eroding away, while Finnegan definitely left a sour taste in the mouth, just like rancid cheese. What gave him the right to say such hurtful things to her anyway?

      ‘You do not look like a woman who could survive on one piece of toast...’

      ‘Scraping the matrimonial barrel...’

      ‘Your precious virtue is perfectly safe with me.’

      All she had spent was a few scant minutes in his company and already she wanted to kick him. He made her so nervous. During each of their brief, tense exchanges, her heart had positively hammered against her ribs and her mouth had filled with cotton wool. His twin did not have that effect on her. With Fergus, Evie felt in control. But then she held all of the cards. He was a means to an end and theirs was a business transaction. While Finnegan looked almost exactly like Fergus, she certainly did not react to his presence in the same way. The man was so vexing and disagreeable. And unfortunately, he possessed all of the intelligence that Fergus lacked. She got the distinct impression that those mesmerising dark eyes saw right through her and her veil of lies. Under those circumstances, it was actually a good thing that he wanted her out of his house.

      This morning, Evie intended to move into Stanford House whether there were servants there or not. As if living in less than luxury would bother her! She who had slept for more hours than she cared to remember in a chair at an invalid’s bedside, doing all of those intensely personal and demeaning tasks that one did in a sickroom in order to spare her parents the indignity of being attended to by a servant. No, indeed, she would happily attend to both her own and Aunt Winnie’s needs for as long as it took to find some staff and she would even enjoy it. For too many years Evie had dreamed of escaping the shackles of her old life and, now that she had, she was damned if she was going to let either one of the Matlock twins spoil it for her. Especially not the one who wore his breeches better, or who had floppy dark hair and soulful, insightful, mesmerising, dark eyes.

      To that end, she was already up and dressed and it was barely past dawn. The first thing she was going to do was take herself to Stanford House and prepare a couple of bedchambers for herself and Aunt Winnie. Once that was done, later this morning she would oversee the removal of their luggage from Lord Finnegan’s fine house and would never darken the man’s door again.

      Charity!

      Hah! He could go to hell.

      Feeling empowered and invincible, Evie stomped downstairs in her most sensible gown and walking boots.

      ‘Good morning Miss Bradshaw! Are you looking forward to your move?’

      He was leaning against the doorframe of the breakfast room with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. Smiling. As Evie had never seen him smile, she was not fully prepared for the effect it would have on her. Those dark eyes were dancing with mischief, one of them slightly hidden behind a lock of hair that her fingers wanted to push back,