The Courtesan's Courtship. Gail Ranstrom

“You cannot be serious!”

      “Completely,” he confirmed, surprising even himself. “I have a home in the West End that is presently unoccupied. There is only a small staff, but I could hire more if needed.”

      “But you—”

      “I prefer my house in Covent Garden. We would not be sharing the same quarters. My housekeeper would vouch for your…ah, reputation, until I can find a more suitable chaperone for you.”

      “I do not like owing you, Lord Morgan.”

      “I do not like owing your cousin, Miss Lovejoy, but things are what they are. Your present circumstances place you in a position to benefit from the debt I owe him, although I rather think he will owe me after this. It is a simple proposition and will not require you to be courteous to me—or even speak with me, which would be preferable, given your general lack of civility. I’d advise you to take the offer before I think better of it.”

      She blinked those gorgeous blue eyes and gave him a slightly confused look. A moment passed while she seemed to consider her options. Or lack of them. He offered his hand.

      Hesitantly, she took it. Her hand was warm and strong, and it looked insignificant resting in his palm. He grinned. Miss Lovejoy made it clear how much she detested him and any necessity of dealing with him. She was a bit of a snob and considered him socially beneath her. Only his title had kept him near her social circle. Still, she had no reasonable alternative, and they both knew it.

      She stood. “This…this is one of the most remarkable mésalliances I have ever heard of, Lord Morgan.”

      “I could not agree more, Miss Lovejoy, but do not mistake this for an alliance of any sort. I am repaying a debt, and with very little inconvenience to myself.” He picked up her valise. “This, in fact, may be the last time we are required to speak to one another.”

      A home on the West End? This was a mansion! On Curzon Street just around the corner from Half Moon Street, it boasted one of the best Mayfair addresses. Berkeley Square was a stone’s throw away and Green Park just a fraction farther. Heavens! It must have cost Lord Morgan an entire fortune—if he hadn’t won the place from some poor unwary gambler!

      He opened the front door, entered unannounced, and dropped her valise with a sharp slap on the polished marble floor. The central hall, as large as a chapel, contained two curved staircases that met at the second floor landing. The doors to the right and left of the foyer were taller than any she’d seen outside a palace or a church. A balding servant scurried from a hidden hallway behind the stairs at the first sounds of Lord Morgan’s entry.

      “My lord! We did not expect you this evening.” The man—a butler, Dianthe assumed—bowed and darted a glance in her direction. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

      “I haven’t decided, Pemberton. I’ve brought Miss Lovejoy to stay with you. She’s, ah, just come to town and neglected to secure a room in advance. I assume you will not have trouble accommodating her?”

      “No, my lord.”

      Pemberton turned to her and bowed deeply from his waist. He must think her someone of importance. She smiled and nodded as regally as she could manage, given her state of surprise.

      Lord Morgan moved behind her, lifted her spencer from her shoulders and held it while she freed her arms of the sleeves. He handed the wrap to Pemberton and indicated one of the tall doors with a sweep of his hand. “I believe Miss Lovejoy would like a cup of tea, Pemberton. Could you ask Mrs. Mason to bring it to the library, please?”

      “As you wish, my lord.” Pemberton bowed and hurried back down the hallway.

      Following the sweep of her host’s hand, Dianthe went toward the room she assumed to be the library. When he opened the door, she stopped short. A bank of windows directly across the room admitted the last pinkish rays of the sun, sparkling through the crystal glasses and decanters on a long sideboard. Large, and with a high ceiling, the room contained three walls of bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes of varying sizes and thicknesses. A massive polished desk took up most of one corner. A grouping of leather club chairs before a fireplace, unlit in the summer heat, was on the opposite side of the room. Lush Turkish carpets in red, gold and deep brown tones muffled their footsteps as they went forward.

      Lord Morgan indicated the chairs with another sweep of his hand. A tea cart to one side and a low table in the center of the grouping waited to hold refreshments. “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Lovejoy. Tea will be along presently.”

      She ignored him and turned to look at the titles of some of the books, running her finger along the spines.

      “Are you a reader, Miss Lovejoy?” he asked.

      She glanced at him. He was pouring a draft of deep amber liquid into a crystal glass. As she watched, he replaced a stopper and lifted the glass to his lips. With the sun behind him and the grace of his movements made so obvious by the light, she suddenly realized he could very easily be a charming man if he chose.

      “Not as much as I’d like to be,” she admitted, turning back to the books. “I haven’t had much time until just recently.”

      She heard the soft pad of his footsteps on the carpet as he came toward her. She could feel the heat of his body behind her when he reached over her shoulder, ran his index finger along the row of books until he found what he was looking for, and pulled the volume from the shelf.

      “Since you will have time while you await your cousin’s return from the Continent, may I recommend this one? You may actually learn something from it.”

      She took the slender volume from his hand and read the gold embossed title: The Taming of the Shrew, by William Shakespeare. Anger bubbled upward. She turned to find Lord Morgan mere inches away, blocking her path. Narrowing her eyes, she recalled that scarcely seconds ago she had been thinking he had a rough sort of charm! She would have to guard herself against such ridiculous notions in the future.

      “Stand aside please,” she said in a cold voice.

      He made no move to do so. Her temper snapped and she lifted her hands to push him away. He caught them and held them to his broad chest as he turned around with her, giving her the freedom she sought. She could have sworn a smile played at the corners of his mouth, and that infuriated her further.

      A soft knock at the door drew her attention away from the insufferable lord. He released her hands and stepped back.

      “Come in, Pemberton,” he called.

      Clutching the volume she’d been tempted to throw at him, Dianthe went to the circle of chairs near the fireplace. Pemberton brought a silver tray laden with a tea service and plates of little sandwiches and sweets. Her stomach growled again and her mouth watered. Food! At least she would not starve.

      “Mrs. Mason has instructed the staff to ready the blue room for Miss Lovejoy, my lord, and Sally is unpacking her valise. Cook is preparing partridge and vegetables for dinner.”

      “I won’t be staying, after all,” Lord Morgan said with a glance in Dianthe’s direction. “Business requires my attention.”

      “As you wish, my lord.” With a bow, the butler left and closed the library doors behind him.

      “Help yourself,” Morgan told her with a wave at the tea service.

      Oh, how she wished she could turn her nose up, but she was famished. She hadn’t eaten since leaving the ladies at Lady Annica’s earlier. She poured herself a cup of tea and, with a pair of silver tongs, placed a watercress sandwich on a fine china plate. When she glanced up from her task, Morgan was watching her, all signs of mockery gone.

      “Do not hesitate to ask for anything you want or need. The servants will accommodate you. And, if you like, do avail yourself of the library.”

      “Thank you. I expect to be very busy, though.”

      “Busy? What have you to do but wait for your cousin’s return?”