Regency Vows. Kasey Michaels

      THE INVITATIONS BEGAN to arrive before Katherine got out of bed. By the time she was ready to dress, there were twelve.

      Winston. Hardly a surprise.

      Werrick. Cashen. Naturally.

      The number of invitations might have been a sign of spectacular success, but...

      Marston, Obbs, Abnersthwaite. Known for their bad luck at the gaming tables, Phil had said.

      Blaine. Nicklesdale. Estates mortgaged to the hilt, Honoria had said.

      Robert Prentiss? The greedy-eyed baronet?

      And three more whose names she didn’t recognize, but the quality of the paper said everything she needed to know about the state of their finances. Good God. They actually believed she might subjugate herself to them in marriage and put Dunscore at their disposal.

      Her maid appeared in the doorway to the bedchamber. “Which gown shall I prepare, your ladyship?”

      Katherine tossed the invitations on the dressing table and went to her trunk. The only thing these men wanted more than her in their beds was Dunscore in their coffers.

      “None, thank you.” She unlatched the lid and snatched up a pair of her old trousers. “I shall dress myself this morning.”

      “Very good, your ladyship.” The maid’s wide-eyed look said she thought it anything but good.

      “But I shall want the pale green this afternoon, and the deep blue for tonight,” she added. The deep blue, with its shimmering silk and its revealing cut. Because there was plenty of support yet to be gathered, and she was perfectly capable of exploiting their lust for votes. But marriage? She would see them in hell first.

      “Very good, your ladyship.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and left.

      This morning, however, she would do as she pleased. The familiar clothing she’d worn aboard the Possession settled around her like a shield, and she smiled at herself in the glass as she slid her cutlass through her sash. Wouldn’t it be satisfying to arrive at Vauxhall tonight dressed like this?

      Satisfying, yes. Helpful? Definitely not. Katherine sighed at her reflection.

      She grabbed up the invitations and went downstairs to study Papa’s ledgers. By the time dinner was to be served, seventeen had arrived. Dobbs had just delivered the eighteenth invitation when Captain Warre strode into the library.

      “His lordship the Earl of Croston to see you,” Dodd said from the doorway, but Captain Warre had already reached the desk, looking windblown and strained, with dark circles beneath his eyes. The mouth that had burned so hotly was set in a grim line.

      “Have you heard the news?” he asked.

      “What news?” She stood and faced him across the desk, wishing she didn’t remember last night’s kiss quite so well.

      “The second reading has passed. The committee meets on Wednesday next.”

      Wednesday. “That only gives us six days.”

      “Your mathematical skill is far better developed than your sense of fashion.” His gaze raked over her. “For God’s sake, what do you plan to do if you receive a caller—invite them to sit on the floor and smoke a hookah?”

      Six days. All the flirtations in the world couldn’t win enough support in six days. Could it?

      “I rather thought I might call for tea.” She tossed the stack of invitations in his direction. “It would seem my company is in high demand. But if these are any indication, any callers I receive will be proposing more than conversation. I’ve ordered Dodd to burn any more that arrive.”

      At that precise moment, Dodd returned carrying a card on his silver tray. “Lord Ingraham to see you, your ladyship.”

      “Ingraham.” Last night’s conversation in the arbor sprang to life. He thought he would marry her and open their marriage bed to the public, did he?

      “Please tell him her ladyship is unavailable,” Captain Warre instructed.

      “And have him return later?” Katherine scoffed. No. She would deal with this immediately. She strode out from behind the desk and headed for the door. Thirty seconds would be all she needed to take care of Lord Ingraham.

      She found him waiting by the door in the entrance hall wearing a ridiculous pale blue coat embroidered with bright yellow leaves. “I am only accepting marriage proposals in writing at this time, Lord Ingraham,” she told him before she was halfway across the hall. “If you’d care to send yours, I shall put it with the rest. Be sure to include the exact amount of your debt, of course.” She stopped directly in front of him. “Oh, yes—and the number of your friends you will expect me to entertain in our marriage bed.” She gave him what she hoped was her most feral smile.

      Ingraham’s startled eyes dropped to her feet, paused on her cutlass and shot back to her face. “Good God.”

      Behind her, Captain Warre’s tightly bemused voice carried across the hall. “Left you speechless, has she, Ingraham?”

      “Croston.” Lord Ingraham looked past her, then back. “Lady Dunscore. I—” He paused, then smiled and bowed. “Certainly not. Not speechless a’tall. Though I can see that you are otherwise occupied, so with your permission, I shall take my leave and return at another time.”

      If he returned again, she would run him through before he crossed the threshhold. “You may state your business now, Lord Ingraham, and eliminate the need for a future visit.” Beside her, Captain Warre’s animosity radiated off him like heat off a ship’s deck in summer.

      Lord Ingraham’s smile turned brittle. “I see. Well, naturally, my business isn’t pressing. A mere social call. Perhaps you would consider saving me a dance at the Rogersfield ball next week?”

      “I will give it my careful consideration.”

      “Good day, then, madam. Croston.”

      The moment he was gone, Captain Warre turned on her. “He’ll have your eccentricity spread across all of London before noon.”

      “And by midnight, my breasts will have them all trailing after me regardless. Or have you forgotten our plans for Vauxhall already?”

      “Being hotheaded and impulsive can gain you nothing.”

      “Encouraging the notion that I am available to debtors and wastrels can gain me nothing. But forgive me, Captain, if I did not handle Ingraham precisely the way you would have told me.” She returned to the library and resumed her place behind Papa’s desk. “Who are the committee members?”

      Captain Warre took up the invitations and leafed through them while he told her the names.

      It was no surprise that several names matched those on some of the invitations. “I particularly enjoyed the Duke of Winston’s invitation,” she said. “What a delight to hear he will chair the committee. Do you suppose he’s especially proud of the luxurious cushions in his carriage, or could there be another reason for his efforts to assure me of their comfort?”

      Captain Warre’s lips curved like a scratch in ice. “Apparently the man has no care for his particulars.” He paused. “I shall deal with Winston.”

      “I can’t imagine how, without giving the impression the only carriage cushions I’ll be experiencing are yours.”

      His eyes shot off the page and met hers, blazing. A pulse leaped in the base of her throat, but it was too late to yank the words back.

      “Six days is an eternity in the world of the ton,” he told her. “Reputations have been made and broken in less—depending, of course, on one’s behavior.”

      “Of course.” The time she’d already spent in London felt like an eternity.

      Dodd appeared in the doorway once more with his damnable silver