They hadn’t spoken in nine years and he’d long since pawned his ring, but his wife still lived. What little opportunity he had for feminine companionship was strictly limited to people in similar situations. Widows and ladies who’d separated from their husbands and wished to engage in a discreet affaire. He would never be free of the bonds of his marriage, which meant he had to steer clear of eligible young ladies like Miss Danby, whose prospects might be harmed by an association with him.
He wouldn’t think of her any longer. She was like any other attractive woman who might cross his path—occasionally tempting, yet always out of reach. It did no good to imagine what might have been. She was meant for a better life than his.
No worse than what you deserve.The voice in his head sounded suspiciously like his father’s.
But when Lyman finally arrived at his publisher’s office and rapped on the door, he found Miss Danby sitting inside the receiving room as if summoned by his thoughts, calmly sipping the cup of tea he’d not yet managed to procure. A slim young lady was at her side; her companion, perhaps.
Lyman was so surprised, he couldn’t even greet her.What is she doing here?
“Oh! Good morning, Lord Ashton.” She set her tea down upon a little side table covered in card-stock advertisements for various texts. “Allow me to present my sister, Miss Annabelle Danby.”
He recovered enough to blurt out a hasty, “Good morning, Miss Danby. Miss Annabelle.” There wasn’t much of a resemblance between them, except for the honey-brown hair. Where Miss Danby had a round face and generous curves, Annabelle was narrow and angular, almost sharp. But she had a watchfulness in her eyes that somehow called to mind her older sister’s quick wit.
“Er, your hat.” Miss Danby motioned toward his head. He’d forgotten to remove it. She always seemed to set him stumbling one step behind.
As he fumbled to hang it on the coat rack, the secretary returned, pausing only a moment to take in Lyman’s presence before he announced, “Mr. Armstrong will see you now.”
Lyman strode forward automatically, but Miss Danby cleared her throat and rose to her feet.
“Excuse me, my lord, but I have an appointment.”
An appointment. Withhiseditor. What was happening?
This was about her club; it had to be. The timing was too suspicious to be anything else, and hadn’t she warned him that she would be his enemy? It appeared the threat was more than a fit of pique. Perhaps she’d come here to complain about him, or to go over his head and persuade Armstrong directly.
Either way, Lyman wouldn’t have it.
“I’ll accompany you then,” he said swiftly. “I have something for him, in any case.”
We’ll see how far she gets when I’m there to set things straight.
Miss Danby had the decency to look flustered at this. “That’s really not necessary—”
But Lyman walked ahead, leaving her to either follow or cede her appointment. She chose to follow, her sister scurrying behind her. At least she’d brought a chaperone this time.
When they reached John Armstrong’s office, the man looked up in surprise, “Lord Ashton! I didn’t expect to see you here this morning.” He motioned them all in, pulling out a chair for Miss Danby, then for her sister. Lyman had to stand. “Does this mean you’ve all reached an understanding then?”
“No,” Lyman replied. What lies had she spun to secure this meeting? “I’m not sure what Miss Danby has told you, but I won’t includeher ladies’ club in my book.”
Armstrong puckered his graying brows in confusion. “What club?”
“My lord, if I may.” Miss Danby turned in her chair to face him. “We have moved on to other projects, and you’re quite behind the times. Would you allow me a chance to explain?”
She said it politely, a sweet-as-a-lemon-drop smile on her face, but Lyman bristled at the condescension. Armstrong, on the other hand, appeared utterly smitten. He was grinning like a schoolboy half his age.
What Miss Danby said next did nothing to improve Lyman’s mood.
“I perfectly understand why you refused to include ladies’ entertainments in your book. You’re right; it’s not the proper place for them. That’s why I’ve proposed to Mr. Armstrong that I write my own guide to London, intended for the fairer sex.”
“A lady’s guide to London?”What’s the point of such a thing?“But you can’t attend hotels and public houses unescorted, and all the things you might wish to do with a husband are already in the gentleman’s guide. What’s left to write about?”
What were they even doing here? This woman was wasting everyone’s time. But instead of showing her the door, Armstrong was fawning over her. His secretary even returned to offer the ladies pastries, though Lymanneverreceived baked goods when he visited.
“Do you think we women do nothing at all while you lot are out drinking at your clubs all day?” Miss Danby shot him a scathing look. “It would include all the best shops, for everything from hats to furniture, bakeries, charities, theaters—”
“Theaters are already in my book.”
“I don’t believe you own the concept of theaters, my lord.”
