“You are Standish.” The Duke of Malum pinned his gaze on Reed.
Ten minutes later, Reed marched past the towering cathedral on his way back to Rutherford Place on Hanover Square, one of the premier addresses in Mayfair.
Where he, Reed Rutherford, was lord of the manor now—a manor tended to by servants his uncle had employed. This was madness.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
But if he was going to bring honor back to the title and pave the way for his sisters’ futures, he needed legitimacy.
If he wanted to maintain his freedom, he needed to squash all speculation. He wanted to be angry with Helton, but the blasted publisher was, in fact, offering him a bone.
Reed had no choice but to convince the duke’s daughter to marry him.
Sunday Afternoon
Goldie halted before opening the door to the drawing room, smoothed her gown over her rounder-than-fashionable hips, and then tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.
A curl on the opposite side fell forward, and she brushed that one back, but then the other escaped again.
“Blast!” She gave up on the endeavor entirely, and even as she shifted her bodice so as to cover more of her ample bosom, more curls escaped her coiffure.
Unlike her older sister, Goldie was graceless, awkward, and… hopeless.
But she wouldn’t dwell on any of that now. She wouldn’t because the man she admired most was here.
Today.
This very second.
Mr. Reed Rutherford, the new Earl of Standish. If she’d known he was coming, she’d have tried harder to make her hair behave.
She held her breath, anticipating a glimpse of his eyes, which were the exact color of bluebells in spring. They had been the first thing she’d noticed when she’d been introduced last summer at the house party to celebrate her sister’s and Lord Rupert’s betrothal. It hadn’t mattered that he’d not noticed her.
She had not been meant to be noticed.
As a plump girl of ten and eight, she’d not come out yet but had been allowed to join the party for dinner. She’d been given strict instructions to keep quiet, however, and not make a nuisance of herself.
And she’d been perfectly fine with that most evenings because she’d usually been seated near Mr. Rutherford. She had been thoroughly pleased to simply watch his hands as he ate and listen to the rumble of his voice when he spoke.
His remarks had consistently been quiet and thoughtful, and unlike most of the other gentlemen, he’d never come across as boastful or arrogant.
Intelligence lurked behind his eyes, and he had spoken of his two dogs with great affection. His lack of refinement, rather than diminishing his attractiveness, had enhanced it.
His cousin, Lord Rupert, however, had been quite the opposite. His eyes had been hard and cold, and Goldie had failed to find any redeeming qualities in her sister’s betrothed.
Mr. Rutherford, Goldie suspected, would make a far better earl than Lord Rupert would have.
But with his cousin dead and with no further ties between their two families, why had he come here—to her father’s house?
She’d know soon enough.
Goldie turned the handle and, after a deep breath, stepped inside.
The back of his head faced her, allowing her a brief moment to admire his wide shoulders, slim hips, and overall magnificent physique. And as he turned to greet her, his eyes lit up with anticipation.
But then dimmed the instant he saw that she was not the lady with whom he’d requested to meet.
“My lady—” he began.
