“So, it is a donation you are after.” He rolled his eyes, his impatience getting the better of him. And, he had to admit, he liked the way her face twitched angrily at the interruption.
“Not fromyou,” she protested, shaking her head. “There is a gentleman of the highest order in this area that I am hoping to ask for help. When I saw your carriage, it occurred to me that perhaps you knew him. Or that, if you did not know him, you may know someone who did and could secure an audience with him as soon as possible.” Miss Tate looked down at her shoes. “Perhaps it was a desperate, wicked thing to do. But I am a desperate woman.”
“Evidently,” he teased, cocking his head to the side. When Miss Tate did not smile back, Nicholas groaned. He was far from a philanthrope, but his family was sufficiently charitable and well-connected besides.
“And justwhois this unfortunate man you seek?” he inquired.
Miss Tate sighed. “The Duke of Avon.”
At first, Nicholas thought he had misheard. An auditory fabrication of his narcissistic mind. He leaned forward slightly, his lips parted in surprise. “The Duke of Avon?” he repeated slowly.
“Yes, sir. Do you know him?”
“Oh… somewhat,” Nicholas said under his breath.
He observed Miss Tate a moment, noting the excited spark in her eyes, wondering whether they had met before in London. He recalled vaguely that there was, or had been, a Viscount Tate native to Oxfordshire.
Beyond that, he knew nothing else of the family. Certainly not about a pretty, young heiress. There was no telling that this woman was even who she claimed to be—she could have been, for all he knew, a charlatan lingering outside this orphanage soliciting donations that would go nowhere but her pocket.
No. Everything considered, he could not risk admitting that he was, in fact, the recently returned duke that she sought...
Even though a part of him—a reckless, foolish part of him—was inclined to give this beautiful woman anything she desired from him and more…
“It would be unwise,” he interrupted himself, thinking, “for me to introduce you to His Grace without preamble.”
Miss Tate’s face fell immediately, and a knot formed in Nicholas’ stomach.
“These are delicate matters?” he asked.
“Yes…” she agreed, crestfallen.
“And were you seeking a great donation from him?”
“In all honesty, his collaboration was far more important than any sort of financial donation.”
She glanced back toward the house behind her, and sadness swept over her features.
“I suppose there is no harm in telling you what may come to pass. The man who owns this building is a miserly demon who would see all the children expelled into the cold if we cannot immediately deliver this month’s increased rent. It is my hope—mybelief—that the Duke of Avon’s support of this orphanage, that his acknowledgement of the landlord, would be enough to make Mr. Robinson—the landlord—reconsider his stance.”
A confusing tale… butnotan implausible one.
“What you need, then,” Nicholas began, unsure why he felt compelled to entertain this woman, “is for this…man, the Duke of Avon, to meet with your landlord post-haste?”
Miss Tate turned to face him, nodding demurely.
An idea formed suddenly in Nicholas’ mind before he could stop it.
Awicked,desperateidea.
“But, as we have deduced, that would be an impossible task at such short notice…” he continued slowly, “so, a man to playthe partofthe Duke of Avon then. That would satisfy your Mr. Robinson for a time, would it not?”
It was difficult to judge a person’s character from a three-minute conversation, but Nicholas was almost certain the woman before him would object. Either because she was notreallywho she said she was, or because she had too good a heart to go along with such a ridiculous plan.
He was surprised, then, when her pretty face brightened with a smile.
“You cannot be serious, sir!” she whispered, glancing nervously at the driver, as though concerned he had overheard.
Nicholas smiled. “It was only a suggestion. But what do you think?”
