Page 14 of The Luckiest Lady in London

“You know very well, my lord, how difficult it is for a young woman of unexceptional birth, unexceptional looks, and no fortune at all to win the hand of a man in prosperous circumstances.”

“Come, Miss Cantwell, London all but overflows with gentlemen this time of the year. Surely the loss of a mere pair of candidates should not detract from your chances of a successful match.”

“You think so because you have no need to fret about your budget, sir, but everywhere else gentlemen are hurting in the family coffer.”

“I am well aware of my good fortune in that regard. But I also know that I am not the only one so blessed.”

“Indeed not, but the Duke of Lexington is still at university, as is the youngest Mr. Marsden.”

She had done her homework. Not many people realized that the great fortune of the youngest Mr. Marsden’s godfather would pass to the godson.

“What about the Marquess of Vere? He is not at university.”

Miss Cantwell raised a brow. His question was designed to test the depth and breadth of her desperation and she well knew it: Lord Vere was known far and wide as an arrant idiot. “Yes, I would gladly marry Lord Vere. He is easy on the eyes and certainly rich enough. But Lord Vere prefers his debutantes both beautiful and propertied, and he has not come near me, except once, to spill some lemonade on my dress.”

“And Mr. de Grey? He pays no court to heiresses, from what I have observed.”

“I’m surprised you have not noticed the way he looks at his sister-in-law. He will not propose to anyone, not until he overcomes that obsession. And that would be far too late for me.”

“Well, there is always Sir Roger Wells. He is desperate for a legitimate heir. And if you would but look kindly his way, he would offer his hand to you.”

She leveled him with a nasty look—he relished her displays of testiness; they made him feel supremely accomplished. “Now you are just toying with me, my lord. But I will tell you this: I do not want to be Sir Roger’s wife, not because of that unspeakable disease of his, but because several reliable sources have assured me that he has squandered his fortune and is now deep in debt.”

“So would you have married him if his fortune had remained intact?”

“No.”

“No?”

“He is a despicable man even without that dread disease. I have come to London to help my family, not to martyr myself.”

“But what if you have no choice at the end of the Season? What if Sir Roger becomes your only viable alternative?”

“My family is not so destitute as that, sir. We are not going to be turned out of our house at the end of the Season. My mother is in good health and can be reasonably expected to live many more years.”

“But not forever. And when she passes on, what will happen to your sister, the one who is epileptic?”

She blinked, as if wondering how he could know so much about her family when she’d never brought up the subject before him. “We will take care of her, of course.”

“How? If you were to find a position as a governess or lady’s companion, you would not be permitted to bring her with you. Someone has to be with her all the time, I understand. Which means you need two people in that position, so that she is never left unwatched. How do you propose to finance that?”

A shadow crossed her face, but her words were relentlessly optimistic. “When God closes a door, He opens a window. I have other marriageable sisters. Not to mention Matilda herself is both lovely and sweet—some lucky gentleman just might win her hand and ensure himself a very felicitous domestic union.”

He leaned in slightly. “Do you believe that?”

She had been looking either to the left or the right of him, but now she met his gaze squarely. “Perhaps not. But while I will marry a man I do not love, I will not take a husband I cannot stand.”

Her eyes were large and wide-set, but, rather unusually, slanted slightly downward toward the outer corners, giving an impression of tremendous transparency, of being unguarded and trusting. He began to understand why most people considered her a darling innocent.

And why Mr. Pitt and Lord Firth both found her so appealing.

But she was, if not a shark, then at least a dolphin: smiling and sweet-faced, yet ferociously intelligent and undeniably a predator.

An interesting woman even when she wasn’t quivering in unfulfilled lust for him.

“So…what are you willing to do?” he murmured.

Her lips parted, as if she found it difficult to breathe. And suddenly she and he were once again braced in that erotic tension that was infinitely addictive to him.