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“My grandmother loves them,” he whispered back.

She counted at least eight of them lounging across chairs, draped over windowsills, and curled up on a large four-poster bed. They were of every color, size. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the invasion.

Seated gracefully on the bed was an elderly woman with kind, gentle eyes and a serene face. Despite the chaotic sea of felines surrounding her, she looked remarkably peaceful. Leonora stared at her, a sudden thought crossing her mind. Anyone who could tolerate this many cats could not possibly be a terrible human being.

Anthony cleared his throat gently, stepping into the room. “Grandmother, I would like you to meet... Miss Leonora Ashcroft.”

Marian looked up, her gaze shifting from Anthony to Leonora. Before Anthony could add another word of explanation, the older woman gasped softly, her face lighting up with joy as she rose quickly from the bed.

“Oh!” Marian beamed, clapping her hands together. “You brought me your betrothed, Anthony! Finally, thank you, oh thank you!”

Leonora’s blood ran cold. Betrothed?

She stiffened completely, her mind screeching to a halt. She whipped her head around to stare at Anthony, her eyes wide in panic. She expected him to immediately correct his grandmother, to explain that she was merely a hired companion, a temporary fixture brought in to watch over her.

Instead, Anthony simply smiled brightly, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he nodded along.

“It was about time, wasn’t it, Grandmother?” he said smoothly, his eyes dancing. He patted Leonora’s rigid hand where it was still clutching his sleeve. “I shall leave you two alone to get acquainted. You can discuss wedding preparations, flower arrangements, whatever you like. Miss Ashcroft will be more than happy to start planning with you.”

With that, Anthony offered a polite bow and turned on his heel, walking briskly toward the door.

Leonora stood rooted to the spot, a white-hot fury boiling up from her chest. What did he mean? She could not understand what was happening. As Anthony glanced back at her over his shoulder, he flashed her one final, devastatingly smug smile before disappearing out into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

Leonora stared at the closed door, the realization crashing over her. She was going to murder him. That was the catch. That was what he had been hiding and acting so smug. He had trapped her.

The man was an absolute professional at getting under her skin, and standing there surrounded by cats while an elderly duchess began enthusiastically discussing bridal gowns, Leonora could not decide whether she wanted to scream or strangle him.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Ishould have known there was a catch,” Leonora muttered under her breath, her fingers tightening into fists as she stared blankly out the window. “I should have known.”

Leonora prided herself on being sharp. Out of all her sisters, she was always the one accused of being overly inquisitive, incessantly questioning every detail, and refusing to take things at face value. Euphemia and Seraphina frequently threw their hands up in exasperation because Leonora would poke holes in every simple plan.

Yet, somehow, her skepticism had completely failed her. She had actually allowed herself to believe that three months of reading to an eccentric dowager was a fair trade for a priceless necklace. Of course it was not just a simple exchange. Anthony Sterling had dropped her straight into a labyrinth she had no idea how to navigate, tying her down to an arrangement she never agreed to, and leaving her entirely alone to untangle the mess.

The irritation burned hot and bright in her chest. The man was a master manipulator. He had to be. Wrapping a trap in smooth words and charming smiles until she walked right into it with her eyes wide open.

“Did you say something, my dear?” Marian asked, her voice cutting gently through Leonora’s thoughts.

Leonora blinked, snapping back to the present moment as she forced a tight, polite smile onto her face. “Only talking to myself, Your Grace. Merely thinking aloud.”

They were seated in a pair of armchairs by the tall window of the bedchamber. Marian was comfortably settled with a thick lap blanket, gently stroking an orange tabby cat that purred loudly against her skirts.

Marian looked up, her expression softening. “Well, do stop muttering and tell me about yourself. Anthony brought you here with the subtlety of a collapsing roof, but he told me next to nothing. What are you actually good at, Miss Ashcroft? What brings you joy when you are not being dragged through London drawing rooms?”

Leonora relaxed her shoulders slightly, finding it difficult to stay entirely tense in the face of such kind inquiry. “Well, Your Grace... I enjoy painting, mostly. I spend a good deal of my time sketching.”

“Painting?” Marian’s eyes lit up with delight. “Oh, truly? Do tell, what sort of subjects capture your interest? Tell me you do not spend your hours painting dreary portraits of stiff gentlemen in powdered wigs.”

“Certainly not,” Leonora said, a real smile finally forming on her lips. “I prefer things with a bit of life. Landscapes, old trees, and quite often, insects and small creatures. I have a particular fondness for butterflies.”

“Butterflies?” Marian echoed, leaning forward eagerly, her orange tabby shifting sleepily. “How extraordinary! What kind of butterflies do you paint? Surely not the common yellow ones. I cannot bear yellows. They remind me of curdled milk and old parchment. Dreadful shades, all of them. Give me deep crimsons, rich forest greens, and blues that look as though they were dragged straight from the midnight sky. Do you paint the swallowtails with those magnificent dark markings?”

“I do indeed,” Leonora replied, surprised by how easily the conversation flowed. “The swallowtails, and occasionally the smaller blues if I can catch them resting long enough on the lavender in our garden. Though capturing the exact iridescence of their wings on canvas is quite a challenge.”

“It takes a steady hand and a keen eye,” Marian nodded in approval. “Which means you must possess both. Anthony is utterly hopeless with anything that requires patience. What else do your talents stretch to? Surely a clever girl like you has more than just a paintbrush.”

“I play the violin,” Leonora admitted, a faint flush dusting her cheeks. “Also the pianoforte, when the instruments are reasonably in tune.”