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Theinheritance he’d bequeathed Owen still sat in a bank account in London, untouched. Owen didn’t even know how much the seducer of innocents had left him. He didn’t give a blacksmith’s damn how much it was.

Hedidn’t want his sire’s money.

Althoughif he didn’t find the investors he sought to restart the coal mine in Workington that Owen had unexpectedly inherited from his maternal grandfather, then necessity might force him to accept the bequeathment.

Bitternessburned the back of his throat.

Thatthought, a very real possibility, galled him to his marrow.

Hemust find another way.

Intruth, because of how the Lockingtons had treated Mama, he initially hadn’t wanted his grandfather’s mine either. He supposed that made him the worst sort of hypocrite, accepting one inheritance while shunning the other.

“Leonidas? Grandmama sent me to fetch you. She vows her tea grows cold but won’t take a sip until you return.” A pretty girl strode into the foyer, her auburn hair streaked with fire and sunshine tied back with a pink ribbon across her crown. She wore a shirt a shade darker than her hair ribbon, and trousers covered her impossibly long legs tucked into men’s boots.

Ifhis life had depended on it, Owen couldn’t have torn his attention away from the arresting vixen.

Sheslid to a stop, her blue, blue eyes round as dinnerplates and her full berry-red mouth parting.

“Lord have mercy and blow me over with a feather. You are quite the biggest man I have ever laid eyes upon.”