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“Ella, do please bring the animal down to meet his lordship,” her aunt said. “I believe that I shall retire to my bedchamber. Fulvia dear, I am not enthusiastic about a presentation to the Queen, but perhaps if you escort me upstairs you can persuade me.”

Fulvia drew her mother to her feet, and giving Fiennes a careless nod, walked toward the door, chattering.

He certainly didn’t have to worry that her heart was engaged, any more than Regina’s had been. In fact, Fiennes had a shrewd notion that Fulvia’s heart would never be engaged. He couldn’t imagine her with a child, for one thing.

He’d never given the question of children any thought, but now he realized that he hoped his children’s mother would look at them with love—and anxiety, if they fainted, for example.

Fulvia had been patently annoyed by her mother’s lightheadedness, even though she had dutifully patted her hand.

But Ella?

Ella’s fearful expression when her aunt fainted had caught his heart. He wanted to comfort her, to pull her into his arms and hug her. More: her love for the viscountess made him feel greedy. He wanted that for himself and his children.

If he and Ella were married, and she told him she was carrying a child, he would have been overjoyed at news that her aunt didn’t seem to welcome.

Yet Ella had no father to whom he could apply for her hand. He couldn’t buy her, as he essentially did Fulvia.

She was her own woman. He had to win her.

Unfortunately, he was quasi-betrothed to her cousin and even worse, Ella wasn’t impressed by him. Pure disgust had crossed her eyes back in the theater, when he’d stupidly repeated his father’s jest comparing a woman’s chest to a gravestone. It had just hurdled out of his mouth, doubtless the result of hearing hundreds of such comments.

As the viscountess and Fulvia left the room, Ella stood up. “What on earth are you doing asking to meet my squirrel?”

He tried for an innocent expression. “Squirrels are a popular pet for boys.”

Ella narrowed her eyes at him. Apparently, she could guess he was lying.

“All right, I don’t have any siblings, so no nephew. But I would truly like to meet your squirrel,” he added.

“Unfortunately, my aunt has forgotten that my uncle absolutely forbade me to bring Joe downstairs.”

“Why?”

“Joe is an amiable fellow, but he took a dislike to my uncle and bit his hand. So you see, I cannot bring him down, and you cannot come up to the attic.”

Fiennes felt another stab of anger. He couldn’t wait to have an abrasive talk with the viscount who had stowed his niece in the attic like an unwanted trunk.

“You can trust me.” He surprised himself: his voice dropped into a lower register, and the sentence sounded like a vow.

She eyed him.

“I would truly like to meet Joe, and I promise not to mar your reputation or person in any way, if you will allow me to visit your attic.”

Ella sighed, but seemed to accept what Fiennes had inadvertently confessed. Not only would he never hurt her in any way, but from now on, he would worry about her. He had never worried about anyone in his entire life.

But then, he’d never met a brave, funny lass living in the attic and—unless he was much mistaken—working as a housekeeper in the same household where she was once the treasured daughter.

“I suppose I could take you for a brief visit. Would you mind going through the servants’ quarters? If you cannot lower yourself to ascend the rear staircase, you’ll have to give up your unlikely desire to meet my squirrel.”

Fiennes told himself to stop looking at the way Ella’s mouth formed a perfect bow on top. “I am happy to climb the back stairs.”

“New experiences are good for you.”

Joy bubbled up from his gut in a most unnerving fashion, so he followed her out of the drawing room without a word, enjoying the sight of the pale soft skin visible at her neckline. In a perfect world, he would allow his hand to settle on her back and then slide up to caress her neck. Nuzzle it. Nibble her ear and slide to her mouth.

Fiennes’s hand actually twitched at his side before he stopped himself. Ella scarcely knew him, other than as her cousin’s fiancé. Whatever bolt of lightning had fried his brains presumably had left hers untouched.

He had never before bothered with courtship. He had spent most of his time in polite society fending off ladies who found his fortune attractive.