“So you like to paint?” Greg asked Lady Arabella as she led him toward the library. Damn it all, she was enchanting. “That’s what you were doing when we arrived?”

Her face drained a bit of its color and she gazed up at him. “You probably shouldn’t mention that to him.”

Hadn’t she said to tell Lord Aylesford that they both enjoyed painting? Greg frowned. “I thought you said—”

“Don’t tell him I was painting today. It might put him in a mood.”

How very odd. Why would the marquess care one way or the other if his daughter had been painting today? She must have interpreted his thoughts or the expression on his face because she drew him to a stop in the corridor.

She picked at the bit of dried green paint on her finger and said very softly, “When I paint it reminds him of my mother, and I try very hard not to do that.” Then she glanced up to stare directly into Greg’s eyes. “You might as well know, Lord Avery, despite the fact that my grandfather is a rather powerful duke, my family doesn’t have the most pristine of reputations.”

Was that why her suitors were scarce? Some skeleton in her family’s closet? Greg was certainly not one to cast stones, not considering the fact that he lived in a glass house of his own. Still, he was curious, and he hadn’t stepped foot in Town for nearly a decade. Whatever was being said about her family had never reached his ears in Nottinghamshire. “What is the Winslett reputation?”

“I suppose you have a right to know if you’re to involve yourself in this plan.” A mirthless laugh escaped her. “Where to begin? Well, firstly, my grandfather is a tyrant of the worst variety. He’d make Ivan the Terrible shake in his boots. The only person he ever has a kind word for is Prissa, my sister, who is a veritable saint. Then there’s my mother. When I was a child, Mama ran off with her painting instructor. She left all of us in pursuit of art, and none of us have heard from her since.”

Her mother left her when she was a child? Greg did flinch at the thought. He’d never heard of such a thing. No matter how terrible his own mother was – and she was, most assuredly terrible - she’d never abandoned her children, much as some of them might have wanted her to.

“My father is the soft spoken sort, and he keeps to himself,” Lady Arabella continued, breaking Greg’s reverie. “And my brother is a hopeless drunkard, though you’ve probably already sorted that one out.” Her silver eyes, so sad, pierced his heart, and Greg had the overwhelming desire to brush his fingers across her cheek, to smooth away the worry that creased her brow and to vow that he would make everything right for her.

The poor girl. Cordie was right. Someone did need to help her. It might as well be Greg. After all, her secrets were safe with him, and when this sham of a betrothal was over, he’d never breathe a word of any of this to another living soul.

“If you don’t want to align yourself with us, even for such a short period of time, I’ll understand, Lord Avery.”

And abandon her after he’d given his word? No. She did need his help. Besides, Greg was far from perfect himself. He shook his head as he offered her his arm. “I will be honored to call you my pretend fiancée, Lady Arabella.”

She smiled softly as she slid her hand around his arm, and that pretty blush of hers stained her cheeks once more. Damn it all, she truly was lovely. And her innocent touch might very well drive him wild.

“In that case,” she said, “I mean, if you’re to be my fiancé, you should probably call me Bella. That’s what Papa calls me.”

Greg’s heart lifted a bit. “Then you should call me Greg. My family does.”

“Greg,” she repeated as though testing the name on her tongue, and the sound of it swirled around Greg like a caress. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for your kindness and assistance.”

He’d settle for a kiss. Of course, saying as much would hardly be appropriate. So he shrugged and said, “No need, Bella. I’m happy to be of service. Besides, I have a saint for a sibling myself. Tristan. I believe he helped your brother to your coach the other night.”

The lieutenant was the baron’s brother! They did have the same eyes, though Lord Avery was a bit taller. “He was very kind.”

“As I said, a saint.” Greg shook his head, hoping to charm her just a bit. “We less saintly siblings have to stick together, Bella.”

At that, she laughed. “After this favor you’re doing me, I think you shall be the saintly one in your family.”

Greg managed not to snort. One good deed would hardly qualify him for sainthood. A lifetime of atonement wouldn’t even bring him close. “Why don’t we find your father, shall we?”

They did find her father in the library as Bella had first suggested they might. The Marquess of Aylesford, an older man with a bit of grey at his temples, sat in an overstuffed leather chair, an old worn tome in his lap. At their entrance, the man’s brow lifted at seeing his daughter. “Bella?” he said as he rose to his feet. “What a surprise.”

“Papa,” she said, dropping Greg’s arm and stepping closer to her father. “I’d like to introduce you to Lord Avery.” Then she glanced behind her and smiled at Greg. “My father, the Marquess of Aylesford.”

“An honor to meet you, my lord,” Greg said, dipping his head in greeting. “Bella has spoken so highly of you.”

“Has she?” the old man asked, his eyes sweeping across Greg’s person. “Then you have me at a loss, Avery. I haven’t heard your name before.”

Of course he hadn’t. Bella had only met Greg an hour ago. “I do hope you’ll hear more of me in the coming years, Aylesford.”

“Indeed?” Surprise registered on the old man’s face and a bit of hope flashed in his eyes.

For a moment, remorse washed over Greg. Aylesford would only be too happy to believe the story he was about to hear, of that Greg had no doubt. No, he would never qualify for sainthood. Liars were excluded from such accolades. He looked from the marquess to his daughter and nodded. “If you don’t mind, my dear, I’d like a private word with your father.”

“Of course.” She nodded quickly and then bustled from the library, and Greg couldn’t help but stare after her departing form and the mesmerizing swish of her skirts.

“What’s this about, Avery?” her father asked, drawing Greg’s attention back to the marquess in the middle of the library.

Greg steadied his shoulders and hoped he could convince the man. “I would very much like to marry your daughter.”

Aylesford touched a hand to his heart. “You want to marry Bella?”

Greg could certainly think of worse ways to spend one’s future, but this was all just pretend, he had to remind himself. He nodded quickly in response, though. “Yes, sir. I’ve thought of little else since meeting her.”

The marquess smiled, then gestured to a chair across from his. “Please do have a seat, Avery,” he said as he dropped back into his own chair.

Greg quickly complied though his stomach twisted in a knot as he did so.

“I’m afraid you have quite taken me by surprise,” Bella’s father began. “I hardly expected to be having this conversation today.”

Of that, Greg had no doubt. Still, he shook his head. “I imagine you turn away Bella’s suitors on a regular basis, sir, but I do hope you’ll find it in your heart to accept my suit.”

The marquess narrowed his eyes slightly, and Greg shifted a bit in his seat. Damn it all, was he playing this wrong?

“And why should I accept your suit, Lord Avery? What makes you different from the others?”

Were there others? He got the impression there wasn’t anyone else, which was why he’d been roped into this. But perhaps the marquess was simply trying to keep from showing his hand. Either way, Greg had no idea how to answer Aylesford’s question. If Cordie and Clayworth hadn’t eloped, if the earl had asked Greg for Cordie’s hand instead, what would he have wanted to hear from the man? “I don’t know that I am different,” he began, “but I can promise you that I’ll love and care for her all of my days. She’ll never want for anything. I’ll make her happiness my top concern from the moment I wake ‘til the moment I fall asleep. I am quite in love with her.”

The marquess’ face softened a bit and the knot in Greg’s stomach tightened even more. Cordie had said to focus on the beginning, not the end; but Greg couldn’t help but feel more than a bit guilty about what their ruse would do to Aylesford when this was all over. The man clearly cared about his daughter, he clearly wanted the best for her.

“I don’t know the first thing about you, Avery. I never even heard your name until just now. You can’t just expect to walk in here and that I’ll accept your offer when I know nothing about you.”

Probably not. In Aylesford’s place, he’d want more than that too. “What can I tell you, sir? What would you like to know? I’m the 12th Baron Avery. My family seat, Rufford Hall, is in Nottinghamhshire. It’s where I’ve spent most of my life and I imagine that when the season is over, I’ll return home rather quickly.”

“You’re not fond of Town, then?”

To put it lightly. Greg shook his head. “I’m only here this season at my sister’s request, the Countess of Clayworth. And if I hadn’t met your daughter, I might very well be on my way home right now.” What had Bella said would convince her father…? Oh, yes… “My paints await me at home, you see.”

“You paint?” the marquess asked, his eyes turning a bit dull.

On second thought, mentioning paints might not have been the best idea. But Greg had already started down that path. “Bella and I have had the most interesting conversations about painting techniques. Honestly, sir, I think we will suit rather well. If there’s anything I can do or say to convince you of that…”

The old man nodded, though he said nothing for the longest while. It seemed almost as though he was lost in the past somewhere, and that was a sensation Greg was intimately familiar with.

Finally, Aylesford took a deep breath then sat up a little straighter in his seat. “She doesn’t much care for the country, Avery,” he finally said. “I’m a bit concerned about you preferring that life to this one.”

Of course she preferred London. Everyone, it seemed, preferred London except for him. “We could split our time, sir, if that’s your main objection. I have my duties to the barony, but I truly do want for her to be happy too.”

The marquess heaved a sigh. “She’s a sensitive girl. Shy most of the time. But you seem to have broken through that obstacle. And she did seem enamored of you just now. “ A sad smile settled across his face. “While I’ll miss her dreadfully, I will give you my blessing. Congratulations, Avery.”

“Thank you, sir.” Greg released a sigh of relief, which was odd. He wasn’t truly going to marry the girl. That her father had accepted his suit shouldn’t bring him relief at all. This whole thing was, after all, just a ruse.

“I’ll have a marriage contract drawn up. Would tomorrow afternoon be convenient to look it over?”

A lump of guilt lodged in Greg’s throat. “I will avail myself to your schedule.”

A smile of relief settled on the marquess’s face.

“If it is all right with you,” Greg continued, “I would like to make the announcement tonight at the Kelfield ball. The duchess is an old friend of the family.”

“Kelfield?” Aylesford frowned and looked at once as though he was reconsidering the blessing he’d just given Greg.

Blast Olivia’s scandalous husband. Greg shook his head. “If you’d rather a different venue, sir, I am happy to change my plans. My sister will have my head, but…”

“Your sister?”

Greg shrugged. “The duchess is her dearest friend, they have been inseparable since they were in leading strings. Cordelia, my sister, is forever championing one cause or another, and she is quite determined to restore Kelfield’s name to good standing in order to help her friend be accepted once more into society.”

At hearing that, the marquess’s frown disappeared. “The countess sounds like a remarkable woman.”

“She is that, sir,” Greg agreed. “There are men less courageous and determined than my sister, I can assure you.”

“In that case, I’d be a fool to stand against her.” Aylesford chuckled. “If you would like to make your announcement at the Kelfields’, you won’t hear an objection from me.”

“Thank you, sir, that is much appreciated.”

“Any man who cares so much for his sister’s wishes will, I’m certain, take excellent care of my Bella.”

Guilt for their deception speared Greg once more, but he smiled in response and nodded in return as it was expected. “I believe she is keeping Bella company at this moment, if you would like to meet her.”

The marquess nodded slightly. “I think I would like that quite a bit, Avery.”

As the two of them returned to the blue parlor, laughter drifted down the corridor. The sound brought a smile to Greg’s lips. It was a relief to hear his sister laugh these days, and it alleviated a bit of the guilt he had about misleading Lord Aylesford. After all, Greg was being noble, in a backward sort of way. He was helping restore his sister to her usual self and he was helping Bella avoid a marriage she didn’t want. He was being noble, even if Aylesford wouldn’t agree with that estimation in the end.

Upon their entrance into the blue parlor, they found Bella and Cordie, sitting together on the settee laughing, as though they were the closest of confidantes. The two ladies stopped laughing when they realized Greg and Lord Aylesford had invaded their space.

Bella met Greg’s eyes in an instant, and his heart squeezed a bit. There were worse girls one could have as a pretend fiancée. In fact, he doubted there was anyone he’d rather engage in such a ploy with. She seemed so genuine, so kind, and…her beauty truly did take his breath away.

She shifted her gaze to her father’s. “Papa?” she asked tentatively.

Aylesford nodded. “I have given your Lord Avery my blessing, Bella.”

“Oh, Papa! Thank you!” She beamed as she pushed to her feet, raced across the floor and threw her arms around her father’s middle. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

The marquess hugged his daughter to him and then pulled back slightly. “I just hope you’ll be happy, my dear.”

“So very happy,” she assured him, stepping away from her father with the most radiant smile. Then Bella’s silvery eyes met Greg’s and the joyful sparkle he found there filled him with warmth. She was so amazingly lovely, especially when she smiled and…

“You must be Lady Clayworth,” Aylesford said, breaking Greg from his thoughts.

Greg glanced toward the settee, where Cordie was now standing and said, “Apologies, sir. This is my sister Cordelia, the Countess of Clayworth.”

“Lord Aylesford, it is so nice to meet you,” his sister gushed, coming toward them.

“And you, my lady. Your brother has just been extolling your many virtues to me.”

“He is too kind, I’m sure.” Cordie stopped before the group. “I think Lady Arabella is the luckiest girl in all of London to have captured him, and I am so happy to welcome her into the Avery bosom on behalf of all of our family.”

Welcome her into the Avery bosom? She was certainly laying it on thick, wasn’t she? Greg shot her a glance.

And then someone harrumphed behind them, a rather irritated sound, most definitely.

Greg glanced over his shoulder to find an aged gentleman with a shock of white hair, unfriendly dark eyes and an annoyed scowl upon his face.

“Who are these people?” the man asked, looking past Greg and Cordie, his gaze steady upon the marquess.

Lord Aylesford nodded at the old man in greeting. “Your Grace,” he said to his father, apparently. “This is Lady Clayworth and her brother Lord Avery, who has just now asked for Bella’s hand.”

“Surely, you jest,” the duke scoffed.

Aylesford frowned. “That’s hardly something I would jest about, Father.”

The imposing duke turned his disbelieving gaze from his son to Greg and looked him over from the top of his head to the tips of his Hessians as though he was a specimen that had yet to be identified. “What’s wrong with you, then?” he finally asked, rather dismissively.

“I beg your pardon?” Greg returned, his back stiffening under the duke’s scrutiny.

“Whatever my son has offered you in exchange for the girl’s hand, you should know he is in no position to do so, and I certainly have no intention of handing even a single farthing over to some fortune hunter.”

Fortune hunter! Greg’s blood began to boil at the insult. The Avery barony was more than flush and always had been. Before he could find the words to say as much, he noticed Bella’s gaze was trained on the floor at her feet as though she was too hurt to meet her grandfather’s eyes.

Greg’s heart went out to his temporary fiancée. Insinuating that only a fortune hunter would be interested in pursing the lady, the duke had insulted his granddaughter with the same brush stroke. That was hardly the case. She was genuine, with a pleasing disposition, and she was bloody gorgeous. She should have men lined up outside Chatham House for just a glimpse of her.

But with Chatham for a grandfather, it was no wonder she found herself in the unfortunate position she was in. The duke’s very existence would frighten away any reasonable fellow from pursuing her. Though Greg wasn’t truly pursing Bella, he wasn’t about to let anyone, not even her grandfather, say such things about the girl and especially not in her presence, for God’s sake.

Honestly, though, shouldn’t her father keep the duke from saying such awful things to her? Shouldn’t he at least attempt to defend his daughter’s honor? Apparently not, as the marquess was gazing at his own feet, rather uncomfortably.

So Greg tipped his head higher, directly meeting the duke’s gaze and said, “My funds are quite in order, Your Grace. And Lord Aylesford has not offered me anything other than his blessing, which I am quite certain he is in the position to offer.”

“And dinner,” the marquess added quickly. “It would be so nice, Lord Avery, if you could join us for dinner this evening before we head to the Kelfield ball. It will give you the opportunity to meet all of Bella’s family in a more private setting before the announcement.”

The rest of Bella’s family? He’d already encountered her tyrannical grandfather, her a souse of a brother, and her spineless father. He wasn’t terribly excited about the prospect of meeting any other Winslett, but he agreed with an incline of his head anyway as there was no way he could refuse. “Of course, sir. I look forward to it,” he lied.