Lady Henrietta. Henrietta. He’d recognized the pretty blonde instantly and was well aware of her name. He ought to have pieced two and two together just as quickly. But who in their right mind would leap to such a conclusion? Even knowing her name and now her connection to Lord Braxton, he sat there in shocked awe at his own boldness.

Had he really accused a gently bred lady of gambling?

Yes, yes he had.

The silence in the room was insufferable as Braxton and the other young lady gaped at him. However, Lady Henrietta smiled. Alistair found himself staring at her lips, mesmerized by their fullness, the way the simple curve upward could transform her so completely.

Lady Henrietta was a beautiful woman, he had always known that. He may not have known her well, but he had seen her at parties, talked to her briefly about the sort of mundane topics that made up the conversation at a typical dinner party. He had seen her smile countless times, but never like this. Her blue eyes gleamed with pleasure, as if the core of her being came alive before him.

“Why, Lord Colefax,” she said with a rapid batting of her eyelashes that would have put Cleopatra to shame. “I have never been to a gentleman’s club or a gaming hell.” She widened her eyes in feigned shock. “The idea is inconceivable.”

She had not answered the question, he noted. That in and of itself was his answer. He should leave. He now knew who his enemy was, and it was a woman—a lady. A harmless, unmarried lady who likely had grown bored and sought to meddle. He studied her unflinching gaze. He should be relieved, but he was not. If anything, her gaze unsettled him. The way she met his eyes without so much of a hint of embarrassment must have been what made him uneasy.

And angry. The original anger that had driven him to seek out Lord Braxton earlier today was back. Why had she done it? Why choose him to slander, and why this particular charge? Had she any way of knowing how closely this accusation would wound him?

He straightened. “My apologies, my lady,” he said, his voice stiff and cold. “Of course you would never enter a gaming hell. I merely meant to inquire if you had heard these salacious rumors linking me to an actress by the name of Sarah Bale.”

The other two gasped audibly at his audacity. He might even admit he’d surprised himself with this lack of decorum. In polite society he was known for being correct and proper. But this, he thought as he regarded the woman before him, this was not polite society. This was a lady who had, for whatever reason, gone to great lengths to tarnish his upstanding reputation. Anger flared to life once more. Did she have any idea with whom she’d toyed? Judging by the flicker of surprise he’d caught in her eyes, he suspected not.

“Indeed I have heard the rumors,” she said, her gaze never wavering, her cheeks the same creamy pale color. Any proper woman would have blushed at the mention of such a scandalous rumor, would she not? Bloody hell, his sister would have called for smelling salts, though her shock would have been all for show. This woman did not bother to pretend to be scandalized. Her gall was infuriating…and a bit intriguing, he had to admit. What was she thinking? And why on earth was she giving him that dazzling smile?

She shook her head and emitted a tsk sound. “Such a dirty business, these baseless accusations.”

He heard the words but had a difficult time thinking of a response. Was she trying to bewitch him? If so, it was working. His mind felt muddled and his heart raced at the sight of such beauty. He’d had any number of women gaze at him with varying degrees of infatuation and even lust, but this? This was something different altogether.

He was not a great game hunter himself, but he now knew exactly what it felt like to be prey. Her gaze was fixed and determined, yet smug and calculating. He had the most delightful sensation he was one of the few to see this side of her.

This was an entirely different woman from the demure, elegant lady he’d seen in society, and he had no idea what to make of her. Nor did he know what to do with her. She had all but admitted she was behind the bet that had put his reputation at stake, and yet she showed no sign of remorse whatsoever. He did not know whether to laugh or lecture her until she saw the error of her ways.

As he debated, she sipped her tea, calmly and without a hint of anxiety to indicate she was facing her accuser. She set her tea to the side with slow, deliberate movements, and then folded her hands in her lap. Her smile had faded, but it was still there. If he wasn’t mistaken, that small curve of her lips held something like pity in some enigmatic, mysterious way.

“It was rather silly of this actress, don’t you think?” she asked.

“It was more than silly,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. Was that how she saw it? This woman had smeared his good name, for no good reason, and she thought it a silly caper? This was all a mere whim for her, a bored spinster in the making with a lazy brother who wasn’t strong enough to keep her in control.

He turned his glare to Braxton, who was watching his sister with big, saucer-like eyes as though looking to her to save him. When he turned back to Lady Henrietta she was still smiling, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something more. “Yes,” she said sweetly. “Of course it was horribly wrong of that woman to speak ill of such a fine and upstanding gentleman such as yourself.” He frowned. She was mocking him, he was certain of it.

She continued, blithely. “What I meant was, she chose the wrong man to accuse falsely. Everyone knows you were nowhere near London last season, when she…” She waved one hand in the air in a vague gesture which he had to assume meant ‘when she was tupped by some wanker who left her with child.’

He stared at her, the meaning of her words registering a bit belatedly. He tried to reconcile his current predicament, having this conversation in a drawing room in London’s Mayfair district surrounded by tapestries, lords, and ladies. This was a conversation better suited to a pub or a brothel. Her arched brows prompted him, as though she were trying to get across some meaning.

He blinked, feeling remarkably like a dullard as the reason behind his visit momentarily eluded him. He’d been after Braxton, or after whoever was behind the rumors swirling about his name. Alistair sought whoever had paid that actress to claim him to be the father. How on earth was he sitting in a drawing room, conversing with a fine lady about actresses and illegitimate births? The world had gone topsy-turvy in the course of one morning.

“You were away, were you not?” she asked. The expectant smile made his breath catch. Lord but he wanted to kiss her until she melted in his arms. He wanted to make her smile and to make her breath hitch with desire. He wanted to see that brilliant light in her eyes turn into dazed pleasure.

“Yes,” he managed to say in a hoarse voice, because she seemed to be waiting for confirmation. What had she said? Last summer when the woman had this unseemly affair, where had he been? She was right, he hadn’t been in London. “I was in Oxford last summer.”

The light reflecting in her eyes sparked. He caught the way her lips twitched slightly. How could he not, he’d been obsessively watching those lips ever since he’d walked in the door.

“You were in Oxford?” she said. Another man might have missed the way she’d stopped breathing for a heartbeat as she reached for her tea. “Your sister told me you were traveling extensively on the continent.”

Oh hell. Was that the lie he’d told? He told so many these days it was hard to keep track. “Yes, well,” he started to say, his mind racing to remember where he’d supposedly been nearly a year ago. Damn, she was right. “Of course, I meant to say France.”

She blinked once, and he had the odd notion she was storing his words away, cataloguing them for future use. “Of course,” she murmured. Any amusement he might have felt over this unusual female and her absurd pastime disappeared in a heartbeat. This woman could be dangerous. Very dangerous. He doubted she knew what damage she could do to a man like him—a man who lived a double life.

He forced a coldness into his tone that belied the fiery inferno raging in his gut—a mixture of anger and passion that was at odds with the cold reason which typically ruled his world. “She was indeed, as you say, silly to think that she could get away with such a lie.”

This devil woman did not so much as blink at the venom in his voice. “Or,” she said slowly. “Perhaps she knew what she was doing.”

Bloody hell. She had known exactly what she was doing and now she was spelling it out for him. She’d chosen him as the accused father to win a bet, but had made sure that the lie would not stand up. He would not truly be tarnished by the accusation. Perhaps she had a heart, after all. Or, perhaps, she was smart enough to know it would be idiotic to make an enemy of him. He studied her closely, looking for some tell, some hint of what would drive a lady of her upbringing to play with fire. Did she not know she could get burnt?

She poured another cup of tea, her hands steady and her smile placid as she did so. There was no hint of fear, and no acknowledgment that he could ruin her with a word. For a moment his anger was pierced by admiration, but he squashed it quickly. This woman’s scheming could cost him and his family everything.

He stood abruptly, annoyed with himself for worrying about a meddling lady. He’d faced far more fearsome opponents in his lifetime, surely he could handle a woman such as Lady Henrietta.

She came to stand as well. “I shall see you to the door,” she said.

He followed her, noting that Braxton merely allowed her to go off with him, only so far as the front door perhaps, but still. Had the man no pride? Was this woman so sure of herself and so independent her brother had no control over her? His disgust for the man knew no bounds.

It wasn’t until they were alone in the hallway she spoke again. “Rest assured, Lord Colefax, your reputation is still intact, and will continue to remain as such.” She smiled up at him and he had the queerest notion he’d been threatened in a roundabout manner. There was an implication there, one suggesting she had the power to ruin him. That it was only by the grace of her magnanimous nature he was spared.

He glowered down at the she-devil. “I should hope you are right. If I hear otherwise…”

She gave him an expectant smile that made his lungs cease functioning and he lost track of what he’d been saying. What sort of threat could one make against a lady? She batted those long, thick eyelashes once more. “I am so glad you cleared up this misunderstanding for us. Rest assured, my brother will no longer be causing you trouble.”

Henri shifted so he was outside the front door as she spoke and now she was closing it in his face. She’d been laughing at him behind that sweet smile, he was certain of it. He found himself staring at the front door in uncharacteristic bewilderment. What the hell had just happened here?

He pivoted on his heel slowly and headed back to his waiting carriage. Her brother would no longer be causing him trouble, she’d said. That was the closest she’d come to outright accepting blame for the rumors and the wager, and yet she had not admitted anything at all. Her brother would not cause him trouble? Fat lot of good that did him.

It wasn’t her brother he was worried about.

The next fortnight went by without incident, and Alistair had almost forgotten why he had been worried. As he and his brother-in-law waited for his sister’s ball to begin, he found himself staring into the fire on this unseasonably chilly eve. Perhaps he’d imagined the frighteningly cold calculations going on in her sparkling blue eyes.

He might have forgotten the extent of his worry when it came to Lady Henrietta—or Henri, as her brother had called her—but he certainly had not forgotten about her. It seemed with every hour that passed since seeing her, she grew ever more frequent in his thoughts. The vision of her pretty face, those lush lips, and her high cheekbones hung in his mind. Her image was a specter hovering around him, ready to haunt him at the merest whiff of distraction. The only way he could keep thoughts of her at bay was when he was working.

He’d kept himself busy all week, but now…well now, he found himself waiting in a book-less room with about as much intellect as the Earl of Braxton. He heard a snoring noise and looked over to find his brother-in-law had dozed off while they waited for his sister. Wonderful.

“Ah, Alistair,” his sister called as she glided into the room. “I am so grateful you could come this evening, and that you arrived early so we could speak.”

His smile for his sister was genuine, if not rueful. She made it sound as though he’d had a choice. “You said you had urgent business to discuss, Lizzie.”

She dipped her head with a coy smile. “Did I?”

They both glanced over at her husband, and then Alistair crossed over to her to speak quietly. “Is everything all right with you and Clarence?”

Lizzie laughed as she always did when he tried to speak to her about anything serious. “Of course, Al, don’t be absurd.”

Lizzie had survived their parents’ miserable sham of a marriage in the same way. She offered a smile and a laugh when tensions grew too high. She was skilled in the art of deflection, which was why he’d hurried over here tonight when she’d sent word she had something to discuss.

“Then what is it?” he asked. “Is there something wrong?”

“Wrong?” she asked. “Why, of course not.” She gestured for him to take a seat. “Is it so wrong that I might wish to take an interest in my brother’s personal affairs?”

Oh.

Oh no.

“Not you too,” he said with a groan. It seemed every one of his friends and their wives had recently taken an interest in his marital prospects. Turning thirty had put some sort of invisible, ticking clock over his head and everyone wanted to know who would be chosen when his time ran out.

Lizzie’s eyes were filled with mischief. “Come now, Alistair, you cannot avoid the topic forever, and tonight’s ball marks the start of a new season.”

He interrupted because it was clear she had a lengthy monologue prepared. “Just because it’s open season for husband hunting does not mean—”

“It means you will be bombarded with new, delightful young prospects,” Lizzie finished, never one to be sidetracked when she was on a mission. Her current assignment, it seemed, was to see him engaged. “Now,” she said as she folded her hands in her lap. “As your sister, and as a prominent member of society, I have insights into who shows promise as the next Countess of Colefax.”

“Who shows promise?” he asked. What on earth did that mean? As far as he was concerned, his future wife needed only one qualification for the role. The ability to bear children. As for the rest… “I do not have any special needs,” he said.

She waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. You’ll want a woman with some wit, more than a bit of intelligence, not to mention a pretty figure, and a pleasant demeanor.”

Lady Henrietta’s visage flashed before his eyes and he bit back a curse. That blasted woman invaded his every thought. He stood up and strolled toward the fire. If he could burn the image out of his brain, he would. “I require none of those things,” he said to his sister, his tone distracted and harsher than intended.

She merely laughed. “What are you saying, you want an ugly simpleton with no sense of humor for a wife?”

Yes. Well, not the ugly part. It would obviously be preferable to feel some attraction for the woman he’d be bound to bed. However, the simpleton part was not far off, and humor was not at all high on his list of priorities. He sighed as he realized his sister was right in one sense. He did need to marry eventually and she was better equipped to sift through his options. It would be one less task for him to undertake, and she would actually enjoy it.

He turned back to face her. “What I am looking for is a simple woman, one who will be content to focus on rearing children and running a household.” And take no interest in my actions, he added silently.

He could not bring himself to say the last part out loud, but his sister was clever and her gaze was knowing. “You want a wife who will give you your freedom, you mean.”

He did not respond, but that seemed to be answer enough. His sister likely thought he meant he wanted to keep a mistress, or some such nonsense. He had no problem giving up paramours and being loyal to his wife. It was in business he wanted his freedom and his privacy. He’d spent his entire life conducting affairs on his own without interference from his family or his friends, and he would not give up that secrecy for some meddlesome wife.

“Well, whatever traits you are looking for, I am certain you shall find them among at least some of the ladies who will be here tonight.” His sister’s tone was pleasant and conciliatory and he managed a smile despite the heavy sense of dread that made him want to turn tail and head back to his own home.

He had work to do and correspondences to send. Henrietta’s mention of last summer’s excursion had been a necessary reminder he had to cover his bases. Those blasted rumors would have people talking about him and his whereabouts, and he needed to be sure they did not uncover the truth. He had not been in France or Oxford, for that matter, but instead, had been meeting with his elder brother—a brother who was supposed to be dead. Not even Lizzie could know he’d been working alongside Marcus last summer, helping him to make a new start. Again.

Lizzie was one of few who knew Marcus had not died at sea, but she could not know where he was or how he made his way. To know would make her culpable, not to mention a liability. It was best not to put her in a position in which she would have to lie. That was what he and Marcus had decided, and he’d be damned if that bothersome woman’s ridiculous scheming would ruin their plans.

“I am a bit afraid you will be crushed at the ball tonight,” his sister said, teasing him. “You are quite the treasure among the marriage-minded mothers, you know.”

He gave her a weary grin. Oh, he knew.

“And not just them,” she added. Her brows arched as she gave him a smug look. “I happen to know you are of particular interest to an older, but no less beautiful lady who I’d thought would never want to marry.”

He frowned. She couldn’t mean… Her smile grew at her own teasing and she leaned forward and lowered her voice as if letting him in on a secret. “I do believe that Lady Henrietta is quite taken with you.”

“Lady…” He could not finish. To have her name spoken aloud after so many hours obsessing over the blasted woman…he had a distinctly unnerving sensation he’d somehow imagined it. Ridiculous. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Lady Henrietta?”

Lizzie nodded. “Yes, you must remember Lord Braxton’s sister?”

“Of course,” he said. Remembered her? He could describe, with alarming accuracy, every blonde ringlet that had grazed the creamy skin of her neck. He couldn’t seem to forget her.

“She came to visit me earlier in the week,” Lizzie said, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“Did she?” He tossed back his drink, taking a much larger sip than intended.

“She seems quite smitten with you.”

He stepped away from the fire as a new heat spread through him, making the fire’s heat unwelcome. “Is that so?”

Lizzie looked far too pleased with herself, and it was clear he needed to rein in his reactions lest he give Lizzie the wrong impression. It was not as though he wanted the attentions of a lady like Henrietta. He was merely intrigued by her, and apparently she was of him as well.

An unfamiliar tension formed within him at the thought, and for the life of him he could not figure if it was pleasant or not. If he were pleased or wary. Or both.

“Of what did she speak?” he asked after a long silence.

Lizzie held her arms out wide. “Of everything. It has been ages since I’ve received a visit from Lady Henrietta and I’d nearly forgotten how charming she could be.”

He narrowed his eyes. Charming, indeed. He might not have known her long, but he had the distinct impression if Lady Henrietta was being charming, he ought to be on guard. “Why do you believe she has an interest in me?”

Lizzie laughed. “Because you are a gentleman, an earl, no less, and you are in need of a wife.” She made it sound so harmless.

That only made his tension grow. “What exactly did Lady Henrietta wish to know about me?”

Lizzie sank gracefully into a chair beside him. “I was not exaggerating, Alistair. She wanted to know everything. We spoke at great length about you, about the family.”

He squeezed the glass in his hand to keep from uttering a curse. “What did she want to know about the family?”

Lizzie’s brows arched in surprise at his tone. “Do not fear, Alistair. She did not pry and I did not speak out of turn.”

He ground his teeth together because he had a feeling Lizzie believed she was right, but he knew she was wrong. If Lady Henrietta dug for information, he gathered it would not come across as prying. And if Lizzie were charmed, she would not feel as though she were speaking out of turn. The simplest revelation could be a slip she did not realize could lead to disaster.

“Really, Alistair, I thought you would be amused by the lady’s interest.”

“Amused?” he said with a murmur, turning to stare into the fire once more as his mind raced to decipher her intentions, her true intentions.

“Of course. Lady Henrietta of all people.” She laughed softly as if the idea of her interest was a joke. “Here we’d all thought she’d sworn off marriage.” She gave him a mischievous look. “But it seems your charms have won her over.”

He glared at his sister, entirely unamused by this turn of events. However, her last comment caught his attention. For the first time in his life, he wished he paid attention to society gossip. As it was, he had his sister. “What do you mean she’s sworn off marriage?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “All talk, obviously. She never said she did not wish to marry, but be that as it may, the lady never married and it is not as though she did not have her pick.”

A dark sensation pushed him to set the glass in his hand aside lest he break it. He wanted to say it was intrigue, but he had a suspicion it was jealousy at the thought of Lady Henrietta with her multitude of admirers. However, they were admirers she had not married. That helped assuage the ridiculous urge to track down each would-be suitor and knock him senseless. He turned his attention back to his sister, who was studying him closely. “Why?” she asked. “Do you share her interest?”

His lips tugged up in an unexpected grin at the memory of Henrietta’s eyes flashing with mischief, the way her being lit with curiosity and excitement that rivaled his own. Speaking with Lady Henrietta had been frustrating, infuriating…and highly diverting.

“I suppose you could say that,” he said.

Lizzie pursed her lips and he could see her battling the urge to press him further. She must have rightly assumed he would not answer any more questions because she answered him instead. “As I said, she never stated to anyone that she did not wish to marry, at least as far as I know.” She tilted her head to the side and stared into space as she tried to recollect. “In fact, I seem to recall hearing snippets of gossip when she had entered society, that she was quite determined to ensnare a wealthy, titled gentleman.”

His gut coiled in revulsion once more, but he ignored it, focusing on his curiosity instead. “And?” he asked.

She frowned and turned to face him. “And it was the oddest thing, now that I think of it.”

He shifted from foot to foot, his patience waning as each moment brought them closer to the ball and the guests who would be filing through that door at any moment. “What was so odd about her first season?”

“She had no end of suitors,” she said. “You must remember how she was beloved by the ton her first season.” She rolled her eyes as soon as she’d finished. “But of course, you must have been on one of your many business trips.”

He stayed quiet. The way she said “business trips” made it clear she knew his trips had little to do with business—at least not in the traditional sense. Alistair and his brother had been sure to keep Lizzie clear from the danger, and she was smart enough to know when not to ask questions, unlike a certain mischievous blonde.

“Lizzie,” he said, his voice like a growl as his impatience got the best of him.

She let out an irritated huff, but got back to the matter at hand. “She had any number of suitors, but they all fell away over the course of the season.”

He blinked. What on earth was he to make of that?

Lizzie continued with relish. “Yes, I remember now. Poor Lady Henrietta had the most unfortunate luck. Just as Lord Baltram expressed an interest in courting her, rumors spread about some previously unknown scandal in her family’s past. It was quite unfounded, but you know how averse Lord Baltram is to any hint of scandal. And then there was that viscount, what was his name?”

He listened with growing comprehension and no lack of amusement as his sister prattled on, naming one “unfortunate” rumor after another. Unfortunate, indeed. He managed to stifle a laugh when she’d reached the end of recollections. It was all so clear what she had done. She’d discovered what each gentleman wanted and ensured she could not provide it. She found his greatest fear and aversion, and then she embraced it. She drove those poor fools away while somehow seeming like the poor, innocent victim.

He turned back to the fire to avoid his sister’s questioning gaze. “What is it, Alistair? What do you make of it?”

It had been a brilliant plan, a tactical battle befitting a spy rather than a wealthy lady.

“Alistair?” his sister asked, prodding him from his thoughts. “Why do you think, with her beauty, her connections, and her wealth, the lady never married?”

He turned his attention back to her and forced a casual tone. “Perhaps she never had a need of marriage,” he said, trying to end the conversation before his sister could see how intrigued he truly was. “After all, you said it yourself. The lady has wealth and connections. Perhaps she has no need of a husband.”

Lizzie turned to look at her husband, who’d let out a monstrous snore from where he lay sprawled in his chair. “I suppose,” she said. “But that was not the case at the time.”

He straightened, his gaze focused on his sister, who no longer seemed to care about the topic of Lady Henrietta. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What was not the case at the time?”

“Her wealth,” she said, standing gracefully. “According to gossip, she and her brother were left in financial straits when her parents passed.” Alistair stared after her as she rang for a servant. “But of course her brother turned all that around,” she said.

Her brother. He tried his best to imagine that dullard Braxton using his brains to turn around his family’s fortune.

“The guests will be arriving any moment, dear,” his sister said as she roused her husband. He came awake with a snort and a grunt. Alistair watched the domestic scene before him, but his mind was racing to connect the pieces of the puzzle that was Lady Henrietta. He’d underestimated her. That much was clear. She was no bored spinster looking to create mischief for no good reason. She was building a fortune.

“Alistair, are you quite all right?” His brother-in-law peered over at him as he blinked himself awake. “You look ill.”

He grinned. “I am quite all right, thank you, Percival.”

But he was not all right. He was an idiot. This situation was so much worse than he’d feared. For if this lady made it her mission to suss out secrets and manipulate rumors for profit, she would stop at nothing to unearth his hidden agenda. That he could not allow at any cost. It was not only his name at stake, it was his family. It was his brother’s life and livelihood, and it was all the people they worked to support.

“I was just thinking,” he said, his tone filled with a feigned casualness that was difficult to maintain. Lizzie looked back to him expectantly. “I do pity poor Lady Henrietta,” he said.

Lizzie nodded. “Such a lovely, refined lady who deserves to have a family of her own.”

His chest tightened painfully at the sudden, vivid image of Henrietta with a babe in her arms, laughter in her eyes, and joy in her mesmerizing smile. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should help her.”

Lizzie clapped her hands together. “That is a marvelous idea. What did you have in mind?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps we can let it be known that those malicious rumors were unfounded. She’s likely too shy to let it be known that she is seeking a husband.”

“And the poor dear has no mother or aunts to speak on her behalf.” Lizzie clutched a hand to her heart and Alistair knew his job here was done. By the end of this evening, Lady Henrietta would have her hands too full with suitors to pay him any mind.