Bella closed her left eye, studying her canvas. The willow tree was too close to the center, drat it all! She heaved a sigh. She’d have to make it work. Starting over, getting a new canvas was wasteful. Mostly though, it was difficult. She always tried to keep her painting expenses to a minimum. The less she bought, the less Papa saw of her expenditures in that area, the less she reminded him of her mother.

She picked up her paintbrush, dabbling with the idea of adding a bit to the right side of the tree. A scratch sounded on the door, startling Bella and she dropped her brush to the floor. Perfect! A green paint stain on her rug! If Papa saw that…

Bella dropped to the floor beside the stain to better assess it. “Come,” she called half-heartedly.

Her door opened and Mary rushed inside. Her maid halted in her step, however, when she saw Bella on her knees. “My lady!” she admonished.

“Hurry, Mary. Get my spirit of turpentine. We might be able to clean it so no one finds out.”

“Lady Arabella, you have callers,” Mary said, sounding slightly aghast.

“Callers?” Bella turned her full attention on her maid. She never had callers. Never. She couldn’t remember the last time she did, actually.

“Lady Clayworth and Lord Avery.”

Lady Clayworth! She’d come already? That was a surprise. And Lord…Avery? That name sounded slightly familiar. Wasn’t Lieutenant Avery the nice fellow who’d dragged Elliott from the Astwicks’ ballroom, a few nights ago?

“Oh heavens!” She glanced down at the smock, covering her dress. “Untie me, will you?” she asked, rising back to her feet.

Mary crossed behind Bella. “I’ll get the paint from the rug before anyone is the wiser,” she said as she untied the smock from Bella’s neck and then waist.

“Oh, thank you.” What would she do without Mary?

“Just hurry, my lady. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I have a feeling you’d rather see your callers before His Grace does.”

Bella sucked in a slight breath. What if Grandfather frightened Lady Clayworth and Lord Avery away? The thought hadn’t entered her mind until now. “Excellent point.” After all, her grandfather could scare anyone away, even the bravest of soldiers, she was certain. Bella hastened toward the threshold without a glance backward for her maid.

* * *

Greg stood by the far window in Chatham’s blue parlor, his hands clasped behind his back. What the devil was he even doing here? And how the devil had he let his sister talk him into this nonsense? Of course, he knew the answer to those questions. Cordie had blackmailed him—she’d used his own guilt against him to get her way. And now here he was, his hands clammy, his gut uneasy, his breath a little short as trepidation swamped him while he waited for the beautiful Lady Arabella to make her appearance.

Her visage had popped into his mind from time to time over the last few days, that grateful smile she’d flashed Greg when he’d kept Gillingham from falling to the floor. It was a brief smile, followed by an expression of horror when her inebriated brother had retched across Greg’s boots; but that first smile, that simple expression of gratitude kept creeping into his thoughts whenever he least expected it. He had thought about her. He had wondered about her, wondered what had inspired her hasty departure from Hyde Park the previous day, wondered if the pretty girl with the grateful smile was really as angelic as she seemed. And now he might very well pretend to be her fiancé, which was completely ludicrous.

Why would a lady as lovely as Arabella Winslett need a pretend fiancé anyway? She was certainly attractive enough to have her pick of suitors. Perhaps Gillingham regularly tossed up his accounts upon men interested in his sister. That would certainly make a fellow reconsider his affections. Or was it something else? Something a fellow couldn’t see with his eyes. He’d never seen a woman as lovely as Marina, but her beauty had only gone as deep as her skin, something he hadn’t, in his youthful ignorance, realized until well after her death.

Not that any of that mattered in relation to Lady Arabella. He wasn’t truly going to marry the girl. He was just going to pretend to plan to do so. Perhaps. He still wasn’t certain about that. The entire thing seemed like a very bad idea, and he couldn’t help but think that his very orderly life was about to be upended no matter what he decided.

“You could sit down, you know?” Cordie glanced up at him from her spot on the brocade settee. Her green eyes seemed to assess him most unnervingly. What an irritating trait she and Tristan shared, this ability to see straight into his soul.

“I’d rather stand,” he grumbled, wishing he was nearly anywhere else in the world but where he was at that moment. Even still, he crossed the room ‘til he was just a few feet away from his sister.

“You look as though you’ve been condemned to swing from the gallows.”

He shot his sister a glance that said her estimation was particularly on spot.

She sighed as she picked at a piece of imaginary lint from her skirts. “I just don’t want you to scare the girl, Greg. She seems to be of the timid variety. Not being so stiff might put her better at ease.”

And who was going to put him at ease? Before he could say as much, the parlor door opened and Lady Arabella rushed inside. Instantly, her eyes locked with Greg’s and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

Greg could only stare at her in return, a bit surprised himself. A green smudge of something was smeared across her right cheek. What the devil?

“Oh!” Lady Arabella said, touching a hand to her heart as though she recognized Greg. Perhaps she did. They hadn’t encountered each other under the best of circumstances.

He wondered briefly if she’d thought of him since that encounter? He felt a bit of satisfaction at that idea, though he shouldn’t feel anything at all. Wouldn’t any girl remember a fellow after her brother retched across the man’s boots?

“So nice to see you again,” Cordie said softly, then touched a hand to her own cheek. “Arabella, you have something on your face. Here.” She glanced back at Greg. “Do hand her your handkerchief, Gregory.”

Greg closed the distance between himself and the lady, as though drawn to her by some force he couldn’t see. Up close, her silvery eyes twinkled ever so softly and his breath caught slightly in his throat. Even that green smudge on her cheek, didn’t diminish her overall loveliness. In fact, it made her the tiniest bit more endearing. Strange, that.

“My face?” the girl asked, brushing a hand across her cheek and then staring at a green smudge that now stained her fingers. “Oh, goodness!” Her face flashed crimson. “I’m so sorry. I must look affright. Do excuse me.” She turned as if she meant to dash from the room.

But before she could escape, Greg stepped in front of her and said, “Here you are,” as he lifted his handkerchief out to her.

When Lady Arabella blinked up at him, a tightness squeezed Greg’s heart. Before he could think the better of it, he brushed his handkerchief across her cheek, removing the green smudge that, up close, appeared to be paint of some sort.

Damn it all, her silvery eyes pierced his soul. She looked so frightened, so haunted, so embarrassed. He couldn’t help but wish to put her at ease.

From the settee, Cordie cleared her throat. “Arabella, I believe you’re already acquainted with my brother, Baron Avery.”

“Umm.” She shook her head slightly, her raven curls brushing against her shoulders, her grey eyes still locked with Greg’s. “Well, we haven’t been formally introduced.”

“Gregory Avery,” he said softly, hardly recognizing his own voice. “At your service, my lady.”

A shy smile settled on her lips. “Bella…er…that is, Arabella Winslett.”

Bella? Beautiful in Italian, wasn’t it? The name suited her, perfectly. “Very nice to meet you, Lady Arabella.”

And it truly was. God, she was radiant in a very innocent sort of way.

She blushed, and Greg bit back a smile. Blushing Bella. Some part of him decided in that instant that he would dearly love to make her blush as often as he was able. It wouldn’t be so awful playing her fiancé, would it? She did need someone’s help, at least if his sister was to be believed. With him she’d be safe, safer than she’d be with any other fellow that his sister might engage for the role.

Cordie caught his eye, a questioning glance in hers, and Greg heaved a sigh as he nodded in agreement. All right, he’d do it. Though he suspected Cordie had no intention of letting him leave Chatham House without his agreement.

His sister beamed in response. “Arabella,” she began, “do come join me so we can talk through our plan of action. Time is of the essence, after all.”

Bella, as it was hard to think of her as anything else, dragged her gaze from Greg’s and then crossed the room to settle beside his sister.

He followed her, then sat in a chair across from the pair of ladies. “Yes,” he began, “let’s do hear this plan of yours.”

Cordie flashed him a winning smile and then shifted on her seat to better see Bella. “I’m certain you’ll be relieved to learn that Lord Avery has agreed to play your fiancé.”

* * *

“Truly?” Bella’s eyes darted back toward Lord Avery, and her gaze locked with the handsome baron’s once more. Heavens, he was still as dashing as he’d been when she first spotted him at the Astwicks’. She gulped as uncertainty spiraled about her.

“I truly am at your service, my lady,” he replied.

Her heart nearly melted. He was at her service? Gooseflesh rippled across her skin. She’d never imagined so handsome a man saying such words to her. Honestly, she hadn’t ever imagined any man saying such words to her, handsome or otherwise. But to hear them from Lord Avery, his serious green eyes, staring so intently at her…well, she wasn’t certain what to think, let alone what say in response.

She couldn’t help but wonder, however, why he was so willing to be at her service. Not that Bella wasn’t grateful that the baron was willing to help her. She was. Truly. But why would he so willingly agree to play her pretend fiancé? Was it simply because he was Lady Clayworth’s brother? Or did it have something to do with the debt the lady had mentioned the day before? And if it was the latter…

“Tonight is the Duchess of Kelfield’s ball,” Lady Clayworth said, interrupting Bella’s musings. “I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if we announce your betrothal there tonight, don’t you agree?”

Goodness. As soon as they announced this betrothal, it would be real. Or as real as a pretend betrothal could be. Bella sucked in a breath.

“Before we get that far,” Lord Avery began, drawing Bella’s attention back to him, “are you certain your father will even accept my suit?”

Papa would probably welcome a dockworker’s suit if it meant marrying her off, not that she wanted to admit as much.

“What could he possibly find at fault with you, Gregory?” Lady Clayworth asked, a bit of sisterly pride in her voice.

“Well, I’ve never met the man.” The baron heaved a sigh. “He might think my sudden interest in his daughter odd as I’ve never stepped foot in this house before today.”

Bella shook her head and forced a smile to her face. “Papa will accept your offer, my lord. Hellsburg, my cousin, will take me with him to Prussia otherwise, and I believe my father would prefer that I remain in England.” At least she hoped he did. He had made it sound that way when discussing the situation with her grandfather, hadn’t he?

“Noted.” Lord Avery nodded as though that made sense. Then he asked, “How did we meet? I assume he’ll want to know details such as this when he interviews me. It would be best for our stories to match.”

Lady Clayworth shook her head. “I believe simple is best in this case. You’ve only had a few instances where you could have met each other.”

“But we did meet,” Bella said softly, and both the baron and countess turned their attentions back to her. She shrugged a bit. “The other night at the Astwicks’.”

“I’d hardly call that meeting you.” Lord Avery frowned a bit.

But Lady Clayworth nodded in agreement. “I think it’s perfect, Greg. You met Lady Arabella briefly at the Astwicks’ and you’ve thought of nothing but her since that encounter. You’ve never been a believer in love at first sight, but now you can’t imagine your future without her by your side.”

Lord Avery’s frown deepened. “Have you been reading horrid novels again?” he asked his sister.

She waved off his remark with a sweep of her hand in the air. “We want the marquess to accept your offer, Greg.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “But we don’t want to do it up too brown, Cordie, or no one will believe it when she cries off in the end.”

Lady Clayworth heaved a sigh. “We have a while before we have to worry about the end. It’s the beginning that we need to concern ourselves with at the moment.”

“Just tell him,” Bella began, “that we had a conversation that night about paints.” She hated to broach the subject, but Papa knew next to nothing about art, other than his wife had scandalously abandoned him and their children to tour the continent with her painting master, never to return. “He won’t look for any details in that regard. Tell him you think we’ll get along well. That’s all he’ll care about, I’m certain.”

“Paints?” Lord Avery echoed.

Bella nodded quickly. “Tell him you have a passion for painting. He won’t ask questions, I assure you.”

“I haven’t an artistic bone in my body,” the baron admitted.

That was unfortunate, but neither did Papa. Regardless, that was neither here nor there. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

“No, I suppose he doesn’t,” Lord Avery agreed, his green eyes assessing her once more.

Lady Clayworth clapped her hands together. “Perfect. After you get him to agree to your offer, Greg, do talk him into announcing the betrothal at Livvie’s ball tonight.” Then she smiled in Bella’s direction. “The Kelfield ball, that is.”

Goodness! This time tomorrow everyone would think she was betrothed to Lord Avery. Her heart sped up at the thought.

“Yes, yes,” he grumbled slightly. “You’ve made that quite clear, Cordie. But first I should speak with Lord Aylesford, don’t you think?”