“Turpin.” Alex clenched his jaw, irritated beyond measure at the man barging into what was turning out to be the most pleasant introduction he’d had in a long time. He pulled himself to his full height and glared down at his rival. “What can I do for you?”

Stocky, red-faced, and irritable, Daniel Turpin marched up to him, giving the ladies only a cursory frown before ignoring them. “You’re a damn fool, Croydon,” he growled.

Lady Lavinia squeaked, her eyes going round with shock. Lady Stanhope had the opposite reaction. She smirked and rested one hand on her hip, staring at Turpin. Miss Bellowes merely arched an eyebrow, glancing to him in question.

Alex glowered at his rival, highly aware of Miss Bellowes’s scrutiny. “I beg your pardon, sir. There are ladies present.”

“Bugger all ladies,” Turpin snorted. Lady Lavinia looked as though she might faint, but Turpin pressed on. “They shouldn’t be here in the first place. Politics is a man’s game. Women should keep to their place in the home. Which is exactly why you’re a damn fool.”

If they had been at a club, or even in the street, Alex would have throttled Turpin for his appalling manners. As it was, he had to restrain his impulse to punch the man’s bulbous nose. “We no longer live in the Dark Ages,” he said, narrowing his eyes in distaste. “Our entire culture has made great strides, both in technology and society. Women attend university now, hold professional positions.”

“They shouldn’t,” Turpin interjected.

“Our own queen is a woman.”

“She is not a woman, she is a monarch. And as for the rest of them, the whole lot are good for just one thing. Two if they know how to cook.”

Lady Stanhope made a disgusted noise and shook her head. Turpin turned on her.

“You, madam, are the worst of the lot,” Turpin sneered.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Turpin,” Lady Stanhope smiled. “I don’t believe I’ve ever received such a glowing compliment.”

Miss Bellowes made a strangled sound and pressed her hand to her mouth, but her eyes sparkled with mirth. The sight sent a jolt of need through Alex that was as inconvenient as it was surprising.

But Turpin wasn’t done yet.

“If you and your cronies have your way, all hell will break loose, and the natural order of things will be upended,” he went on. “Your proposals are a disgrace to mankind and a complete abdication of your God-given duty to master the fairer sex. You will be stopped.”

Alex clenched his jaw as rage welled up in him. He knew too well what men like Turpin meant by man’s duty to master women. He’d watched his father “master” his mother with a balled fist on too many occasions. And he’d rescued Violetta from a sadistic manager who ruled her life with the same iron force. It cut him to the core to know that both women had met miserable and untimely ends, and that Violetta’s death had been his fault.

The sudden, painful memory set him off-balance, and he felt his edge in the argument slipping away. “More and more men believe as I do every day, Turpin. I may be the representative for this bill, but I am not its only champion. The rights of women will advance, whether your backward-thinking lot want them to or not.”

Turpin laughed, his lip curled in a sneer. “You think so? Do you forget that you and your friends are not in power?”

“Perhaps not at this time, but we all know that this government is coming to an end. Change is in the air.”

“Even if there is an election,” Turpin went on, his eyes narrowing, “the Conservatives still hold the majority. And we will continue to do so.”

“But for how long?” Alex swayed toward him, growing hot with anger. “Disraeli can barely clap together a vote about the most basic things. The balance is shifting, and as it does, women and the working class will rise. Mark my words.”

“I mark nothing,” Turpin spat. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will move heaven and earth to ensure that your foolish and destructive bill never receives a vote, let alone a favorable one. Women are weak and must be kept in the home, subject to their husbands.”

“And what if we don’t have husbands, Mr. Turpin?” Lady Stanhope asked. Alex had nearly forgotten the ladies were there, and was pleased to see Lady Stanhope with her arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. Better still, Miss Bellowes had adopted a similar posture, gazing at Turpin with such disdain that Alex was surprised the man didn’t incinerate on the spot.

Turpin turned to Lady Stanhope and barked, “You should rot in hell,” then turned sharply and stormed off.

A gaping silence followed in his wake. Alex was sure he should have apologized, but he didn’t want Turpin’s foul behavior to be forgiven. Instead, he said, “That man is a thorn in the side of progress and modernity.”

Lady Stanhope hummed in bitter agreement. “Pity there are so many others just like him.”

“Not for long,” Miss Bellowes said. Alex glanced to her with a surprised lift of his brow. She met his eyes with a clever glint in hers. “It is as you said, Mr. Croydon. Times are changing. We live in an exceptionally modern world. Women are capable of so many things nowadays, and the laws of the land and society must evolve to catch up with them.”

Alex didn’t know which to admire more, Miss Bellowes’s words or the manner in which she delivered them. She was clearly intelligent and well-spoken, and he would have to be blind not to see that she was a first-rate beauty as well. Her hair was the color of the first kiss of a summer sunset, and her complexion was as clear and soft as rose-petals. And he wasn’t usually inclined toward such frivolous descriptions of feminine beauty. Violetta had been a beauty, before age and illness dulled her spark, but Miss Bellowes was a natural. That, combined with her father’s business empire, made him wonder how on earth she remained unmarried.

“I’m terribly sorry that our introduction went awry,” he said, shifting to face her fully and returning to the important business at hand. “I was about to say that any friend of Lady Stanhope is a friend of mine.” He made certain to nod to the startled and pale Lady Lavinia so that it wasn’t blatantly obvious where his interests lay. Although it was likely obvious anyhow.

“And I was about to compliment you on your speech,” Miss Bellowes said with a growing smile that did wonderful things for her eyes. “But now I feel as though I should complement you for the way you handled that dreadful man.”

Alex frowned, blowing out an impatient breath. “Turpin is our chief opposition in Commons,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and glaring down the hall to where the man had joined some of his more odious cronies. “We’ve been dealing with the complications and blocks he’s thrown in our way where the advancement of women’s rights is concerned for years.”

“I’m impressed that you’ve been seeking our advancement that long,” Miss Bellowes said.

He turned back to her. “But of course. There have been men who are dedicated to supporting the rights of all people for ages.”

“Really?” Lady Lavinia blinked. “I’ve never heard of any.”

Alex sent her a kind smile. “Our voices are often not heard over the clamor of what some see as more pressing issues.”

“You can say that again,” Lady Stanhope drawled.

“On behalf of womankind, Mr. Croydon, I thank you,” Miss Bellowes said, her smile as fetching as it was mischievous.

Alex was caught up in the charm of it and made an overelaborate, good-humored bow. “You are quite welcome, Miss Bellowes. My sincerest hope is that we can continue to fight for the cause until backward-thinkers like Mr. Turpin are eliminated.” A pinch of frustration hit him as he spoke. “I only wish it were easier to root men like him out.”

“Is there no way to sway his like to your side?” Miss Bellowes asked.

Alex winced. “I’m afraid it would be easier to carve a tunnel through Mt. Aetna with a hairpin. Men like Turpin are so deeply set in their ways.” He glanced down the hall again, disheartened at how many men he could pick out who were opposed to everything he and his friends were working for. Turpin was the worst of them, but not the only one. “If there was only some way to remove Turpin from the picture,” he sighed, thinking aloud. “He’s the lynchpin in Commons.”

“Just as Shayles in in Lords,” Lady Stanhope added.

Alex glanced back to her with a grim look. “Indeed. Each of them is as bad as the other.”

“I won’t argue with you there.”

“Is there a way to take men like that out of the parliamentary picture?” Miss Bellowes asked.

Alex shrugged slightly, wishing he had a better answer for her. “The only certain way would be if men like Turpin were defeated in a general election.”

“But you said an election is just around the corner,” Miss Bellowes said.

Alex nodded. “It’s very likely. But even so, men like Turpin have their seats virtually guaranteed, due to, well, not precisely rotten boroughs, like the old days, but close enough.”

“So it would take something extraordinary to prevent people from voting for him, should there be an election.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, then,” Lady Stanhope said, cunning and calculation in her eyes. “It looks as though I have my work cut out for me.”

“You, Lady Stanhope?” Lady Lavinia asked, blinking at Lady Stanhope in awe.

Lady Stanhope’s grin grew to diabolical proportions. “I have my ways,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Alex met her steely gaze with a smile of his own. He was damned lucky to count Katya Marlowe as a friend. Not for the first time, he felt as though he needed to send Lord Malcolm Campbell a bottle of the finest scotch as thanks for introducing them all those years ago. How Malcolm could have let the woman go was beyond his comprehension.

The conversation hit a slight lull, but before any of them could find a way to continue it the rumble of male conversation was split by a piercing cry of, “Lavinia?”

Alex turned to find a matronly woman storming up the length of the hall, a wide-brimmed hat decorated with too many feathers on her head. Lady Lavinia blushed scarlet and buried her face in her hands.

“Lavinia, there you are.” The woman marched right up to them, stopping with the precision of a general as she reached their group. She sent Lady Stanhope a sharp glare, then tilted her chin up and turned away from her. Alex glanced anxiously around to find several of his peers looking on with amused expressions, but the matron seemed oblivious. “Young lady, I told you that I would only allow you to attend this ridiculous event if you promised to return home immediately after it was finished.”

“But mother, it only just finished a few moments ago,” Lady Lavinia sighed, her shoulders wilting.

“Moments ago is not immediately,” her mother informed her. “I never should have let you come in the first place. Men do not care for women who are too politically informed,” she glanced sideways at Lady Stanhope, “and there are certainly no eligible bachelors in the Palace of Westminster.”

Miss Bellowes cleared her throat, although Alex suspected the sound was intended to hide a laugh. “Lady Prior,” she said. “May I introduce you to Mr. Alexander Croydon, who has just given a powerful speech to Commons about the rights of women?”

Lady Prior tilted up her nose and raked Alex with a glance. He felt in an instant that he came up wanting, but could only muster amusement for the woman’s censure.

“A pleasure, sir,” she said, entirely unconvincingly, then turned back to her daughter. “Come along now. Your painting lesson is in half an hour.”

Lady Lavinia sighed. “Mama, you know I’m hopeless at painting.”

“Refined young women should know how to paint,” Lady Prior snapped back.

“Fifty years ago, perhaps,” Lady Lavinia mumbled. She straightened her gloves and turned to go, glancing to Miss Bellowes for help.

“I should go as well,” Miss Bellowes said dutifully. “But it was an absolute pleasure to meet you, Mr. Croydon.” The warmth in her eyes echoed her words.

“Likewise, Miss Bellowes.” Alex bowed to her, wanting desperately to take her hand and kiss it, which was as silly as it was appealing. “I do hope we meet again soon.”

“As do I.”

Miss Bellowes smiled, then turned as though being dragged reluctantly and started after her friend, who had been shuffled off double-time by her mother. Alex watched her go, laughing at himself for the burst of warmth that filled his gut…and lower.

“Thank you,” he said, turning to Lady Stanhope. “I owe you for that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an engagement to keep. I hope we’ll see you at Armand’s house later.” He nodded and turned to go.

“Not so fast.” Lady Stanhope caught his arm, tugging him back to face her. “You and I have a few things to discuss before you scurry off to whatever it is you men do when left to your own devices.”

“Do we?” Alex grinned. He liked spending time with Katya, for whatever reason. They all did. She was undeniably good fun.

“It’s time, Alex,” she said, her expression filling with seriousness.

Alex felt the same quiver of nerves he had felt as a child when his nanny caught him misbehaving. Katya had that effect on men. Which was probably why so many of them were clamoring to get into her bed. “Time for what?”

Her mouth twitched to the side and she planted her hands on her slender hips. “I just introduced you to the woman you’re going to marry.”

An electric chill shot down Alex’s spine, bristling out to his skin as if he’d been struck by lightning. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” Katya’s grin turned triumphant. “The two of you were born for each other.”

Heat flooded Alex’s face. “Forgive me if I don’t share your romantic notion of people being born for each other.”

“You can believe it or not, but it’s true,” she went on. “Marigold Bellowes is bright, quick, and rich. She’s turned down scores of marriage proposals, proving that she has enough of a backbone not to let herself be backed into a situation that goes against her best interests.”

“Then why would she entertain any sort of proposal from me?”

Katya chuckled, shaking her head. “You share goals. She wants to be a woman of power and influence, which any woman who marries you is destined to be, and you need a fiery beauty to keep you on your toes.”

Alex crossed his arms, studying Katya in an attempt to determine how best to disappoint her ambitions. “My toes are just fine,” he said.

“I don’t think they are,” she fired back.

“I’ve gone almost fifty years without a wife—”

“And the time has come to correct that.”

He pressed his lips together and breathed out through his nose. “Miss Bellowes is too young to be wasted on a man of my age.”

“She’s mature beyond her years, and you need a woman still in her child-bearing years.” Katya arched a brow, daring him to come up with another argument.

The trouble was, she’d skated too close to the heart of why he’d shelved the idea of marrying at all.

“I have James to consider,” he said, lowering his eyes as guilt and regret wrapped around his heart. “Violetta has only been gone for—”

“Almost three years,” Katya finished for him, a note of compassion in her voice. She stepped closer, resting a hand on his cheek. “I know you loved her, Alex, though heaven only knows why. She was never your equal.”

Alex’s eyes flashed to hers with a sting of anger. “Violetta was a sweet, beautiful woman. She didn’t deserve….” He swallowed suddenly, jerking away from Katya’s hand, sick with the memory of their last, wasted years together. “She deserves more than your pity.”

“She does,” Katya agreed solemnly. “I’m sorry if it sounded as though I was disparaging her. But she went straight from the stage to your bed. Miss Bellowes has had the finest education money can buy for a woman. She would complement your ambitions perfectly. And don’t pretend you didn’t find her attractive.”

Alex sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “There’s no point denying that I found Miss Bellowes to be charming and engaging.”

“Engaging being the operative word in this situation,” Katya said with a grin.

“Why would she want me?” he asked, far more serious than he wanted to be. “I’m not some dashing young buck with a heart just waiting to be filled.”

“No.” Katya folded her arms in front of her, studying him with her sharp eyes. “You’re a lonely man with a heart crushed by guilt who needs to shake off the dust of the past to embrace the possibility of happiness before it’s too late.”

Alex huffed a laugh in spite of himself. “Now there’s a frightening assessment.”

“Frightening, but true.” Katya shifted her weight and studied him more deeply, which was as terrifying as everything she said. “You’re ready, Alex. It’s time.”

He wasn’t brave enough or dense enough to ask what she thought he was ready for. Katya wasn’t the only one of his friends to pester him about marrying lately. “I have work to do here,” he argued.

“And Marigold could help you with that.”

“Is she planning to stand for office?” he asked with a wry twist to his mouth.

“She doesn’t need to. Every powerful man needs a woman standing behind him, cheering him on.”

“And you think Miss Bellowes is that woman for me.” He crossed his arms, but behind his cool façade, his resistance was crumbling.

“I know she is.”

“Well, if you know it, it must be true.” Sarcasm was heavy in his tone, but they both knew his statement was genuine.

“It’s time, Alex,” she repeated. “You’ve been ready to move on for months now. I hereby give you permission.”

He considered arguing that he didn’t need anyone’s permission, but something soft whispered through him, easing the tension he’d held close for three years now. That something felt distinctly like relief.

“I’ll arrange for the two of you to casually bump into each other at a few social events in the next week,” Katya went on, her eyes bright with cheer. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange. I can think of half a dozen hostesses planning events within the next few weeks who would be overjoyed to have both of you attend.”

“By Jove, Katya, you have a wider, stickier web than even Malcolm has.”

At the mention of Malcolm Campbell’s name, heat and challenge flashed in Katya’s eyes. “Malcolm doesn’t know half of what I do, or with whom I do it.”

Alex bit his tongue over the comments he wanted to make. Perhaps it was a good thing that whatever had been between Malcolm and Katya had fallen apart years ago. The two of them would likely burn London to the ground if they were ever under the same roof for too long.

“Very well,” he sighed, knowing not a thing could change Katya’s mind once she grabbed hold of an idea. “I’ll extend my social acquaintance with Miss Bellowes, but I can’t promise marriage.”

“That’s what you think,” she murmured, reaching up to pat his cheek. “I predict it will be a month before you see that I’m right and take steps to prove it.”

“A month?” Alex arched one brow. “You think I’ll propose to the woman in a month?”

“I don’t think it, I know it.”