William took Lady Lanora’s extended hand, bowing over it. Thus far, he’d maintained his distance, for she and her father could easily learn he’d never set foot in Egypt. Now, he found the cold perfection glimpsed from afar was nothing compared to the spark held deep in her emerald green eyes.

“Lord William.” She annunciated with precision, but he’d heard her speaking as Mrs. Smith. He could tease from those short syllables the soft country lilt she kept hidden.

“Lady Lanora. I have long wished to avail myself of your renowned beauty for the length of a set.”

The aunt, frumpy and too-shrewd, gave a satisfied nod and turned away, effectively cutting them off from the gaggle of matrons at his back.

“Is that your version of requesting a dance, my lord?”

William couldn’t contain a smile as he permitted his gaze to roam over her. She was so very cool. Her façade was impeccable. If he didn’t know she donned dowdy garb and passed out bread in the poorest corner of London, he would have deemed her not worth his while. Her beauty was flawless, but William required something more than outward charms to stir his interest. At the least, a woman should have a notion of how they might enjoy themselves.

Not a line marred Lady Lanora’s brow as she attempted to tug her fingers from his. “I can see you are confounded by a simple question. If you’ll excuse me, my lord.”

Far from relinquishing her, William raised her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “My apologies. I was struck dumb by your beauty. That was, indeed, my attempt at inviting you to dance.”

With an assertive pull, she drew her hand away. “I’m afraid, though my card is not yet filled out, my time is promised. I have existing arrangements.”

“Oh? With someone special?” Which would ruin his plans. If he must be courting someone from Lethbridge’s list, Lady Lanora was the only remotely interesting option.

She cast a quick look about at the growing ring of observers. “No one is special, my lord.”

Did she truly mean no one was special, or was she simply trying to disparage the hungry looking fellows who edged nearer to overhear them? Fortune hunters. Bounders. Social climbers. She was correct. Not a one of them was worthy of her.

“Surely you have a waltz free?” He hadn’t thought her frame could go any more rigid, but it did.

“Only because, as you have must have observed, I do not approve of the dance.”

So rumor had it. “I’ve never seen you attempt it, whether to approve or disapprove.” He added a touch of mockery to his tone.

“Why should I attempt that which is scandalous?”

He leaned near, lowering his voice. “If you agree to one waltz with me, I shall not make a scene here and now.”

“Extortion, my lord?” Her eyes narrowed. “I should have thought, even with your reputation, such tactics would be beneath you.”

William offered a lazy smile, one that served him well with all manner of women. “So you follow my reputation? Then you should know I am the worst sort of scoundrel. No tactic is beneath me when confronted with beauty such as yours.”

“You seek to impress me with your infamy?”

If not for the quickening of her pulse, discernable in her slender neck, he would have deemed her wholly unaffected. “Women love a bounder.” He held up a hand before she could speak. “You will deny it, but they do. Look to every parlor in London. You’ll find clippings of that rogue Lefthook, carefully gathered by trembling hands and oft clutched to heaving maidenly bosoms.”

“From what I have heard, Lord Lefthook is not a rogue at all.” Her words were clipped. “Though obviously a man of little means, he risks himself to aid others.”

“A man of little means, is he?” The idea amused William.

“It can be deduced he knows the part of the city he roams rather well, as he’s not known to have failed in any of his feats. He apparently patrols it with ease.” She shrugged, the motion much more entrancing than when most women employed it. “Therefore, he lives there. How else could he be so familiar?”

“And a man who lives in that borough must be poor.” Like all the ton, she would look down on one who didn’t reside in the proper part of London.

Green eyes studied him. William realized he’d let a hint of bitterness touch his voice. He endeavored for another easy smile. It felt stale.

“A poor man can be every inch as good as a wealthy man,” her words were soft. “An argument might be made that it’s more likely so.”

William didn’t conceal his surprise. This was the hidden side of Lady Lanora. “Hardly a fitting philosophy for the daughter of a duke.”

The coldness in her demeanor redoubled. “I daresay not. My point remains. Lefthook is obviously an honorable man.” She squared her shoulders. “Unlike you, my lord.”

He raised his eyebrows, taken aback in spite of her reputation for putting men in their places. “If you were a man, I would challenge you for that.”

“If I were a man, I would meet you at dawn,” she said without a hint of prevarication.

How marvelous she was. He hadn’t dreamed the ice queen of the ton contained such fire. “I can think of a much more enjoyable way for us to be together come dawn.”

He braced himself for a slap and the shock that would race through the room, confirming both their reputations. Instead, she looked down. Though the action concealed much, he could see her cheeks round. Was Lady Lanora smiling at his innuendo?

Her lack of composure gave him the moments he required to regain his. “Agree to one waltz with me, my lady,” he pressed, now eager to experience the feel of her in his arms. “I can promise you the reason it’s scandalous is because it’s quite enjoyable.”

She looked up, her face smooth of expression, but her gaze contemplative. She possessed the most striking eyes he’d ever seen.

“The truth is, I do not know how to waltz.”

His eyebrows shot up again.

“If you tell anyone, I shall put it out that you asked me to marry you,” she added.

He grinned. “Threats, my lady? I would have thought such tactics beneath you.”

She made an airy gesture with one long-fingered hand. “I have an absent father. It’s likely I’ve not been raised well. We have spoken long enough, my lord. We’re garnering attention.”

As he wished, for word would get back to the marquess that William was following orders. Still, it wouldn’t do to put his quarry too much on guard. “Of course. My apologies. I’m sure you do not wish to have your name sullied by association.”

“One would think as much, wouldn’t one?” She curtsied.

William bowed, oddly stung she hadn’t disagreed. He turned and strode away. Men flocked about her in his wake, setting his teeth on edge.

He didn’t remain at the ball, but headed outside to call for his carriage. After two encounters with Lady Lanora, though she knew of only one, William was rather certain he had a problem. That problem, as usual, was the marquess. The old man said William must marry. Lady Lanora was on Lethbridge’s list. William knew, though, that she wouldn’t be if the marquess had reviewed it.

Lady Lanora was more apt than any other person in London to discover that William had never been to Egypt, let alone lived there until he reappeared at age fourteen. She might feel sympathy for London’s poor. She might wax compassionately on the worth of a man, but he knew his peers. If she learned he’d grown up in the slums of London, she would disdain him. Worse, she would reveal his secret to the ton.

The trouble was, now that he’d met her, William was intrigued. Her raven locks and sparkling emerald eyes set her apart from other ladies of the ton. Her lithe form, gently curved in the most desirable places, begged a man to put his hands on her, and he was resolved to. William would have his waltz.

More than that, beneath a façade obviously designed to keep the world at a distance, resided a keenness of wit in her eyes, and a spark. It made sense, being the daughter of a renowned scholar and explorer. As Darington’s daughter was. William could tell from the man’s letters she was intelligent. Was Lady Lanora similarly so? He feared she might be.

Equally disturbing was the stab of fury as he walked away, while other men crowded her. No woman had inspired that spark of possessiveness in him. He was very worried it was the seed of attraction. With that seed planted, it would be impossible to consider any of the other suggested women. If William must bind himself to one of the ton’s diamonds, it would be one for whom he felt at least a spark of desire.

When his carriage arrived, William told his man to take him to the marquess’s London home. They set out for the Westlock residence, where William had spent the first four years of his life, and then four more, before heading to the reprieve of university. After that, he’d established his own household. He’d sworn never to reside under the same roof with the old man again.

The marquess would think rebelliousness drove William to select Lady Lanora from Lethbridge’s list. Let him. That was safer than giving the old man any truth, for knowledge was leverage, and giving the marquess leverage was dangerous. If he wanted William married, he would have to agree with William’s choice. It was Lady Lanora or no one. She was the first woman of the ton to stir so much as a flicker of interest in him.

His resolve marshalled, when the carriage stopped at the marquess’s home, William vaulted from the vehicle. The house was a stern, sever building, and dark. Almost a blight on the wealthy London street, though faultlessly maintained. The marquess’s butler, a man whose face didn’t move even when he spoke, opened the door. He bowed, accepting William’s hat and gloves.

“He’s in his office?” William asked.

“Yes, my lord.”

Halfway down the hall, grim ancient faces glared at him from gilt frames on the flock-clad walls, William reined in his purposeful strides and slowed. He took several deep breaths. A confrontation of wills was best avoided. The marquess held too many cards. Lighter steps brought him to the dark mahogany door. He knocked, pressed the door open before the sound died, and stepped in. He took petty delight in the minor disrespect.

As always, the sturdy form of the marquess filled the large leather-upholstered chair behind the desk. William closed the door, attention on the old man as he passed matching leather couches and continued to the chair before the desk. The marquess didn’t stand. William didn’t bow.

The marquess set aside his pen, dropping a blotting page over his work. “You’ve come about your marriage.”

It was difficult to tell in the flickering lamplight, but the old man looked drawn. William liked to imagine there was an unhealthy yellow tinge to his skin. “You would force me to wed in twenty days.”

“Under twenty now. Your score of days began when you signed. In spite of your numerous weaknesses, I expect you know how to count. I also expect you to honor your word.” The marquess coughed. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, then shoved the square back in his pocket.

How William longed to wrest the handkerchief from him, in the hope it held blood. “And I expect you to honor yours, old man. If I wed a woman from that list, the Westlock fortunes are mine.”

“Lethbridge assured me they are all quality breeding stock. If you get one to bind herself to you, you’ll deserve the wealth that goes along with our name.”

“Then I select Lady Lanora Hadler.”

The marquess eyed him for a long moment. He slammed a palm down on the desk. William didn’t flinch, though the sound ricocheted through the wood paneled room. “Lethbridge.”

“Yes, Lethbridge. That’s what you get for leaving something as important as the Westlock line to a lackey.”

The marquess coughed again, for longer this time. The handkerchief came out, was applied, and disappeared. William watched with avid interest.

“Yes, I’m dying,” the marquess growled. “I’m sure you’ll have quite the celebration when I’m gone.”

“Only as is right to honor your exulted life, my lord.”

“Spare me your insolence. You will not court Solworth’s daughter. You know the risk.”

“If I wed her before she learns I never lived in Egypt, my secret will be doubly safe. She’ll be bound to me. She won’t dare reveal the truth then.”

The marquess drummed his fingers on the desk. He shook his head. “The risk is too great, greater than you realize. Besides, how will you marry the chit? She has what, eighteen years? You don’t have the time to write her father for permission and receive a reply.”

William forced a smile. Damn the old bastard for being right. William hadn’t considered that. “I’ll think of something, never fear. Perhaps a trip to Scotland is in order.”

The marquess grunted. “I’ve heard of the girl. They say she’s as warm as a corpse. You’ll have little luck there. If you wish to set yourself an impossible task, so be it.”

“You think she’ll prove impervious to my charms?”

“She’s Solworth’s daughter. She’ll prove too intelligent to bed you.”

William leaned forward. He took in the deep shadows draped under the marquess’s bloodshot eyes. “A wager? If I can get it in writing, within my twenty days, that she’ll wed me, you set aside this notion of signing the new will. Throw it on the fire.”

The marquess shook his head. “Women have no honor. What’s to say she won’t sign and then back out? No, I want one wedded and bedded before I die.” He fell into another fit of coughing.

“Fine, wedded it is, by Gretna Green, if I must. I put my name to that page and I will honor it, but you will honor the names listed.”

“Do as you will,” the marquess wheezed. “Pursue all the women on the list if you like. Manage to wed one of them, even Solworth’s chit, and the Westlock fortune is yours.”

“You’re too kind, my lord.” William stood. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The brief interview was all the time he could remain in the marquess’s presence before images of his mother, dying, and locked in a cell would fill his vision until it turned red with rage. There had been times before he went to university when only fear kept him from pounding the life from the man. In the years since, that fear had disappeared, leaving behind coiled anger.

The marquess answered with another grunt. He moved the ink blotter and retrieved his pen. William closed the door firmly on his way out.