"I can manage now, miss."

She glanced at Cottsloe, nodded. "Indeed." She turned to the door. "I'll let myself out. Don't forget to bolt the front door on your way down."

"Of course, miss." Cottsloe followed her to the door; with a bow, he saw her out.

As she descended the stairs, Amelia wondered what poor old Cottsloe thought. Regardless, he wasn't the sort to spread rumors, and he'd learn the truth soon enough.

When she and Luc announced their betrothal.

That thought was stunning — even though it had been her goal, she still hadn't assimilated the fact she'd attained it, and so easily. Collecting the footman she'd left waiting by the area steps, she headed home through the quiet streets.

Dawn was not far off when she slipped into her parents' house in Upper Brook Street. The footman was an old friend who, having a lady friend himself, quite understood — or at least thought he did; he wouldn't give her away. By the time she reached her room she was so buoyed by her success she could have danced.

Undressing quickly, she slid between her sheets, lay back — and grinned widely. She could barely believe it, yet she knew it was true. Luc and she would marry, and soon.

To be his wife, to have him as her husband — even though she'd only faced the fact recently, that had been her unacknowledged dream for years. At the beginning of this Season, she and her twin, Amanda, despairing of fate ever handing them the right mates, had decided to take matters into their own hands. They'd each formed a plan. Amanda's had been straightforward and direct; she'd followed her path to Dexter; last week she'd married him.

She, Amelia, had had her own plan. Luc had been in her mind from the outset, a nebulous yet recognizable shadow, but she'd known the difficulties she would face with him. Having known him all her life, she was well aware that he had no thoughts of marriage — no positive ones, anyway. And he was smart, clever — far too quick, too mentally resistant, to be easily manipulated. Indeed, he was unquestionably the last gentleman any sane lady would set her heart upon.

That being so, she'd determinedly divided her plan into stages. The first had been to establish beyond all doubt who was the right gentleman for her — which of all the eligibles within the ton, regardless of whether they were thinking of marriage or not, was the one she wanted above all others.

Her search had brought her back to Luc, left her with him and only him in her sights. The second stage of her plan involved getting what she wanted from him.

That was not going to be easy. She knew what she wanted — a marriage based on love, on sharing, a partnership that extended further and reached deeper than the superficialities of married life. Ultimately, a family — not just the amalgam of his and hers, but theirs, a new entity.

All that she wanted, with a desire that was absolute. How to persuade Luc to fall in with her plans, how to bring him to share her aspirations…

A novel strategy — one he wouldn't immediately see through and counter — had clearly been necessary. She'd realized that getting him to marry her first and fall in love with her subsequently was the only way forward, yet how to accomplish the former without the latter had initially stumped her. Then she'd noticed the oddity of Emily's and Anne's gowns. After that, alerted, she'd noticed any number of minor details, until she was sure beyond all doubt that the Ash-fords needed money.

Money she had in abundance; her considerable dowry would pass to her husband on her marriage.

She'd spent hours rehearsing her arguments, laying out the salient facts, reassuring him that theirs would be a marriage of convenience, that she wouldn't make unwanted emotional demands, that she was prepared to let him go his own way as long as she could similarly go hers. All lies, of course, but she had to be hardheaded; this was Luc she was dealing with — without those lies, she could see no chance of getting his ring on her finger, and that had to be her first goal.

A goal she'd almost realized. Outside her window, the world was stirring. Her heart light, buoyed by a feeling of lightness, of satisfaction and triumph, she closed her eyes. And tried to rein in her joy. Gaining Luc's agreement to their wedding was not an end, but a beginning, the first active step in her long-range plan. Her plan to translate her most precious dream into reality.

She was one step — one big step — closer to her ultimate goal.

Five hours later, Luc opened his eyes, and remembered with startling clarity all that had happened in his front hall. Up to the point of that unwise bow; after that, he recalled very little. He frowned, struggling to pierce the fog shrouding those latter moments — out of the mists, he retained a definite impression of Amelia, warm, soft, and undeniably female, tucked against his side. He could remember the pressure of her hands on his chest…

He realized he was naked under his sheets.

His imagination reared, poised to run riot — a quiet tap distracted him. The door eased open. Cottsloe peeked in.

Luc beckoned, waited only until Cottsloe closed the door to tersely inquire, "Who put me to bed?"

"I did, my lord." Cottsloe clasped his hands; his eyes were wary. "If you remember…"

"I remember Amelia Cynster was here."

"Indeed, my lord." Cottsloe looked relieved. "Miss Amelia helped get you upstairs, then she left. Do you wish for anything at this time?"

His relief was greater than Cottsloe's. "Just my washing water. I'll be down to breakfast shortly. What time is it?"

"Ten o'clock, my lord." Crossing to the window, Cottsloe drew back the curtains. "Miss Ffolliot has arrived and is breakfasting with Miss Emily and Miss Anne. Her ladyship has yet to come down."

"Very good." Luc relaxed, smiled. "I've some good news, Cottsloe, which, needless to say, must go no further than you and Mrs. Higgs, if you would be so good as to pass the word to her."

Cottsloe's face, until then set in typical butler imperturbability, eased. "Her ladyship did whisper that there'd been some encouraging developments."

"Encouraging indeed — the family's afloat again. We're no longer run aground, and even more than that — financially, we're once again precisely where we should be, where we've pretended to be all these years." Luc met Cottsloe's steady brown eyes. "We're no longer living a lie."

Cottsloe beamed. "Well done, my lord! I take it one of your investment ventures was successful?"

"Extravagantly successful. Even old Child was bowled over by how successful. That was the note I got yesterday evening. I couldn't speak to you then, but I wanted to tell both you and Mrs. Higgs that I'll make out drafts to you both for all your back wages this morning. Without your unfailing support, we'd never have weathered the last eight years."

Cottsloe blushed and looked conscious. "My lord, neither Mrs. Higgs nor I is in any hurry over the money—"

"No — you've been more than patient." Luc smiled disarmingly. "It'll give me great pleasure, Cottsloe, to at last be able to pay both of you as you deserve."

Phrased in that way, Cottsloe could do nothing but blush again and acquiesce to his wishes.

"If you would both come to the study at twelve, I'll have the drafts waiting."

Cottsloe bowed. "Very good, my lord. I'll inform Mrs. Higgs."

Luc nodded and watched as Cottsloe retreated, silently closing the door. Sinking into his pillows, he spent a moment thinking grateful and fond thoughts of his butler and his housekeeper, who had stood unwaveringly behind the family throughout their time of need.

From there, his thoughts wandered to his change of circumstances, his new life… to the events of the past night.

Mentally checking his faculties and his physical state, he confirmed everything was in working order. Bar a faint headache, he felt no aftereffects from the previous night's excesses. His hard head was the only physical characteristic he'd inherited from his wastrel sire; at least it was a useful one. Unlike all the rest of his father's legacy.

The fifth Viscount Calverton had been a dashing, debonair ne'er-do-well whose only contribution to the family had been to marry well and sire six children. At forty-eight, he'd broken his neck on the hunting field, leaving Luc, then twenty-one, to take over the estate, only to discover it mortgaged to the hilt. Neither he nor his mother had had any idea the family coffers had been ransacked; they'd woken one morning to find themselves, not just paupers, but paupers heavily in debt.

The family properties were all prosperous and productive, but the income was eaten by the debts. There had been literally nothing left on which the family themselves might survive.

Bankruptcy and a sojourn in Newgate threatened. Out of his depth, he'd put aside his pride and appealed to the only person who might have the talent to save them. Robert Child, banker to the ton, then aging, semiretired but still shrewd — no one knew the ins and outs of finance better than he.

Child had heard him out, considered for a day, then agreed to help — to, as he put it, serve as Luc's financial mentor. He'd been relieved yet surprised, but Child had made it clear he was only agreeing because he viewed the prospect of saving the family as a challenge, something to enliven his declining years.

He hadn't cared how Child wanted to see things, he was simply grateful. Thus had commenced what he now considered his apprenticeship in the world of finance. Child had been a strict yet immensely knowledgeable mentor; he'd applied himself and gradually, steadily, succeeded in eroding the huge debt hanging over his and his family's future.