"I really have to go." Alex began to rise.

"I'll take you."

"No, please, that wouldn't be wise."

"The carriage is just around the corner, miss."

"I'm so sorry I have to leave," Alex apologized. "But Tina's last delivery was complicated and-"

"I understand." Pushing the door open, Sam stepped to the ground and then helped Alex descend. After escorting her to her carriage, he stood at the door. "Let me know if I can help in any way."

"Thank you," she said, distracted.

He shut the door and stepped back from the carriage. The driver's whip cracked.

As he watched her drive away, he felt a moment of anguish for Alex's distress, for her sister-in-law's travail… for his own profound sense of loss.


The moment the viscount stepped over his threshold, any further consideration of loss was eliminated by the sharp crack of his barrister's knuckles.

"Farris. What a surprise."

"It's a matter of some urgency, my lord," the elderly man declared, as though his presence in Sam's entrance hall weren't warning enough of disaster.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Most of the day, sir."

At least he was aware now of the degree of misfortune. Farris didn't call on his clients as a rule. His offices in Piccadilly were sumptuous, centrally located, and staffed with enough underlings to run an extensive operation. "Follow me," Sam offered, moving down the corridor. "Coffee, Owens." He glanced at his butler. "In my study."

A few minutes later, Farris was seated, their coffee had been served, and Sam was lounging against the corner of his desk, too restless to sit. "Tell me everything."

Sam charged. "You needn't spare me any details. I'm quite capable of withstanding shock."

"It's your-er-ex-mistress, my lord."

Which one? he thought, but said merely, "Ah."

"She intends to sell her story to the newspapers, sir."

"What story?"

"Of how you lured her from her home in Cairo, sir, with a promise of marriage and then"-the barrister flushed beet red-"mistreated her in a variety of ways." He wiped his forehead nervously. "She was quite specific, my lord."

"Farida," Sam whispered, his body gone rigid. "Bloody bitch." His gaze refocused on his barrister and he stood. "I'll talk to her and straighten this all out. There was no marriage proposal, and the question of luring is up to debate on several levels. She's been well compensated for her time. Did she tell you I bought her a house and paid off all her gambling debts? Along with those of her damned brother?"

"She did, my lord, but, of course, her interpretation of those gifts is-er-different perhaps from yours."

Sam glared at the elderly man in his morning suit. "Do you believe her?"

"It's not a question, sir, of whether I believe her or not," he answered as a barrister would. "It's a question of whether her story reaches the papers."

Sam drew in a deep breath because he knew what was coming next. "And what would you suggest I do?"

"I would suggest, sir, as a prudent measure, we offer her some settlement."

"Again? She already cost me more than she was worth."

Farris coughed discreetly. "That would be for you to say, of course, but should her account be published, the public would be treated to only her point of view."

"I want her silenced," Sam growled. At Farris's look of alarm, he quickly amended his statement. "Not literally, just in terms of her newsmongering. Good God, Farris, if I paid off every ex-mistress who threatened to spread gossip about me…" He shrugged.

"Yes, my lord. I understand."

"And now I've put you in a damned box, I suppose," Sam noted gruffly.

"One needs a certain degree of negotiating power, sir. She has Collins for her barrister."

Sam swore softly. Collins was celebrated for his notorious divorces. "Very well, what do you think would buy her silence? Be frank."

"Five thousand pounds." [6]

Sam's brows rose marginally. "For that kind of money, I want to be assured she's back in Egypt."

"It could be a nonnegotiable stipulation."

"It would have to be," the viscount said brusquely. "Tell them, otherwise they can publish and be damned."

"Yes, sir. I will convey your feelings to them most exactingly."

"She receives no money until she reaches Egypt. If they agree, I want a detective on her trail and a report sent back to me that she has landed on her native soil." He blew out an explosive breath. "Do you know how much this adventuress has cost me?"

It wasn't a question he wished answered, Farris understood. "I'll speak to Collins personally, sir."

"Immediately."

"Of course."

Sam suddenly smiled. "Forgive my outrage, Farris. I know how hypocritical this must seem to you. But the woman's been very well treated."

"I know, sir. One of our agents has seen her house… and her jewelry."

Sam laughed. "Maybe I should think about settling down, eh, Farris? It would be considerably cheaper."

"Hardly a reason to marry, my lord." The elderly man had seen the misery of Sam's first marriage, and he genuinely liked his young client.

"You're right, Farris, as usual." His barrister had covered up with discretion all the lurid details of Penelope's death. "I defer to your advice on this matter as well. But keep me informed."

Farris rose from his chair. "I'm sorry to have delivered such odious news."

"Never mind," Sam replied kindly, reaching out to shake the man's hand. "It was my doing entirely."

"She's exceedingly greedy, my lord. Even Collins is surprised, I think."

"Really." Sam grinned. "Then I hope Collins gets his money in advance. Otherwise, he's not likely to see it."

"I'll tell him, sir."

"Good luck, Farris." Sam pursed his mouth. "Perhaps I should consider celibacy for a time."

His barrister's eyes widened for the briefest instant. "Indeed," he affirmed, clearly at a loss for words.


Minutes after Farris left, Owens entered the study with a doleful expression on his face. Sam said, "Bring me a brandy before you speak."

Although Owens was tall and far from frail, he had the ability to melt into the background. For those few minutes in which Owens carried out his master's wishes, Sam was able to forget Farris's visit and dwell for brief moments on the pleasure he'd experienced with the beautiful Alex Ionides.

He was smiling faintly when Owens handed him his brandy. Immediately drinking it down, he handed the glass back to his butler. "Now that I'm fortified, tell me what has caused your woebegone look."

"Your father, sir."

"He's said something to disturb you?"

"He's here, sir."

"Bloody hell," Sam muttered. "Is this my day of penance?"

"He arrived before Farris left, so I put him in the back drawing room with a bottle of his favorite whiskey."

"Perhaps we could leave him there until he passes out."

"He seemed to be on a mission, sir. I doubt he'll stay quiet long."

"In that case, fill my glass up once more and then go fetch him," Sam said glumly. "And if anyone else comes calling, tell them I left the country."

"Very good, sir."

"You astonish me, Owens." He gazed at his butler's retreating back. "Do you ever lose your temper?"

"Not while I'm working, sir."

"Not even with my parents?"

Owens hesitated for the briefest moment before setting the decanter down and turning back to Sam with his drink. "They do try one's patience, sir."

"A true understatement. Thank you, Owens." Sam took the freshly filled glass from him. "Want to take any bets on my father's mission?"

"They're all the same, sir. I couldn't take your money. I believe the Thornton girl is on the agenda this time."

"So I thought. Mama has her eye on their Yorkshire acres."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but the countess is most persistent."

Sam smiled tightly. "No need to wonder why I drink."

The servants credited Sam's drinking to his intemperate amusements as well, but ever courteous to the well-loved master of Ranelagh House, Owens said only, "You do bear a certain burden, sir."

"Escort my latest burden in and then do me a favor and announce another visitor in, say, five minutes. I can listen to my father's admonishments for only a limited period of time."


When the Earl of Milburn appeared in the doorway, his habitual scowl in place, it took enormous effort for Sam to greet his father with courtesy.

"Do come in, Father. Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I had an earlier appointment."

"I hope not with that arriviste Miss Ionides. I heard you caused quite a stir leaving Wales's box beforetime day before yesterday."

He couldn't accuse only Alex's parents of undue surveillance, Sam thought with irritation. "Actually, no, Father, it wasn't Miss Ionides. Farris stopped by."

"Are you involved in some damned scandal again? Another whiskey, Owens," the earl barked.

"Nothing to concern yourself with, Father. I'll have a brandy, Owens." Make it large, he wished to say but stopped himself. He could deal with anything for five minutes. "And then you may leave, Owens."

His father sat down in the nearest chair. Sam glanced at the clock.

"Farris doesn't come calling for nothing," his father noted darkly.

For a flashing moment, Sam debated warning his father about the possible publication of Farida's accusations but decided it would be time enough if Farris's negotiations failed. "He had business concerning my railroad stock," Sam fabricated.

"You're wasting your money, my boy. Land-now, there's where you should be investing. It's the strength and backbone of this country."

"I'll tell Farris," he replied politely, watching his father take his whiskey from the silver salver Owens held out to him. With land prices falling steadily for decades, he wasn't likely to invest in property.