“Reconsidering your proposal?”

She gave him a soft smile. “No. I told Mother the wonderful news this morning, and she was quite delighted. And relieved. I owe you for that. Whatever the cost, it is worth it.”

He wandered over to where she stood by the window and leaned against the wall. “And if the cost is your unhappiness?”

“Why would your purpose be to make me unhappy?”

“Not my purpose, but … ours is more a business arrangement than anything else.”

“Most marriages among the aristocracy are, from what I understand.”

“Don’t you wish for more?”

“Of course I do. Don’t you?”

He hadn’t meant to reach out to touch her, but she’d left some strands of hair to frame her face and he found himself toying with them, allowing his fingers to graze the soft curve of her cheek.

“Why me? I’ve been sitting here ever since I returned home last night wondering why me? There are other impoverished lords who’d have jumped at your offer. Why did you choose me?”

“Because all the others turned me down.”

His hand stilled, his gut clenched.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. The look on your face. No, no.” She was suddenly so near that he could feel her breath against his chin when she spoke. Her hands were roaming over his face, and he imagined them roaming elsewhere, ungloved, as they’d been the night before following dinner. “I’ve made you feel less than you are,” she said softly. “You are the only one I asked. The only one I would have asked.”

“Why?”

She turned away, and in the sunlight easing through the window, he could see the blush creeping along her face. “Now it is my turn to be hurt. You don’t remember me, but when I was younger, much, much younger, our paths crossed. You spoke to me and I took quite a fancy to you. I’ve heard tales about you over the years. I know your father didn’t treat you kindly and that you were at odds. I know that he cared only for his own pleasures and nothing for the legacy he was leaving you.”

“If you were a child, you viewed me through the eyes of a child. Surely, I have changed in all these years.”

She faced him and flattened her hand against his chest. “Not here, deep inside. I know it seems silly, but I’ve always felt something special where you are concerned. I can’t explain it, but perhaps it’s not meant to be explained.”

He glanced out at the briars and thickets. By the end of the week, he’d have gardeners to put matters to rights. He could hardly fathom how all this had come about. Who’d have thought he’d have a guardian angel?

“If we’re to make an announcement in The Times,” he said quietly, “it would do us in good stead to be seen at least once together. Would you care to take a turn about the park with me?”

Relief and joy lit her face. “I would be delighted.”

Because he didn’t have an open carriage, they took her coach to Hyde Park — after Harteley had made himself presentable — and disembarked to stroll among the greenery. She loved it. Had always loved it. Had loved the city, but her visits here had always been rare because her mother had sought to spare her from the mortification of her origins. She couldn’t help but notice how dashing Harteley was in his fine attire. Perhaps they’d live in his residence and she could visit the park every day.

“How did your mother come by the wealth she will leave to you?” he asked.

Her arm was intertwined with his. It was the only thing that stopped her from stumbling over her own feet. She’d known he’d ask eventually.

“I’m not sure.” It was a lie, of course. Not because she was ashamed of her mother or what she’d done to ensure Arianna had everything, but she knew he would find fault with it and, as a result, with her. Until they were actually married, she’d hold her secrets close. “She thought it crude to speak of money.”

“But surely you have some idea.”

“I never asked.” That was true. She’d never had to. Her mother had always been honest with her. It’s easier to face the truth than to run from it, she’d said. But for now, Arianna preferred to run.

“What is her name?”

“Jane Vernon.” Although her working name had been Jewel. Eventually she’d become the Jewel of London.

“Did she ever marry?”

“One man breaking her heart was enough for her.”

“Do you fear I will break yours?”

“It is worth the risk for her happiness.”

She could feel his gaze settling on her. “You will give everything for her happiness, and then she will leave you.”

“The leaving will hurt terribly, but I will find joy in knowing she goes in peace.”

He released a rough laugh. “I’d not have done the same for my father.”

She didn’t ask after his mother. She knew that she died giving birth to him. “Your father did not sell his … soul to see that you never went without. My mother sacrificed everything for me.”

“I thought you didn’t know what she did.”

“I said I didn’t know how she came to have her money, but I know what she did as a mother.”

“I can’t imagine such devotion.”

She fought not to be disappointed by his words. She still dreamed of a time when his heart would stir with feelings for her. Before she could think of any appropriate comment, a man cutting a dashing figure on a great black horse came to a stop before them.

“Harteley,” he said.

“Ambrose.”

While she’d never seen the fair-haired gentleman, she was familiar with his name. He was a marquess, one day to become a duke.

“Miss Arianna Vernon, allow me to introduce Lord Ambrose,” Harteley said.

“My Lord.”

He swept his hat from his head, his blond curls falling down to frame his elegant face. “Miss Vernon. I hope our paths will cross again. Good day.” With that, he settled his hat back on his head and galloped away.

“That was rather odd,” she said.

“He was trying to determine if your skirt is available for chasing.”

“What conclusion do you think he drew?”

“I’m not sure, but when I see him at the club I shall ensure it is the correct one.”

She squeezed his arm. “I knew I had selected the right man to be my champion.”

He didn’t feel like a champion. Why did she have such faith in him, and why did it suddenly seem so important that she did? The questions fluttered through his mind as he sat in the club slowly sipping a brandy.

It had been a week since the invitation. He’d taken her to the opera. He’d felt pride at having her beside him. She was beautiful and charming. Men had watched them, and he’d seen envy in so many gazes. Women had been curious. He’d seen envy there as well. As she’d promised, his debts — his father’s debts — had been paid. She’d given him a hundred pounds as proof of her faith in him. She’d hired servants for his residence and had a box of books delivered to him for his library.

Their announcement had appeared in The Times and he’d begun the process of obtaining a special licence. He couldn’t deny that he was anticipating the marriage, in particular the wedding night. He had the means now to visit various brothels but he refrained. He could argue that it was because he felt he owed her, but the truth was that no other woman interested him. No other had her smile, her belief in all things good, her loving heart. He’d never had any interest in owning a lady’s heart, but he found himself unexpectedly wanting to possess hers. She had so much love to give, and to have it directed his way—

He barely looked up when Ambrose sat beside him.

“Saw your announcement in The Times, old chap. Can’t believe you’re marrying the chit. Thought she was your mistress.”

Harteley levelled his gaze on him. “You thought incorrectly.”

Ambrose sneered. “She’ll be cuckolding you before the ink is dry on the church registry.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Her mother was quick enough to spread her legs.”

He felt a sickening sensation in his gut, a foreboding. Why would any woman of means need a champion? Why had he not asked himself that? “What do you know of her mother? What do you know of Jane Vernon?”

“No more than you.”

“I don’t know her.”

Ambrose laughed and leaned forwards. “Of course you do, old boy. She’s the Jewel of London.”

“I need to see her now!”

Harteley didn’t bother to rein in his temper or to keep his voice down, which was probably the reason the butler said, “She’s abed.”

“With whom?”

The old man’s face hardened. “Watch your mouth, lad.”

Harteley made a move to go around him, and two footmen stepped in front of him and grabbed his arms.

“You’ll not stop me. Now step aside.”

“You’ve been drinking, lad. I can smell it on you,” Jones said. “Return in the morning when you’re sober.”

But he was beyond listening to reason. “Arianna!”

He shouted her name twice more, but she didn’t appear.

“I need to see her now!” he yelled, again.

“Over my dead body,” Jones said. “She’s retired for the evening—”

“Hardly,” she interrupted, and Harteley jerked his gaze up. She wore her nightdress and night wrapper. Her braided hair swung over her shoulder as she began her descent. “Unhand him.”

With a nod from Jones, the footmen stepped aside. With deliberate slowness, Harteley straightened his clothes, his gaze never leaving her. “I know who you are,” he finally said and, while he didn’t shout, the words still echoed up the stairs.

She staggered to a stop. “I told you who I was.”

“Your name, yes, but not who you are. Who your mother is — the Jewel of London. A whore. You expected me to marry the daughter of a whore.”