“Pomegranate flowers,” Mrs. Lister said, coming out of the breakfast room behind her. “How charming and unusual they look. Lord Vickery must have hot-houses at Drummond Castle.”

Alice touched the petals lightly. They felt rich and smooth beneath her touch. “They are very pretty,” she conceded.

“In the language of flowers the pomegranate means unspoken desire,” Mrs. Lister said. “How very subtle of Lord Vickery.”

“There is nothing remotely subtle about Lord Vickery’s desires, Mama,” Alice said, “nor are they unspoken.”

“Really, Alice, sometimes you can be quite coarse for a lady,” Mrs. Lister reproved. “At least he did not send anthurium. You know the ones-spread orange leaves with a pointed, fleshy spike standing straight up in the middle. It always reminds me of a-”

“Of a tongue. Yes, thank you, Mama,” Alice said hastily, catching Marigold’s wide-eyed look. “I agree it is a blessing that Lord Vickery was more subtle than that.”

“Sending an anthurium is a token of a man’s intense attraction,” Mrs. Lister said.

“It could certainly be seen as a token of his eagerness,” Alice murmured. The scent of pomegranate filled her senses, heady, fresh and sweet but with the faintest of sharp undertones.

“Was there a note?” she asked.

“No, miss,” Marigold said. “His lordship delivered them himself, though. He said he would call later.”

“I shall not be at home,” Alice said decisively. The flowers were pretty and a far more clever choice than she would have expected, but her feelings still smarted from Miles’s behavior the previous night. “His lordship is presumptuous.”

“Yes, miss,” Marigold said, “but he is very handsome, isn’t he?”

“Which is nothing to the purpose,” Alice said.

“No, miss,” Marigold said, “but you like him, don’t you, miss?”

“I do not,” Alice snapped.

“Disappointing,” an amused masculine voice drawled behind her. “I was hoping that my flowers might procure a better response than that.”

“Lord Vickery!” Alice spun around, furious that she had been overheard. Miles was standing a few feet away, watching her with that lazy masculine appraisal that always made her feel hot and shivery at the same time. “I had not realized that when you said you would call later you meant later by five minutes,” she said.

Miles strolled forward. He looked completely un-abashed. “Forgive me,” he murmured, “but when I returned to the carriage, my mama reminded me that I was supposed to ask Mrs. Lister-” he bowed to Alice’s mama “-whether she would care to join her for morning tea at the circulating library. I did knock,” he added with a look that to Alice’s critical eye seemed completely unapologetic, “but no one answered so when I saw that the door was ajar…”

“We must get the catch fixed, Mama,” Alice said crossly. “All manner of riffraff are able to walk in off the streets.”

“I should be delighted to join Lady Vickery,” Mrs. Lister trilled, ignoring Alice’s comment as she flitted back and forth across the hall to collect her cloak and gloves and reticule. “I will come at once. Such a pleasure!”

Alice made a sound of exasperation. All her mama’s disappointment had vanished now and she was in a state of high excitement to have been remembered by her new friend.

Lizzie wandered out of the breakfast room, a piece of toast still clasped in one hand.

“Good morning, Lord Vickery,” she said. “The early fortune hunter catches the heiress, eh?”

“I accept your congratulations with pleasure, Lady Elizabeth,” Miles said. “It is pleasing to know that Miss Lister has now confided about our betrothal in her friends and family.”

“Pray do not be too pleased,” Lizzie said, “for I am doing my best to dissuade her.” She looked at Alice. “I am afraid that my friend has taken leave of her senses but I hope that the real Alice Lister will return before long.” She nodded to Alice. “I am taking a tray up to Lydia this morning. We shall see what she thinks of your betrothal, Alice.”

“Lady Elizabeth has not taken the news well, then,” Miles observed, as Lizzie trotted away.

“As you see,” Alice snapped.

Miles touched the petals of the pomegranate flowers that Alice was still holding. “They reminded me of you,” he said in a low voice, for her ears only. “Beautiful but with tartness beneath the sweetness.” His lips curved into a rueful smile. “Do you know, when I first thought to marry you I believed you would be quite biddable? It seems I did not know you very well.”

“I am not in the least sorry to disappoint you,” Alice said. She looked him in the eye. “It does not surprise me that you misjudged my character so, my lord. The only thing that you were interested in was that I was rich.”

“Not the only thing,” Miles corrected gently. He touched the flowers again. “The fruit tastes very sweet, too,” he whispered to her.

Alice felt the heat blossom through her. She blushed vividly and was annoyed with herself for doing so. “Marigold,” she said, proffering the vase to the maid, “pray would you put these in the breakfast room?” She turned to Miles as Mrs. Lister swept out the front door in a flurry of excitement and farewells. “Should you not accompany the ladies, Lord Vickery?”

“They can manage very well without me,” Miles said, “and I prefer to speak with you.” He looked at her. “In private, if you please.”

His hand closed about her wrist and he drew her into the parlor and closed the door behind them, blocking out the sight of Marigold’s fascinated face.

“Well?” he said, leaning his shoulders back against the door panels. “You seem out of charity with me this morning, Miss Lister. I expected better-”

“And I expected better of you last night!” Alice flashed, her indignation and anger catching alight. “Why, you could not even bring yourself to come across to speak with us when everyone else shunned our company and slighted us! I will not wed a man who is ashamed to call me his wife, Lord Vickery. What would you do with me-lock me up in Drum Castle because I am not fit for polite society?” She stalked away from him. “You could have helped us last night but instead you merely stood watching the others insult us! And I do not know why I expected any differently of you for I know you care nothing for me-you could not have proved it more eloquently!”

Miles walked across to the window, then turned to face her. His expression was impassive. “It is true that I could have come across to speak with you,” he said.

“So why did you not?” Alice demanded. She felt angry, hurt and upset, and unsure why it mattered to her so much.

“Unless you permit a formal betrothal between us,” Miles said, “I cannot help you.”

“You mean that you will not!” Alice said. Once again his callousness shocked her.

Miles shrugged. “There is a price to be paid for everything, Miss Lister,” he said. “I want to give you the protection of my name and I want to have the right to defend you against the sort of slights you experienced last night, but unless we announce our betrothal officially there is nothing I can do.”

Alice tilted her head to one side to look up at him. “Why would you want to defend me?” she asked. “It is not as though you give a rush.”

“Because it is not appropriate that my future wife-and her family-should suffer such snubs,” Miles said, “and if it were known that you are the future Marchioness of Drummond you would not experience such insults.”

Alice looked at him. His expression was hard, unemotional. “So this is about your pride?” Alice said.

“It is about possession,” Miles said. He came across to her and took her lightly by the wrists and as always when he touched her, her heart pounded. “I want you as my wife, Alice,” he said. “You will be Marchioness of Drummond. Agree to a formal betrothal. It will give us both what we want.”

Alice tried to think. It was almost impossible with his hands on her and the blood beating so hard and fast in her veins. She could see how cleverly Miles had taken her insecurities and used them for his purposes, to push for an official engagement. She had wanted to avoid it until he had fulfilled the terms of Lady Membury’s will but she could see that if they announced their betrothal now, no one would cut her dead to her face, not even the Duchess of Cole herself. The Duke of Cole would not make coarse comments about her. And her mother would never again wear that look of bruised incomprehension to be rebuffed by the matrons of Yorkshire society.

Alice wished it did not matter so much to her. But it did. She was so weary of being treated shabbily and the thought of Miles’s protection was treacherously attractive. Agree to a formal betrothal. It will give us both what we want…

“You seek to use my weakness to get what you want.” She whispered, “You are ruthless.”

Miles shrugged. “I am a negotiator, Miss Lister. That is my job. If there is something that we both want it makes sense to discuss it.”

“You go too fast,” Alice whispered.

Miles bent his lips to the tender skin of her neck, planting tiny kisses against the curve of her throat. The shivers of desire ran through her, making her catch her breath. “Not fast enough for me,” he said.

Alice tried to keep a clear head even as her treacherous pulse raced beneath his fingers. “If I agree to a formal engagement…”

He paused. “Yes?”

“You still have to fulfill the terms of the will,” Alice said. “If you do not I will break the engagement. If you do not keep to our terms of total honesty then you lose.”

She felt Miles smile against her skin and it made her shiver. “You drive almost as hard a bargain as I do, Miss Lister.”

“There is no way around the terms of the will,” Alice whispered.

“You could elope with me and damn the lawyers,” Miles said.