She opened her eyes. “A week ago, I did something which I believe will ease the burden you have felt in providing for Danielle and myself since your father passed away.”

Geoffrey’s stomach dropped. “You didn’t sell the piano,” he said. The piano had been in his family for generations. It was his prize possession.

It was his prize possession even though it technically belonged to his stepmother. In a fit of passion-driven insanity, Geofrey’s father had altered his will immediately after his marriage to Charlene and left some of the contents of the house to his new bride. Those contents included the piano. He would live in a box in order to keep that piano.

“No, although I’ve considered it once or twice. Since you’re quite obsessed with continuing to pursue a career in music despite the fact that you haven’t profited from it in any shape or form, I decided it was time to take extraordinary measures.”

A terrible dread grabbed at his throat. “What extraordinary measures?”

She cleared her throat and lowered her voice as if she were taking him in her confidence with a juicy piece of gossip. “A friend of mine in Texas told me that a very, very wealthy heiress wants to get married and her business manager is screening prospects. I faxed in your information, and I’m happy to say they’re willing to give you a chance to meet her.”

Horrified beyond words, Geoffrey stood. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” she said and swept her blonde hair behind one ear. “It’s the perfect solution. If you marry this woman, you can fulfill your father’s request that you take care of Danielle and me and at the same time continue your endless pursuit of your musical career with no pressure.”

“You’ve gone mad. I’m not going to be bartered off like some-some prize cow so you can shop yourself into oblivion.” He raked his hand through his hair. “It’s barbaric.”

Charlene planted her perfectly manicured hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be a pussy. Women have been doing this kind of thing for years. It’s the perfect solution. It’s not as if you even have a love life.” She paused a half beat. “You haven’t gone to the other side, have you?”

Geoffrey stifled a groan. The other side was Charlene’s way of referring to homosexuality. Since Charlene preferred generalizations and Geoffrey had been musical his entire life, he knew the possibility of his being gay lurked in her devious small mind. Being gay right now would come in bloody handy. He was almost tempted… But no, knowing Charlene, she would find another way to torture him.

“Just because I’m heterosexual doesn’t mean I’m a candidate to stud this woman from Texas,” he told her. “If marriage is such a great solution, why don’t you do it again?”

Her eyes widened, and she lifted her hand to her throat in a perfectly choreographed gasp. “I can’t believe you’d suggest that to your father’s wife. You have no heart, no honor.”

Geoffrey looked heavenward for help. Oh, no. Now he would get the martyred-widow speech.

“I was married to your father for twenty years. I took you as my son.”

To his eternal regret.

“I bore him a daughter.”

Charlene had moaned and groaned through the entire nine months.

“We loved each other dearly.”

She’d loved his title dearly.

“I’m not going to marry some woman I’ve never met and live in Texas. You may as well be sending me to hell,” he said. “Besides, she probably wouldn’t find me her type.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” she said with unflattering speed. “I’ve made an appointment with my hairstylist for you. I’ve also arranged a facial for you. Those circles under your eyes are dreadful. We can’t do much about your body on short notice, but we can probably make you look a little more firm with a few hours at the gym and some new clothes. Then all you have to do is try to be charming, which I realize will be a stretch, darling, but I have some reading material for you to peruse between now and Tuesday.”

Geoffrey didn’t think she could have horrified him more, but he’d underestimated her. “You’ve lost your mind. I don’t know who this woman is. I don’t even know her name, what she looks like. She could be a descendant of Attila the Hun for all we know.”

“You’ll find out who she is when you arrive in Dallas. The important things that you need to know are that she wants to get married and she’s loaded. Your job is to be charming.”

Geoffrey put his foot down. “I’m not doing this, Charlene. And don’t try shoving any more guilt trips down my throat, because it won’t work. This would be the same as prostitution. I will not do it. There’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind.”

She met his gaze and sighed. “All right, I’ll give you a choice. Find a way to get Danielle’s tuition by Tuesday, or you’re getting on the plane to Dallas. Otherwise…”

Her voice drifted off and she gave his piano a longing, sinister glance. She slid her fingers along the wood lightly.

His gut clenched. “You wouldn’t,” he said.

“It would never be my first choice,” she said. “But oh, yes, Geoffrey, I would.” She met his gaze again. “Much luck on eBay.”

Jackson was going insane.

Lori’s sisters had stayed longer than two days. It was up to four, and he’d culled five prospects from a long list. He’d put a shrink at the top of the list. If ever a woman could use one, he’d say Lori Jean Granger could. Late at night, she preyed on his mind. He was starting to wonder if she was a witch. Or a fairy.

“No fairy,” he said, shaking his head and splitting a piece of grass in half as he sat on his back porch with a beer. She just thought she was a fairy. She thought she was the Miss Fix-It Fairy with unlimited dough, and he was the heartbreaker who had to inform her of the sad truth that she was mortal like the rest of us.

He remembered how her face had paled when he’d told her he knew about the payments she was sending to the three women hiding from their abusive husbands. Jackson thought of his own mother and how she continued to hang in there with his father, despite his father’s verbal abuse. No matter how many times his father left, his mother took him back. He remembered begging her to change the locks, move away, but she would do neither.

He felt a slice of envy that Lori had been able to help women who were strangers when he hadn’t been able to get through to his own mother. He wondered how she’d done it-what kind of magic she possessed to help a beat-up person find the courage to follow through and make a new life.

Of course, nearly unlimited money didn’t hurt, he thought cynically and crushed his beer can against his chair.

Jackson was still torn about Lori. The rate at which she disposed of her fortune gave him hives. At the same time, he was starting to see how serious she was about trying to make a difference. Finding out about those women touched a sore point inside him. Her determination to keep it secret grabbed at him. In elementary school, he remembered that a history teacher had said that what a person did in secret said a lot more about what they were made of than what they did in public.

In public, Lori wore designer clothes and donated her money to crazy charities. In private, she clung fiercely to her independence at the same time she looked to her dog for acceptance while she tried to take care of the world.

Jackson felt oddly protective of her. He still wanted to talk her out of the marriage deal, but he was starting to understand her point of view, her impatience with her father’s manipulation.

He picked up the file of prospects again. One of these men was going to go through six years of heaven and hell. Heaven to be close to her. Hell not to have her.

Lori had a case of cold feet. After being around her sisters for the last several days and overhearing their lovey-dovey phone conversations with their husbands, she couldn’t help rethinking her decision to marry for access to her money. If only it wasn’t necessary, she thought, frustration zooming through her as her chauffeur negotiated the heavy traffic.

But it was, and Jackson had left a message that he wanted to meet with her tonight to show her the dossiers on five prospective husbands.

She felt another chill run through her-all the way to her feet.

It was temporary, she told herself as a doorman allowed her into the exclusive nightclub charity party. A band played in a back room while servers floated through the space with trays of champagne and food. A barrage of children’s paintings and baskets loaded with giveaways were arranged on tables for a silent auction. Lori’s friend Chloe was chairing a fund drive for children’s art programs. Lori had promised to attend, and she always tried to keep her promises.

In the back of her mind, she imagined Jackson James frowning in disapproval at her. He didn’t want her to spend a dime until she was married.

Lori made a face and wrote a bid for one of the children’s paintings. “It’s for a good cause,” she murmured.

Someone jostled her from behind, and her pen went flying.

“Bloody hell, do watch where you’re going,” a male voice said in a British accent. “Excuse me, Miss.”

The sound was so different from the Texas twang she was accustomed to hearing that it immediately caught her attention. She glanced around to find a tall man with floppy brown hair accepting a napkin and an apology from a server. He mopped at his damp jacket.

“Good start,” he muttered. “Spend the rest of the night smelling like a wino.” He glanced up at her. “Did he get any on you?”

She patted her hands over her black dress and shook her head. “No. I think you got the worst of it. Sorry,” she said, feeling pity for him. He looked so frazzled. Cute in a lost-puppy-dog sort of way.