"And how did I become the lucky man? Did you offer me up for auction on the block?"

"You're not the chosen one, yet. She's meeting with five gentlemen and will be allowed to select from the lot of you. I have no doubt, with your womanizing skills, you could easily win her hand."

"Lucky me." Phillip's brow wrinkled momentarily as, for some reason, he experienced a moment of annoyance that he was expected to compete with four others. For many years, he'd been one of England's most eligible bachelors, and leaving his poverty aside, he still was. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. To what a state his world had fallen.

"Before the month is out, your problems could be solved. Your creditors would be satisfied. You'd be wed and could set about starting your nursery. You'd have a lovely wife." Thumberton liked this part. He truthfully felt that marriage to a good woman would cure many of Phillip's faults.

"So she's lovely, is she?"

"Her father insists that she is."

"I'll just bet he does." Phillip pointed to the folder. "I assume there's no blue blood running in the veins anywhere."

"No, sir. They are merchants. But, as I said, from an old and distinguished family."

"And what about your insistence all this time that I make another proper marriage for myself? That I continue the line and all that malarkey? Have you changed your mind?"

"No, but matters are simply too grievous now to worry about the lofty state of your wife's position. You need to consider the lofty state of her purse."

Phillip stared at the man who, in many ways, had tried to be a father to him over the years. As a first and only son, he'd had all the respect and honors due him throughout his life, but he'd had very little guidance. Tutors threw up their hands and left Servants ran crying from the halls. His widowed father enjoyed the circuit of parties and night life. Thumberton had been one of the few adults to look kindly on him. He'd tried and usually failed in attempts to give direction, but Phillip couldn't follow him this time.

"No. I don't think so. I have a plan to stave things off."

"What could you possibly have planned?"

"I've been offered a betrothal contract for Emily, and I'm seriously considering it. The gentleman would pay me ten thousand pounds for her hand. Certainly that amount of money would keep the barbarians at the gate for the time being. We'd have some breathing room."

Thumberton, for one of the few times in his life, was speechless. Emily. Darling Emily, with her beautiful ebony curls and smiling blue eyes. That the Earl would even consider doing such a thing to his daughter was beyond all the solicitor's imaginings. After many decades of serving the most wealthy and influential families in the country, he'd begun to think nothing could shock him. With a desperate attempt at maintaining control lest he leap across the desk and grab the despicable whelp by the throat, Thumberton asked quietly, "And when would the happy vows be exchanged?"

"This autumn. On her twelfth birthday."

"And who, may I be so bold as to ask, would be the lucky bridegroom?"

"Frederick Morris. He's always had a fondness for the girl."

Thumberton swallowed his outrage. Morris was four years older than Phillip. There had always been rumors circulating about the man, that he had an unnatural interest in young girls. The solicitor suddenly felt sick at his stomach. "He is a pervert and .."

"He is a neighbor and friend I have known all my life," Phillip broke in.

Thumberton shouted over him. "He is a pervert. How could you imagine such a dastardly thing? She is a child. Your only child. At the rate you're going, perhaps the only one you'll ever have!" The outrageousness of Phillip's comments caused tears of anger to well in his eyes, and he wasn't embarrassed to have the Earl see them.

"We have been through this before," Phillip roared back, refusing to be swayed by the emotion pouring from the old man. "No one will ever convince me that she is my daughter."

"You're right. We have been through this many times. And I've told you time and again: she is your daughter, conceived and born during the marriage. In the eyes of God and the law, she is your child. Her welfare is your concern. She is your responsibility ..." Finally, words failed him. 'Twas simply wasted breath. He wanted nothing more than to remove himself from the Earl's presence.

"We finally agree on one thing: Emily is my responsibility, and I will do with her as I see fit. She can bring me a great deal of money to help alleviate my problems, and I intend to use her to accomplish my goals." Phillip said the words forcefully, but it was the first time he'd spoken aloud of the possible betrothal. The words left an unpleasant taste, but he refused to let Thumberton know. After all, Phillip was the employer in the room, Thumberton the employee.

"Fine, your lordship."

Phillip knew he'd pushed too far when the old man resorted to addressing him in such a fashion. He tried to lighten the conversation. "So, thank you for attempting to ease my problems with the idea of marriage, but I simply cannot accept. Please send my regrets to the Fitzsimmons woman. Make it sound as though I'm heartily sorry I won't be able to meet her. You know all the right things to say." He picked up the papers Thumberton had scattered on the desk and held them out to the man, and a chill rippled up his spine as Thumberton refused to reach for them.

The solicitor eyed him silently for a moment or two, then stood. "I'm sorry, sir, but you will have to find someone else to notify her. Or perhaps you will have to do it yourself."

"I'm ordering you to do it, Thumberton."

"I'm very sorry, sir, but I am no longer taking orders from you. As of this moment, I consider my long association with your family to be terminated."

"Good God, man, you're quitting?"

"I'll send your files with a messenger first tiling in the morning, so you will have them to present to your next representative."

Phillip was shocked and a little frightened. "I'll not accept them. You were the solicitor for my grandfather and father before me. I am pleased with you."

"But I am no longer pleased with you. I have an income that is more than adequate, and I do not need the meager amounts I could ever hope to receive from you." Thumberton turned to go, frustrated and so upset over Phillip's plans for little Emily that he thought he might actually fall to his knees and find himself begging on the girl's behalf.

"I do not give you permission to leave."

"It matters not to me."

Thumberton took a step toward the door, but Phillip was quicker, heading him off before he could get away. He meant to shout more orders at the old man, forcing him to obey by the very weight of his position, but one look at the cold outrage in the man's eyes stopped him short. He said quietly, "Wait, sir. Please don't leave in such an angry state."

"Phillipa"" Thumberton swallowed, then started again. '' Wessington, your father was a gambler and a womanizer. He had many faults, but for all of them, he was a kind, gentle and generous man. In all the years of our acquaintance, I never knew him to intentionally hurt another soul." Tears surged to his eyes again, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. "I always had such great hopes for you. No matter what you did, how you acted, what trouble you caused, I told myself that deep down, there was a good man waiting to come out. I have waited for thirty years, and it has not happened.

' 'That you would even consider doing such a horrendous thing to Emilya"" His voice broke, and he pushed Phillip aside and stepped past him. "I wash my hands of you. I simply wash ray hands of you." Walking briskly toward the door, he brushed his palms across the fabric of his jacket as though Phillip was something despicable that had stuck to him.

Phillip stepped back into the library and seated himself behind the desk. He was shaking. Surely, Thumberton couldn't mean to abandon him at such a desperate time. Especially over something so silly as a marriage contract for Emily. Girls were married off by their families all the time. It was the way of things. Thumberton's attitude was so misplaced.

Even though Emily was three days away, safely sheltered out of his sight at Rosewood, she continued to plague him. Her mother, Anne, had been a whore. A beautiful one, certainly, with an outwardly sweet and gentle disposition. Phillip had met her and fallen in love when he was seventeen. Anne, who was three years older, had been a calculating woman who'd carefully played her cards to get exactly what she wanted. He had married for love, only to find out later that she had married for title and position.

Looking back, he was quite sure she hadn't even been a virgin on their wedding night. In his youthful inexperience, he hadn't noticed. When the babe was conceived, he'd already caught her in bed with his best friend, Richard Farrow. How many others had there been? He'd suffered through three long years of marriage until she'd had the grace to the of influenza, and he no longer had to suffer her cruel manipulations and infidelities.

He had been left to raise the child.

Shaking his head in disgust, he walked to the sideboard and rummaged through the contents, searching for something stronger than wine. The few bottles were empty, and he rang for Graves. The man appeared, taking much longer than necessary, but Phillip could hardly chastise him. He was the only one who agreed to stay after all this time.

"Where is Lady Margaret?"

"She grew tired of waiting, sir, and asked me to tell you that she would meet you at the scheduled time tonight."

Phillip was greatly relieved. Margaret insisted on long, involved, sexual relations every day upon waking. The last thing he needed at the moment was the headache of satisfying her. "Good. I've decided to go to my club for a time. Could you have the carriage brought 'round?"

Graves cleared his throat and looked around the library, trying to carefully choose his next words. "Actually, sir, there's a slight problem with the carriage ..."

"What?"

"Some men came with papers while you were talking to the solicitor. They took the carriage as payment for something or other."

Phillip shook his head and sighed. What a state! "Thank you, Graves. I'll ring if I need anything else."

Graves took his cue and left quietly. Phillip flopped back in his chair. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he realized he'd barely been awake for an hour. He leaned forward on his elbows, resting his head in his hands. If he'd been a weeping sort of man, this would have been the time for it. All the years of his life, he'd followed his father's example on how to live the privileged life of a wealthy aristocrat. He'd drunk and gambled and debauched women with reckless disregard and without a thought to the family's finances.

What no one had ever bothered to tell him was that his father, for most of his life, had never tended the estates, had never managed the money. As the years passed, his gambling addiction had grown until, by the time he died, there was hardly anything left.

Moving his hands from his eyes, he saw the papers Thumberton had left behind. A wife. A huge dowry. He pondered the possible consequences from all angles. Marriages in his social group were arranged all the time. If the liaison were carried out, he wouldn't be the first man to marry someone he barely knew. However, he would be the first he knew in his position to marry so far below his station.

"What the hell!" he muttered to himself. It wouldn't hurt to meet the woman. Give her a good look. She would certainly solve all his problems, and if they eventually married, it wasn't as if he had to care about her.

He rang for Graves again, who many minutes later appeared. "Graves, send a bottle of French brandy to Thumberton."

"Certainly, sir."

"With a note from me: Humblest apologies or some such nonsense. Tell him I've decided to consider his advice, and I'll hold off on my decision about Emily." Graves raised an eyebrow. If he'd heard of the plan through the servants' grapevine, he didnat let on. "And tell him I'd be delighted to meet with Miss Fitzsim-mons."

Chapter Three.

Jane stood on the cliffs, looking out over the sea. The cold winter wind whipped at her cloak. How she loved this place! At three hours from her father's home and only slightly out of the way for the trip to London, she couldn't bear the thought of traveling past without stopping.

Behind her stood her small cottage, the only thing in the entire world that was hers and hers alone, inherited from her long-deceased mother, along with a small stipend for a widow, who lived in and cared for the place. Everything else, even the clothes on Jane's back, belonged to her father, purchased with his money. Although he'd paid her a small allowance for her work at the family business, it had been more pin money than anything else. Available for purchase of hair ribbons and the like.

She'd never minded in the past, but now, faced with his treachery, she wished she'd long ago demanded a

8.

salary. She'd have socked it away, bit by bit, until today, when she needed to flee; she'd have been able to run to France or Italy. Perhaps somewhere even more exotic, like Jamaica or the Colonies. Anywhere that would shelter her from her father's demands.

Picking up a rock and hurling it over the ledge, she shook her head. It was too late for wailing over her fate. She was to marry a stranger and that was that. If her father's decision hadn't been so ludicrous, she'd have laughed at the irony of it.

For years, she'd said her prayers every night, thanking the good Lord for giving her Charles as her father. She knew early on that she had been born to do things with her life besides cooking, sewing and birthing children, and she'd felt grateful that her father had seen how she was different from other women. At least that was what she'd always believed.

Now, she'd learned the truth. He had humored her, tolerated her, let her amuse herself at the family business, but the first time it became inconvenient for him to have her around, he'd decided to dump her onto some other man's hands. She'd never had an inkling that he'd do such a dastardly tiling.

When she'd looked into the future, she'd always seen herself working side by side with him, helping him build the business until one day, after he passed on, she would sit at the head of the table, directing its affairs. Marriage was always the farthest thing from her mind.

Looking over her shoulder, she could see her best and only friend, Elizabeth, waving from the door of the cottage. Short and plump, with springy, blond curls and rosy, dimpled cheeks, she looked like a painted doll. Pregnancy had added color to her cheeks and a gleam to her eye. Only four months into her time, she'd jumped at the chance to accompany Jane to London, hoping to have the opportunity to shop for the babe.

Closer to the cottage, she grasped Elizabeth's freezing fingers and pulled her through the door, both of them having to push it shut against the fierce wind.

Initially, Elizabeth had resisted Jane's decision to stop at the cottage. She had wanted to press on to London, wanting Jane to have every possible moment to consider her life-altering choice. Her own husband, Edward, a distant cousin betrodied to her at birth, was far from the most passionate or demonstrative man, but he was steady, kind and dependable. Jane could do much worse.

"You were outside for nearly two hours. Whatever were you pondering all that time?"

"You know exactly what I was thinking about."

"Have you had time to examine the papers on the various gentlemen?"

"Not really. I thought perhaps we could look through them together after we've eaten."

"Oh, that would be great fun." Elizabeth led her to the small, cozy kitchen, where she ladled hot soup as she looked over her shoulder. "I wonder if any of them are dashingly handsome?"

"Really, Liz," Jane rolled her eyes. "It matters not to me."

"But a handsome husband can cause a wife to overlook many of his faults."

"I care not for his looks. I'm just marrying because my father has commanded that I do so if I wish to return to my work. I don't intend to have much to do with my husband. I don't care what he looks like, what he does, or where he goes as long as he leaves me be."

"Your husband might have something to say about that." Elizabeth chuckled as she joined Jane at the table. "Besides," Jane continued, "no one could be as handsome or as dashing as Gregory."

Elizabeth bit into a slice of crusty bread and watched Jane through her lashes. Because of her close relationship with Jane, she'd known early on of her friend's infatuation with Gregory, which began shortly after he had wed Gert. Jane had just turned thirteen, a young woman with romantic notions filling her head. Gregory had played on her emotions, showing her attention, listening to her ideas and encouraging her in her endeavors, all the while moving their relationship from one step to the next in what Elizabeth felt was a slow, but carefully planned, seduction.

Although Jane was nineteen now and nearing twenty-years of age, she was an innocent in many ways. Elizabeth blamed Gregory for every bit of this sorry mess and couldn't for a moment understand why Jane was the one having to pay for what had happened.

"I know you think you love Gregory," she began.

"I don't think I love him, Liz. I know I do. And he loves me. That's why I can see how this is the very best thing that could have happened."

"Yes, I agree. Tis best for you to forget about him and start your own life with your own husband. Nothing good could have come from walking the path down which Gregory was leading you.'' Although Jane's father had chosen a harsh method with which to remedy the situation, Elizabeth was secretly glad that he'd decided to remove her from Gregory's clutches. The man was a scoundrel and a cad. Even now, when she'd been banished from her home because of the rogue, Jane couldn't see clearly that he had had any complicity in what had happened. She was loyal to a fault, but in this instance, her loyalty was so misplaced.

"No, you silly goose. That's not what I meant." Jane broke off a chunk of bread and dipped it in her soup. Gregory's pressure to join physically was becoming unbearable, and Jane wanted so much to please him by doing the right thing, but she couldn't decide what the right thing was. Thinking she might have found a solution to her problem, she decided to test her idea on Liz, hoping it would sound better once she spoke of it aloud. "All along, Gregory has wanted us to become lovers in the marital sense of the word. I was thinking that I could relinquish my virginity to my husband, and then, when I return home, Gregory and I could be together just as he always wanted."

Elizabeth had just swallowed a mouthful of broth and struggled to keep from choking. Looking around to see if Mrs. Higgins might have rushed to the room at the scandalous declaration, she looked at Jane in shock and whispered, "You would commit adultery?"

"No," she answered hesitantly, wanting to deny the truth in Liz's question. "My marriage won't be a real union. I'm simply going through with the ceremony in order to please my father and win my way home. I will have no feelings for this man I marry one way or the other."

"Oh, my dear Jane . . ." Elizabeth sighed. Finished with their meal, they retired to the parlor to sit by the fire. Jane shuffled through the packet given to her by her father.

"Let's begin with this one," Jane suggested, completely oblivious to her friend's distress. "Phillip Wessington, Earl of Rosewood ..."

"Jane." Jane stopped talking as Elizabeth reached for her hand. "As your friend, I feel I must say something to you about this plan of yours."

"What plan?"

"What plan?" she hissed. "Your determination to cuckold your husband. To commit adultery."

"How could you possibly consider it adultery?" Jane waved a hand, trying to appear confident by dismissing Elizabeth's concerns.

"Have you gone mad?"