"Why do you ask? Because I refuse to peacefully give in to my father's disgusting scheme? Gregory is the only man I will ever love. You know how horrid Gertrude is to live with; she abuses him terribly. He's so misunderstood, and he needs me desperately. I can't simply abandon him."

"But Jane, my friend, when you marry, you will have to go to bed with your husband."

"Only on my wedding night. To consummate the thing."

"You don't know that You're to live with him for six months before returning home." If he ever let you return . . . Elizabeth thought it highly unlikely, but she wasn't about to address that sticky problem at that moment "He will very likely expect you in his bed every night upon retiring. On occasion, in the mornings when he wakes." She leaned close and whispered, her eyes wide, "Perhaps even in the middle of the day! It will change you in ways you can't imagine. It is so private ... so personal. I know your heart, and I can't imagine it is something you could do with one man and then with another."

"But you said yourself that it is dry duty at best"

Elizabeth blushed slightly. Edward took his marital duties very seriously but, not being a very emotional type, he wasn' t very good at it. An extremely devout man, committed to the Bible's instructions on procreation, he did his duty nightly, but felt that nudity was a great sin. They'd never viewed each other unclothed. "With most couples, it is. But since I left my maidenhood behind, I've heard women talking. Some say there are men who are very good at it. Who give great pleasure in the act and expect to receive great pleasure in return. What if your husband is one of these?"

Jane shook a handful of papers in Elizabeth's face. "Do you really think that one of these men, whose only means of finding a wife is by being paid to accept her, could actually be very good at his marital duties? Really, Liz, think about it."

Wrinkling her pretty brow, Elizabeth conceded, "I suppose you're right."

"I'm sure that none of them are any happier about marrying than I am. We will consummate our marriage, and that will be that."

"You do make it sound simple, but I think you're forgetting one very important thing."

"What's that?"

Elizabeth rubbed a hand over her slightly raised abdomen. "What if you lie with Gregory and the two of you make a babe? How would you explain it to a husband with whom you have no marital relations? And some of these men"a"Elizabeth pointed to the top sheeta""like for instance, this Earl of Rosewood, they will need an heir. How could you risk it? To cuckold such a husband might cost you your life!"

"Hmmm," Jane mused, tapping a finger against her lip and not wanting to show her friend how the thought had confounded her. Why couldn't there be an easy solution to alleviate the situation in which she found herself? "I had not considered a babe. Father would never let me come back to work if I was increasing." She flopped back against the sofa and wailed, "What am I going to do?"

Elizabeth patted her friend's hand, feeling terrible to have forced the first crack in Jane's calm facade. She had enough to worry about without any added stress. "It will all work out, Jane. You'll see." She forced a bright smile. "Now, let's read more about the Earl."

Phillip sat at the small dinner table which had been set in Margaret's bedchamber. Everything was done up in red, black and gold. The remodeling had been completed recently, and Margaret thought it was the height of fashion. Phillip thought it looked like Monique's boudoir. Monique was his favorite whore at Madame LeBlanc's.

Margaret entered the room with a flourish. The bodice of her gown was cut so low that, as she leaned forward, Phillip wasn't sure how she kept her nipples from popping over the edge. As it was, he could see where the pale, creamy white skin of her breasts met the pink areolas.

He kissed her lips, then the valley between her breasts. She smelled like roses.

As she seated herself across the table, Phillip watched as she signaled to her servant that they were ready to begin the intimate meal. So lovely, so perfectly matched to himself, she was one of the few women he'd ever met who thoroughly enjoyed the same life of debauchery he di. She drank, gambled, engaged in casual sexual liaisons. She could be as crude, crass and foul moudied as any man, so very few things ever surprised or upset her. 'Twas a pity that he couldn't marry her.

Instead, he was reduced to seeking the attentions of a commoner. A merchant's daughter, one who was no doubt hobbled by dim wits or an ugly face. Even worse would be to find out that she was a shy, retiring little mouse of a woman. While other men in his class loved to woo and cuddle with females who appeared to have air between their ears, he hated women who couldn't speak up for themselves, and he absolutely abhorred long, silent evenings sitting next to some silly chit who had nothing interesting say. Surely, Jane Fitzsimmons would be all horrible things rolled into one.

They'd nearly finished the first course before Margaret realized she didnat have his undivided attention. "Phillip, what is the matter with you this evening? I hate it when you ignore me."

"I'm sorry," he murmured halfheartedly. "What was your question?"

"I ran into Morris last night. I was simply wondering if you had come to a decision about the betrothal contract for Emily." Although Margaret would never admit it in a thousand years, she was the one who had actually encouraged Morris to press his suit for the girl.

Of course, Margaret would receive numerous benefits out of the deal. Although she'd only spoken to the girl a handful of times, it was obvious that the child hated her. Margaret had no intention of putting up with the girl's rude behavior, once she and Phillip were wed. The child was also quite pretty and, in a few short years, would grow to be a ravishing beauty. Margaret would rather the than have to chaperon her around London while all the available young men swooned over her. Plus, when Margaret considered the staggering expense required to present a young woman, she shuddered. If any money was to be spent on jewels and gowns, it would be spent on herself. She wanted the child out of their lives.

All innocence, she looked deep into Phillip's eyes. "Have you decided whether the child should marry?"

"I don't know. I was planning on it, but then I talked with Thumberton yesterday, and he seemed to think mata""

"Pah!" Margaret waved a dismissive hand. "That old snake. I don't know why you keep some of those people on retainer."

Because he works for freea"out of loyalty to my father. Phillip wanted to shout, but he held his tongue. He shrugged instead. "He gives me good advice."

"I'm sure he does, darling." Margaret could sense she'd touched a nerve. For all Phillip's failings, he was terribly loyal to those working for him. He refused to shed any of the dead weight who gave her so much trouble when she stayed at his various houses. Well, they'd all be dismissed after the wedding. She'd show Phillip how to hire help who could hold their tongues and keep their opinions to themselves. "But you are the girl's father, and no one could possibly have a better idea of what's best for her," she said.

"Nevertheless, I've decided to wait a few weeks while I ponder the situation further. There's plenty of time." Phillip reached for his wine and took a long swig, indicating that the topic was closed for discussion. Thumberton's words had left a bad taste in his mouth. For, while he truly had no feelings for the girl one way or another, he would not want to intentionally hurt her.

"I say, dear"a"Margaret interrupted his thoughts againa""talking with you this evening is turning into a major chore." She threw down her napkin. "Are you going to attend the poetry reading with me on Wednesday afternoon?"

"No. I've an important engagement that's just come up." Initially, Phillip had thought about keeping his meeting with Jane Fitzsimmons a secret, but these things had a way of leaking out.

"What?"

"I'm meeting with a young lady."

"Phillip, I've told you before, if you decide to engage in intimate relations with someone other than myself, I suggest you keep it a secret from me. You know I've a terrible temper, and I seem to have developed a jealous streak where you're concerned. I really don't think I could be responsible for my actions."

Phillip chuckled. "It's nothing like that. Actually, I'm meeting with a woman from Portsmouth. Her father has invited marriage offers, and I'm thinking of making one."

Margaret eyed him carefully, wondering what her response should be to this man who had been her steady lover for the past year. He wasn't joking, that was certain. But how could he even consider such a thing? The bastard!

Letting him see her turmoil over the pronouncement would never do. She decided to face the statement with her usual, detached reserve. "Marriage? Why, Phillip, how cute!" Her laughter twinkled. "That is such an absolutely adorable idea. Wherever did you come up with it?"

"Thumberton arranged the meeting for me."

"Oh, isn't that special." She swirled her wine in her goblet, considering the coming days. "And who is she? A babe ready for presentation? A widow? Anyone I know particularly well?"

"I doubt if you know her. She's a merchant's daughter. Her father is willing to part with quite a bit of cash to procure the union."

This bit of information soothed Margaret's emotions considerably. If Phillip was considering a marriage, the money must be substantial, but if the father was ready to part with such a sum, the woman had to be some sort of ball and chain around the man's neck. What could possibly be wrong with her?

The possibilities, of course, were endless. Margaret would find out what flaws the woman possessed, and she would see to it that Phillip saw them, too. No way could he develop an interest in the woman. Margaret simply wouldn't allow it.

Chapter Four.

Jane knew that what she was doing was a very bad idea, but she couldn't help herself. The official meetings with her five gentlemen didnat begin for another day, and she dreaded having to make her selection from the stilted, dry introductions she would endure at the small apartment her father had rented for her stay in London. The conversations would be polite, boring; the gentlemen callers practicing such reserved behavior that it would be impossible to learn anything at all about them from their mere presence.

She needed to do something that would tell her more. So, although it was the height of impropriety and rudeness, she'd decided to meet them first on their own turf.

Starting with the Earl of Rosewood, Phillip Wessington.

Raising a hand, she knocked briskly on the door, her heart pounding at the outrageousness of her actions.

There was a chance the Earl wouldn't be at home, or that he would be so affronted by her audacity at calling on him unchaperoned that he'd want nothing more to do with her, but she'd had to come.

For too many years of her life, she'd done as she pleased, run her own schedule, made her own decisions. It was difficult to change after nineteen years. She wanted to meet the Earl, and if he was upset by her appearing on his doorstep, so be it. His very reaction at seeing her make such a bold move would tell her very much about his character, much more than she would be able to learn when he called on her the next day.

She took a deep breath and knocked again. The Earl's residence was an imposing place in Mayfair. Only the Quality lived in the neighborhood as evidenced by the few fancy carriages passing by. There were none of the street hawkers and peddlers that she'd traveled past only a few blocks away.

One last time, she knocked and was rewarded by the sound of footsteps coming toward the door. A kind-looking man, short and trim in his mid-thirties with graying hair and a clean-shaven face answered. As she reached for the card she had buried in her reticule, the man took in her functional gray day dress and the trim, tidy hair, braided and wrapped around the back of her head. Under his scrutiny, she felt horribly underdressed.

Wishing she'd taken more time with her appearance, and wondering if the man would close the door on her before she said her piece, she held out her hand.' 'Hello, my name isa""

"John Graves, here, my dear. I must say we'd about given up on you."

"What?" Jane asked, confused.

He hushed her through the doorway and across the foyer. She found herself traveling quickly down unfamiliar hallways as Graves* talked. She had to hurry to keep up. "The Earl's friends are already here. Cook's frantic. And, of course, I refuse to serve them. Even I have my limits." He paused for a moment, hurrying her past and through a door. "Here we go, then."

They'd entered the kitchens. A plump, older woman bent over a long table, arranging small finger foods on a tray. "Cook," Graves said, "the girl is finally here." He looked over his shoulder at Jane. "What's your name, dear?"

"Jane, but I think there's been some mistake. I . . ."

The cook looked up from her work, eyeing Jane so thoroughly from head to toe that she felt naked. "Oh, Lud, you're a pretty one. Graves, did you forget to tell the agency?"

"No, Cook. I told them."

Jane couldn't help asking, "Told them what?"

Cook responded, "Not to send any pretty ones. We just end up losing them afore they're trained and then having to start again with another. It's such a bother."

"Why do you lose them?" she asked in a voice that sounded nothing like her own.

Cook rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to her work. Graves stepped up and efficiently tied an apron around Jane's middle. "There's no time to change, but your dress should do for now. The Earl will hardly notice, and if Lady Margaret says anything"a" Cook harrumphed at thisa""simply beg her pardon, then come back downstairs. After you finish with these few trays, we'll have some minutes alone. I'll be able to show you to your room."

With that, he was already moving out of the kitchen and along the hall. Jane realized they thought her a new, just-arrived servant of some sort and wanted to correct the misimpression before things went any further, but Graves's back was disappearing so quickly, she was afraid she'd lose him in the corridors.

She meant to set the tray aside, but Cook looked at her so sternly that she didnat dare leave without it. Oh, well, she'd hand it to Graves with apologies as soon as she caught up with him. She turned to leave.

Cook's gruff voice stopped her. "The Earl's got a roamin' eye for the pretty ones. Don't let it settle on you."

She paused as understanding dawned. "Surely, you don't mean ..."

The older woman gave her a knowing look. "Just be careful you don't find yourself alone with him, if you get my meanin'."

"Cook, do you mean to say that he tumbles the servant girls?"

"Only if they're willin'."

"Oh, my heavens . . ."Jane was blushing. "But why would so many of thema""

"He's handsome as the Devil's own, that one is. And a smooth talker where the ladies are concerned." Cook motioned her to follow Graves. "Keep a square head on your shoulders. You'll do all right."

Jane hustled out, tray in hand, her head whirling with Cook's admonitions about her prospective husband. A rake and scoundrel who wasn't above having his way with the servants. What had she gotten herself into? Graves was waiting patiendy at the top of the stairs. "Graves, I think I shoulda""

"You look ill at ease, Jane. Di Cook say something unseemly about the Earl?"

"Just that he . .. well... he likes the ladies. She said I should be careful."

"The old bat." Graves chuckled. "Don't listen to her. He'd never do anything you didnat want to be done."

"High praise, indeed," Jane responded with a raised brow.

Graves laughed. He was a quick study where people were concerned, and he'd liked the looks of Jane from the moment he'd opened the door. The girl definitely carried herself well. Just the thing they needed in the dreary house. He leaned closer. "1 don't mean to tell tales, but you might as well know the truth of it if you're looking for steady work. These days, you need to worry more about whether your wages will be regular than whether or not the Earl might take a fancy to you."

He was busy leading her up the stairs. "But. . . but..."

Outside a closed door, he paused and whispered, "You know the trick. Just remain invisible. Smile at the Earl. Stay out of Lady Margaret's way." Jane opened her mouth to try one more time to correct the misunderstanding, but Graves prevented it by opening the door to the parlor. He gently nudged her inside.

She stared around the room. If she'd half been expecting all to turn in her direction and point fingers, unmasking her silly charade, she'd been sadly mistaken. Dressed as a servant, carrying a tray, her appearance in the door went unnoticed.

A quick mental count showed four men and two women, all in various stages of casual dress. Jackets were discarded, cravats missing, sleeves rolled back. One woman, a voluptuous blonde, was particularly beautiful. Her gown was cut low, and the fabric across the bodice so sheer that Jane could make out the soft rounding of the woman's breasts and the large protruding nipples. She was sitting on the lap of one of the men, her head tipped back in laughter.

Jane was embarrassed to see so many strangers in such a state of dishabille. They were drinking spirits, touching each other. In her closely sheltered life, she'd never imagined that people would socialize in such a scandalous state, and she briefly wondered if the two females might be some type of loose women, offering themselves to the men. What had she gotten herself into?

Her eyes scanned the room as she looked to see which one was the Earl and found him in a second. She took a quick breath. Cook had certainly been right. He di look like the Devil's own, with a full head of black hair held back by a leather thong. A few dark strands hovered over his forehead. His brows were wedged across intelligent but hard, eyesa"eyes that looked as if they'd seen too much. They were black, too, like his hair or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. He'd missed his shave for the day, and the dark stubble on his cheeks only accented the high cheekbones and aristocratic nose.

His shoulders were impossibly broad, his shirt undone halfway down his chest, and the dark chest hair poking through was stark against the white fabric. His chest narrowed to a thin waist and hips. Even though he was sitting, his legs looked impossibly long. With one ankle laid casually across his knee, he looked like a pirate or highwayman, a man who appeared to be thoroughly relaxed but who might spring into action at any moment.

He sat by himself at the end of the room, intentionally distanced from the others, in an oversized chair. His sleeves were pushed back, and his forearms were covered with the same dark hair that swirled across his chest. His fingers were long and elegant. Twirling the contents of his goblet, he listened with apparent half-interest to the blond beauty sitting across the room on another man's lap.

Through the clink of silver and glassware and the lively chatter, Jane thought it a good time to make her escape. She crossed the room to set the tray where Graves had instructed her. The route took her directly past the Earl's chair. As she stepped by, he gently reached out a hand and laid it on her wrist, stopping her while he selected a handful of orange slices. Up close, he was even more handsome than he'd appeared from across the room. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of her dress.

Phillip looked up into the eyes of the female servant he'd never noticed before. There were so few left these days, and the new ones Graves hired came and went quickly, having no long-standing loyalties to the family and not wishing to remain if wages were slow in coming.

She was a pretty thing, with smooth, creamy skin, chestnut hair and emerald green eyes. A tad on the thin side for his taste, and her hair a bit too severe in that tight braiding. He'd definitely love to see it free and flowing down her back. If she stayed, perhaps he would, maybe in her nightclothes some evening, sneaking down the hall to the kitchens. He could just imagine her stretched out beneath him on his bed, the long auburn locks decadently arrayed across his pillows. He rubbed a thumb in a slow circle across the inside of her wrist and felt her tremble. Yes, there were definite possibilities with the chit.

He smiled up at her and whispered, "You're doing fine. Don't be nervous."

With that all-consuming gaze focused on her, she was like a deer trapped in the carriage lamp. Unable to move or speak, she looked her fill, wondering what it would be like to have a man like the Earl shower the full force of his attentions on her. But, then, he winked at her, and the spell was broken. The man was impossible. She'd only been in the house ten minutes, and he was already making advances.

It was the perfect time to flee, and she took a step toward the door just as she realized the blonde was talking about the Earl and his meeting with Miss Jane Fitzsimmons the next day. Knowing she was being incredibly naughty, she stepped back along the wall, hovering near the drapes. What a chance!

The blonde leaned forward, her gown barely constraining her large, round breasts. "So, Wessington, dear, share your secret with everyone. It will make the evening so much more entertaining."

The Earl sipped his wine and appeared bored with the idea. "Really, Margaret, I'm sure there are many more important things we could discuss."

"Hardly." Margaret waved him off as if he hadn't spoken. She had everyone's attention. "Wessington is thinking about marrying!"

There was a long, silent pause as his friends digested the news.

Finally, one of the men laughed. "The old ball and chain, eh? Who's the lucky gel? Don't tell me you managed to snag Farthington's daughter."