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Mary took in Mr. Featherton’s broad shoulders, his fashionably styled chestnut-brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

Of all the gentlemen who could have appeared, why did it have to be Mr. Perfect? If only she hadn’t talked herself out of what she knew in her heart to be true.

Featherton . The one man who had completely ignored her during her only full Season, and here she was posing as his wife. A person of no importance, her foot! What had her grandmother been thinking?

The humiliation of that first Season came flooding back.

That no one else knew about it mattered not at all.

She knew that he’d danced with almost every young lady except her.

She’d even saved dances, hoping he would ask her, but he’d never claimed them, forcing her to make excuses about needing a flounce mended in the ladies’ retiring room, or being too warm and requiring a glass of lemonade.

How could she have been so wrong? More than once he’d been heading straight in her direction, and each time she could have sworn he was finally going to request to stand up with her, but he’d always veered away at the last moment to ask another girl to take the floor or to speak with some gentleman.

She must be the last lady he wanted to see at Rose Hill.

It didn’t matter. He had never cared about her , and she did not want him .

Still, she could barely breathe. It was a miracle she was not lying in a dead faint. His tone was soft, but menace and heat lurked in his voice.

She focused on his words. Husband? She drew a shallow breath. Consequences? Oh, Lord. What would happen to her now?

Remember your breeding .

She tried to smile, forcing the corners of her lips up. “Yes, of course. If only you had given me some notice, I would have been prepared.”

His body blocked Eunice and Doust from seeing her reaction.

Try as she might to remain calm, Mary could not stop herself from trembling.

Fear of what Mr. Featherton might do to her warred with anger at her grandmother.

Grandmamma must have known whose house this was.

Mary raised her chin. If she wouldn’t let Gawain trap her into marriage, she would not allow her grandmother to, either.

Yet perhaps Grandmamma wasn’t aware Mr. Perfect was here. After all, he should be in London letting the ton fawn all over him, not at Rose Hill threatening her.

She slid a quick look at him. This was a scandal waiting to happen.

Being caught by him ended her hope that no one would ever find out what she had done.

Still, there had to be some way out of this situation.

Surely Mr. Perfect didn’t wish to be trapped into marriage with her, a woman he couldn’t even bear to dance with, on the other hand, he was quite capable of ruining her.

He glanced over his shoulder and addressed the others. “If you could leave us alone for a while?”

“I shall show Mr. Doust out, but I shall not be far. You have only to call if you need me,” Eunice said, casting a meaningful look at Mary.

Every nerve in Mary wanted to scream, No!

Don’t leave me with him , yet that would cause a scene, something she must not do if she were to escape this mess with her reputation intact.

She must remain composed. Giving in to the vapors would not help.

Now that he was no longer looking at her she found herself able to take a deeper breath.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be a mistake, as she caught his scent.

No perfume at all, just pure male musk and leather.

His buttery-yellow buckskin breeches were cut to show off his muscular thighs.

No padding there. No wonder women vied for his attention.

“Mr. Doust, if you would tell Simons we might want tea, or perhaps something stronger,” Mr. Featherton said.

The words were phrased as a suggestion, but the tone made them a command. Oh Lord, what had she got herself into, all because she had given in to her grandmother?

He slid his arm possessively around her shoulders, and led her to the small sofa in the center of the room.

“Sit here and breathe. You must not faint, it would give a bad impression.” He grinned wryly, although the humor did not touch his eyes.

“Even worse than the one the townspeople and servants already have of me. Are you responsible for that, or was it merely my absence?”

He was furious, but her heart was thudding so hard that she could not even respond. After the first few weeks at Rose Hill, she’d not thought about what would occur if the rightful owner appeared. She’d felt safe for the first time in years. Oh Lord. They were properly in the suds now.

“The property looks to be in much better skin than when last I saw it.” His voice was hard, but at least he wasn’t shouting. “I understand I have you to thank for the improvement.”

Hardly surprising, considering it had been years since he’d visited. She opened her mouth, intending to tell him just that, but he continued.

“No need to speak now. My arrival must be quite a shock. Once tea is served, we’ll discuss why you are here.”

Fortunately Simons arrived quickly. He placed the tea tray on the low table in front of the sofa and gave Mr. Featherton a look, then turned to Mary. “My lady, please call out or ring if you require anything else.”

“Thank you, Simons, I shall.” Her voice resembled a croak, but at least she had produced words.

Once Simons left and closed the door behind him, Mary started to pick up the pot, but her hands shook so badly that she sloshed tea from the spout. She stopped and took a breath.

“Here”—Mr. Featherton took the pot from her hands—“allow me. ”

He was being surprisingly kind, considering how angry he was.

“Milk or cream?” he asked.

“Simons will have brought milk.”

The corners of Mr. Featherton’s well-shaped lips rose. “Sugar?”

“Yes. Two, please.”

Now that she was sure he wasn’t about to rail at her—at least not immediately—she allowed herself to study his features.

His wavy hair was cut in the latest style, reminding her a bit of Byron, though his shoulders were much broader than the poet’s.

Mr. Featherton dressed in the mode of a country gentleman, though it was clear no tailor less talented than the famous Weston had made his clothing.

Beneath a fine layer of dust, she could see her reflection in the high gloss on his boots.

“There now.” He glanced up. His blue eyes caught her gaze. “Here is your tea, my lady.”

“Thank you.” Her hands still quivered a little, but the tension had begun to ease.

She took a sip. She had to get control of this conversation.

“I assure you I have said nothing about you to either the townspeople or the servants. I—I would not have slandered you. In fact, I did not truly know it was your property.”

“Indeed?”

Unable to look at Mr. Featherton, Mary smoothed her skirts. “You must wish to know how this deception came about.”

“That is what brought me here,” he said in a dry tone.

She flinched. “Yes, of course.”

Really, she told herself, she was acting like a fool. “This was my worst fear. Grandmamma and Aunt Eunice said it wouldn’t happen, but it did, and I knew it would.” Mary straightened her shoulders. “I am sorry. My aunt and I shall leave in the morning, or as soon after as may be.”

He took a sip of tea, then placed his cup on the table. “I do not think that is the best strategy. Your immediate removal would cause unwanted talk. I would like to know how you came to be living here. After all, you do not resemble the typical adventuress.”

He was taking it all so coolly that Mary relaxed even more. She surprised herself when a gurgle of laughter escaped. “Is there such a thing?”

He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “A good question. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting such a woman. ”

Given his straitlaced reputation, that wasn’t startling. She took another sip of tea. “I said they should have leased a property, but my aunt said that would leave a trail.”

He went still and stared at her, and there was an almost dangerous edge in his voice as he asked, “And just who are you so afraid of that your safest option was to masquerade as my wife?”