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L ord Gilford.” Her hand clasped over her bosom like the heroine in a melodrama, Lucy’s heart pounded in her chest as she debated what to do. She had the inclination to do as she had when she’d found the kissing couple—to shut the door quickly and hurry away.

Viscount Gilford was Meg’s brother, however, and because they’d seen one another only that afternoon, it felt like the height of rudeness to simply mutter an apology and skulk off.

Still, apologize she must.

“I am sorry for disturbing you, my lord,” Lucy said with a quick curtsy—the sort that was not so short as to be rude, but not so deep that it would be appropriate for the queen—and continued, “I’ll just leave you.”

To her surprise, however, the viscount, who had risen on her entry, heaved a great sigh. “You’d better come in if you wish to. Meg will have my hide if she finds out I frightened one of her friends away. And from a library no less.”

Torn between her wish to flee and her desire to get a closer look at the Leighton-Childe library, Lucy hesitated only a moment before stepping inside the cozy warmth of the chamber, careful to leave the door ajar.

“We can’t have Meg tearing a strip from your hide so soon after your return to England,” she said with forced cheerfulness. There was something about his lordship’s expression that gave her the impression he was not in the best of moods. “I shall make my inspection of the library so that you do not garner her displeasure, then take myself away.”

Even as she spoke, Lucy couldn’t stop taking in the magnificence of the chamber. First, there was the brightly colored mural in the classical style depicting Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden—scandalously unclothed—which covered the domed ceiling in the center of the room. Then there were the various objets d’art the current Lord Leighton-Childe’s father had collected on his travels.

But it was the floor-to-ceiling shelves of what looked to be thousands of books that sent a jolt of admiration through her. The Penhallow estate in Essex had its own sizable collection of volumes, but in the same way horse enthusiasts might appreciate rare specimens of equine perfection, so too did Lucy look upon well-stocked libraries.

At Lord Gilford’s soft chuckle, she realized she’d made a happy noise as she ran a hand over the spines of a nearby shelf of novels.

While she blushed in embarrassment, the look she turned on him was nevertheless an unrepentant one. “I love books.”

“I can tell.” In the lamplight, the gold in Gilford’s light brown hair glinted and almost made it look as if a halo hovered over him. “My sister is the same way. She wasn’t a particularly avid student, but novels and newspapers have always interested her.”

“I suppose that’s why we are such good friends,” Lucy said with a nod. “And why we were first drawn to the Ems.”

Frowning, Gilford said, “I don’t know of any friends of hers named Emma. They must have moved to town after I left for France. They are also fond of books, I take it?”

Biting back a smile, Lucy corrected him. “The Ems aren’t people. Well, we are, but not like you think. The book club Meg and I belong to is named after the newspaper column ‘A Lady’s Guide to Mischief and Mayhem.’ It’s the Mischief and Mayhem Book Club, but in its first incarnation it was the M&M club. Later we simply shortened it further by calling it the Ems.”

Caressing the arm of the burgundy leather sofa where he lounged, Gilford gave a short laugh. “Ah, that makes sense.”

Then, as if the notion had just occurred to him, he asked with what seemed like studied indifference, “I don’t suppose there are any wealthy young ladies among the group?”

Perhaps he has a friend who is in need of a fortune , Lucy thought with a mental shrug. It was hardly an unusual situation. Aristocratic families in need of funds had been seeking out alliances with wealthy heiresses for centuries. She wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or relieved that he didn’t consider her an option. Though maybe that had something to do with her friendship with Meg.

“I don’t believe so, no.” She watched as he seemed to deflate before her eyes. She felt immediately remorseful since she’d purposely not mentioned Vera. But something within her refused to offer up her American friend to him. She’d examine the reasons why later.

“Forgive me, Miss Penhallow.” Gilford ran a hand over his carefully styled hair in agitation, but instead of disordering the locks, it only served to make them more appealing.

“I’d like to blame the brandy,” he said with a nod toward where the decanter and several glasses were laid out on a sideboard, “but I haven’t had enough to loosen my tongue to that degree. I apologize for my thoughtlessness.”

An idea began to worm its way through her mind, but Lucy dismissed the notion as patently absurd. Lady Gilford and Meg didn’t seem to be watching their spending. No, Lucy was sure she was mistaken.

Still, there was no denying that Lady Gilford had been very cross since her son’s return from the Continent. And there had been no mention of him coming home until a week or so ago. Could it be true? Was the Gilford estate in trouble?

Before she could formulate a way of asking without unpardonable rudeness, he said, “You’ll learn the news soon enough, so I may as well tell you. The Gilford fortune has been drained by an unscrupulous steward. We are not penniless, but dam—er, dashed close to it. It’s why I came home. To find an heiress to marry.”

Despite her already having guessed as much, Lucy felt some shock as his confession. It was one thing to suspect something, but another completely to have one’s suspicions confirmed.

She thought about what must have been the small fortune Lady Gilford had spent in the past year or so. She’d refurbished the Gilford townhouse and purchased new wardrobes for herself and Meg for the season—even taking a brief trip to Paris to meet with the renowned House of Worth to have the gowns designed and sewn. She’d bought the servants new livery and had ordered a new coach, despite the fact that the previous one was still in perfectly good working order.

Though she and her own mother were hardly parsimonious, it was no secret that the Viscountess Gilford spent lavishly. Lucy wondered with sudden insight if the news was the reason why Meg’s mother had remained home that evening. No doubt Gilford had spoken to her about the matter. Even someone without a taste for luxury would respond to the news that economies must be put into place with unhappiness.

Then, something occurred to her. “You say that you’ll need to marry a fortune.”

The look Gilford raked over her was speculative and sent a frisson of awareness through her.

“That’s right. Are you volunteering?”