Page 20

G iven Wolf had to drive the carriage only a few houses down their street to collect her, Tiffany wasn’t surprised he was on time. She liked punctuality in a man. It demonstrated he was considerate of others.

The drawing room windows gave her a perfect view of the sight he made. He drew up in a glamorous phaeton drawn by a matching set of chestnut geldings. If he wanted the ton to take notice, this conveyance would do it. She and Wolf would be the talk of the ton by supper.

She wished her nerves would calm. She ran her hands down the front of her gown. Her gloves were clean, her hat fashionable, and hopefully it was large enough to hide her identity.

Awake and pacing her room late last night, or into the early morning really, she’d spied Wolf and Fane arriving home only a few hours before sunrise. She wondered what the men had been up to.

She’d followed Claire’s instructions and not worn her glasses today, but her eyes were red with tiredness and worry. She carried Mr. Sprat’s papers in her muff. Thinking of them made her stomach churn once again. She prayed Wolf would help her.

She stood in the drawing room, watching his approach. He looked up and saw her. His smile made her worries lift for a moment as he drew level with their door.

“Make him wait,” Claire advised.

“The sooner I go, the sooner I’m back and can rest before another ball tonight.” She turned just as Booth entered.

“Lord Wolfarth is below for Miss Deveraux.”

“Tell him I’ll be down shortly,” Tiffany said while smiling at Claire.

“Of course,” Booth replied.

“Talk to him about his investments. See what you can learn,” Claire called as she made her way from the room.

Even from the top of the stairs, she could see that after very little sleep he still, to her annoyance, looked incredibly handsome. It was not fair. She was already nervous enough without being reminded of how gorgeous he was. He’d recently shaved, revealing the sharp lines of his face. The seductive smile upon his lips when he spotted her added to his allure. He made every woman want to touch him to see if he was real. Maybe that was why she’d decided Milly could stay behind.

The touch of his hand on her arm and the small of her back as he helped her into the carriage made her body catch fire. He took his seat beside her and let his thigh brush her leg. But she was not moving away. He’d only take that as a sign he affected her. It was a lie to say he didn’t, but Wolf didn’t need to have that confirmed.

“I’ve been looking forward to this ride since last night.”

A flash of surprise crossed his features. “Are you coming around to the idea of a proper courtship and marriage?”

“Good gracious, no.” She shook her head. “I have business of a personal nature to discuss. This will allow us the privacy to conduct such a discussion without raising the ton’s interest.”

“That sounds rather dramatic. I was hoping for a pleasant drive in the park to get to know you better.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are trying to alert the ton to our courtship, which I believe was not part of our arrangement. I have no idea why you are doing so. I will not be forced into a marriage. What will you tell Fane when this comes to his attention?”

His mouth tightened. “The truth. I wish to court you.”

She almost pulled her glasses out of her muff and put them on. She wanted to read his face, only it was a mere blur of handsome masculinity. “I don’t think you’ll want what I’m about to share made public, even to Fane.”

At his raised eyebrow she knew the time had come, and a cold sweat ran down her spine, which she held ramrod straight.

“Well? How can I assist you?”

She drew in a deep breath. “It’s more how I can assist you in a matter regarding your uncle. It appears Lord Melville is refusing to make up his losses to his stockjobber, Mr. Sprat.”

She leaned as close to Wolf as she dared, squinting to make out his expression. His handsome features displayed a myriad of emotions: a frown, followed by disbelief, then anger, and lastly embarrassment. “What on earth has this situation got to do with you? Ah, Mr. Sprat. That name is familiar. Your stockjobber?”

“Mr. Sprat was my late father’s stockjobber and a family friend. He has tried to gain an interview with you, and has been consistently turned away. He approached me knowing I had a connection as he saw us together at Capel Court.”

She did not add that if Mr. Sprat were declared bankrupt because of the huge losses he’d incurred on behalf of Lord Melville, her ability to invest would be hindered. Wolf would no doubt think her stupid for paying for her share transactions upfront.

His face took on the arrogant, look-down-thy-nose expression of a Marquess. “I still do not see what it has to do with me.”

Her legs began to shake under her gown. Her mouth was dry, as if filled with sand, and she couldn’t swallow. “Mr. Sprat has said that unless the account is settled by the week’s end, Lord Melville will be posted as a defaulter. I’m sure you would not want your family connections disgraced in public.”

He slowed the carriage to a walk, seemingly blind to the curious looks thrown their way. “Is Mr. Sprat threatening me?”

“I would not call it threaten, precisely.”

“Then what would you call it, precisely ?”

She licked her lips, which were suddenly sticking together. “I’d call it a desperate move brought on by self-preservation. All of Mr. Sprat’s clients may be affected too if Lord Melville does not pay up, as Mr. Sprat won’t have the money to pay for trades. And if he doesn’t stand up for himself, others might follow suit.”

Wolf’s jaw tightened. “Why is it you are so passionate in your appeal for a man who all but saw your father bankrupted? I might agree to see Mr. Sprat simply so I can berate his use of a young lady to gain entry to my house.”

Now she was angry. As if she would be stupid enough to let any man fool her into pleading his case. “I am not doing this for Mr. Sprat.” Well, she was. And herself too, but also to save Wolf’s family from embarrassment. Ashleigh was already the talk of society. If the family were too, that would hurt Ivy as well. “If I were you, I’d meet with him. Your family name will be disgraced next Friday if this situation is not rectified. Please think of your mother and sisters.”

He stared at her as if she were a mouse with two heads. Finally he said in a tone that was definitely verging on anger, “Does Mr. Sprat think I will simply hand money over on his word alone by sending a woman?” The horses jerked as his hands tightened on the reins. “How do I know this is not a lie, and in fact my uncle never asked for those shares to be bought?”

The muscles in her neck and shoulders seized so tightly, her head pounded, but too much was at stake to turn back now. She had lived all her life on charity. Her cousin Fane, and his father before him, had paid for everything, dictating what she wore, what she ate, and where she lived.

All she wanted was to be able to financially keep herself without being forced to marry in order to survive. To marry without love was not an option for her; the thought of a lonely, loveless match for the rest of her life made her want to throw herself off a cliff. She was sick of feeling like a bird in a gilded cage—trapped and flightless. She knew her thoughts were ungrateful; she loved her cousins, and that was why she’d originally kept her investment activities secret, not even telling Claire, whom she considered a sister. She had the skills to make her own money, but since it was deemed scandalous for women to directly invest, or trade in shares, she needed Mr. Sprat to do it on her behalf, to keep Marlowe and the family from scandal due to her.

Wolf’s eyes narrowed, and he placed a finger under her chin so she had to look into his gorgeous blue eyes. “I remember Mr. Sprat well, as should you. He helped your father lose everything on one deal.”

Wolf’s words made her cringe. “That is not fair. My father made the investment decision against Mr. Sprat’s advice.”

Wolf gave an incredulous laugh. “You are far too na?ve if you think that. What should I expect from an inexperienced young lady?” He turned away and concentrated on avoiding the other carriages in the park. “Ladies are too trusting.”

In case he should look too closely at why she was trying to ensure her stockjobber did not go out of business, Tiffany bit the inside of her cheek to stop from robustly contradicting him. When this was over, she would somehow make Wolf eat his words. She was not sure how, or when, but she would. Winning the investment challenge would be a good start. They had yet to hear any gossip regarding the challenge. Maybe tonight at Lady Skye’s ball…

She looked up to see steely eyes watching her—and remembered that unless Lord Melville paid up, she’d have no way to invest.

“Will you at least meet with Mr. Sprat and listen to what he has to say before you dismiss his claims?”

Wolf slowly nodded. “It seems I have no choice. How much money does he say my uncle owes him?”

She took a deep breath. “Just over ten thousand pounds, I believe.”

Curses issued forth from Wolf’s mouth. “I now understand why you have brought this to my attention. It is a considerable sum. Mr. Sprat has some explaining to do.”

His tone indicated how much he hated having to have this conversation with her. “You will be civil with Mr. Sprat, won’t you?” Oh goodness. Wolf didn’t look as if he knew what “civil” meant.

“I assure you I know exactly how to deal with Mr. Sprat.”

That didn’t sound good. Would he intimidate the man? What if Mr. Sprat spilled the fact the ladies had just given him two thousand pounds to invest? Wolf might work out they were the challengers. “Perhaps I should be there when you meet with him.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She noticed a few people peering their way. “Keep your voice down. As I said, Mr. Sprat is a friend—”

“He is your stockjobber. If these nice people driving in the park learned that secret, Fane would have you married off before you could say no.”

She couldn’t look at him. “Mr. Sprat left my father with one thousand pounds when he should have left him with nothing. He covered that loss himself so my family would not be in debtors’ prison. I owe Mr. Sprat, and this small task repays his kindness.” She didn’t intend to tell Wolf that the money from Mr. Sprat had then been stolen by the highwaymen who killed her parents on the road from London to Yorkshire.

The hardness around Wolf’s mouth softened at her confession. “I give you my word that I shall give Mr. Sprat a fair hearing. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, but I shall take care of the situation. There is nothing for you to worry about, Miss Tiffany.”

Miss Tiffany. That wasn’t a good sign. He only used “Miss” before her name when irked. On an inward sigh, she realized it would be hopeless to argue with Wolf. She was being dismissed. She would just have to hope that the big bad wolf did not consume Mr. Sprat. Wolf may be a man with a core of steel but he was fair, honorable, and she trusted him. “I have the papers in my muff. I shall give them to you when you take me home.”

Wolf nodded at a couple passing by before saying, “Make sure you stay away from Sprat until I have ascertained what he is about.”

She hesitated, before, with fingers crossed in her muff, she nodded. “I also wanted to thank you for the dance the other night. It had the desired effect. Suitors have been calling.”

She wondered what had made her blurt that out, but she looked for a reaction to her words, something to indicate that Wolf had not merely danced with her to prove a point. His blank look said it all, and she felt her face flush with color. What had she expected? That he would be jealous?

His grim features softened and he actually smiled. “You deserve to be seen. I was honored to be of service. However, I don’t wish for competition to win your hand.”

Competition. No other man could compete with Wolf. She would learn what this sudden courtship was all about. It wasn’t about love, of that she was sure. Until her meeting with him at Capel Court, he’d rarely spoken with her. She wished she could tell him to go away and leave her alone, but the ladies needed her to keep her secret if they were to win the wager. And the men were not stupid. If everyone learned about her investments…well, the scandal that would cause… The wager would be off before it even began.

She lived in a man’s world and until she could financially survive on her own, she had to live by the constraints that society placed on women.

Mr. Sprat was the key to her achieving her dream and she wasn’t about to let Lord Melville destroy her plans.

*

Wolf had to control his desire to slam the door behind him as he walked back into Wolfarth House. That had been the most frustrating ride in the park he’d ever had. He rarely took a lady out in a carriage in the park, and he’d hoped the ton would see this as a sign he was courting Miss Tiffany Deveraux.

However, bloody Melville. For the most part, those partaking of the park had seen the two of them engaging in a heated conversation. It was clear to all that Miss Tiffany Deveraux wasn’t enamored of his company, and now the ton was more confused than he was. Why wasn’t Tiffany overcome by his attempt to court her? Most ladies would be swooning at his attentions.

His uncle had ruined what was supposed to be his first attempt at thawing Miss. Tiffany’s frosty demeanor. Helping Mr. Sprat now seemed the obvious way to defrost her feelings toward a marriage.

Melville was a problem Wolf had put off for too long. If it wasn’t persistent gambling, it was risky investments. Melville was continually trying to make back all the money he’d lost on stupid wagers. He could well believe the story Tiffany had told him.

He sat down at his desk and tried to let the worry gripping his innards ease. He was tired from being out all night, and sick to death of having to manage his uncle’s affairs as well as his own. His uncle was old enough to know better, but then he had Wolf to pay his debts. Once again he cursed the fact that he was the eldest son. Rockwell would have made a much better Marquess. He had a head for numbers and business. All Wolf had ever wanted to do was paint.

On a long sigh, he quickly penned a missive to be sent to Sprat. He’d meet with him tomorrow. Next Friday was not long off. He needed to think and he needed to find Rockwell and decide on a course of action.

He picked up a pencil and, as usual, lines and shapes appeared on the parchment that lay on his desk, as if an unseen force was guiding his hand.

A strong chin, cute dimples and button nose took shape. He was drawing Tiffany. Only he began to draw her as he saw her in his mind. Instead of the severe bun she wore, her glorious auburn hair was cascading in thick waves over naked shoulders. Her glasses were nowhere to be seen and it gave her face a younger, softer look. Her luscious lips were slightly parted, and her emerald eyes glinted with sensual heat. His pencil drew her looking alive and voluptuous.

When he’d finished, he sat back and grinned like a schoolboy. He wondered what she’d think if he had the balls to show her his sketch. Would she recognize the woman deep inside, the woman she tried so hard to keep at bay? No woman with eyes that sparkled with fire could possibly be so cold and stiff. She was afraid to be herself and he longed to learn why she kept herself so contained.

He couldn’t bring himself to throw the etching in the fire, so he put it in his top drawer and turned his attention to his duty. Duty stopped the bad memories eating him from the inside out.

The love of his life—Margo—had taken her own life because he’d not saved her. Now he focused on duty and family, to make up for his inadequacies. Hence, he knew Miss Tiffany Deveraux, if he married her, would also help him protect his family—from financial ruin at least.

Once he’d organized Donaldson, his man of business, to send the note to Sprat, he made his way to his room. He needed some sleep before the ball tonight. He was sick of bailing Melville out of his messes. Ten thousand pounds of gambling debt was a lot of money and he had to take a stand at some point. He had no idea how much Melville actually owed at Capel Court. Was Sprat the only stockjobber he’d used?

This time Melville had gone too far, but Wolf did not know what to do. He hoped his brother did. If he covered the loss it would happen again. If he told Sprat not to take any further investments from his uncle, Melville would simply find another stockjobber.

As he sunk into a hot bath, he tried to think of a way to cut off Melville’s gambling and risky investing, but the only solution he could think of was to banish him to the country or, worse, to the Americas, and that would hurt his mother. Perhaps she could talk some sense into her brother. Make him see that Wolf would banish Melville to protect the family. He would not fail again.

For some reason, as he climbed into bed, the prim and proper Tiffany popped into his head. She could be a very beautiful woman if she didn’t dress so severely, and if she smiled more. A bluestocking of the first water. Even her glasses were quite lovely, especially the way she kept pushing them up on her cute button nose.

As he drifted into sleep his artist’s eye tried to imagine what lay beneath Tiffany’s clothes, and for one moment, as he entered dreamland, he forgot her guardian was his best friend, forgot his promise not to compromise her, forgot that he was a gentleman, and gave into the temptation to seduce her and find out.