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“How astoundingly generous,” she mused. “I must disagree. I’ve found the opposite true. I tread lightly around others until their words or deeds show me I can trust them.”

“Now that I find astounding. And sad, if I may be so bold.”

“It is but the truth. I am happy that you have not yet discovered as much.”

“Have you no acquaintances you admire? None who you suspect you might trust under the right circumstance?”

“As in a woman’s intuition?”

“I hope intuition is not limited to women, but something along those lines, yes.”

She touched a loose strand of hair slipping from the updo she’d hastily pinned before leaving the townhouse. “I have not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance, but I own an inclination to trust the gentleman we spoke of the other night. The Benevolent Phantom.”

At that, Albion gave a sprightly laugh. “You would know him on sight? And trust him?”

“His reputation warrants trust.” She tipped her spoon in Albion’s direction. Broth from her soup dribbled on the tabletop, and she hastily dabbed at it with a serviette.

Albion tilted his enormous head winningly, a lock of tousled raven hair falling over his broad forehead. “You sound besotted with the fellow.”

“Fascinated, I’ll allow. Were I to fall in love? Well, it would be with someone like the Phantom of Chamberly.”

“Blazes!” Albion said. “Pardon my oath, but it is just as I suspected. This scoundrel romances the ladies of London from afar. He has stolen your heart.”

“I am not so foolish as to give my heart to a ghost. Still, I would consider it a great privilege to share all due approbations.”

“There you have it. We mere mortals can’t compete.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself. After writing an ode to this Phantom.”

“Right. You’ve the best of me there.”

For a few minutes, they sat in companionable silence. Diana took advantage of the pause in the conversation to make further progress with her soup while Albion focused on his tankard. The pinch between his thick eyebrows suggested he was lost in thought.

Then he leaned forward and parted his lips, emitting a barely perceptible growl. An unfamiliar warmth blossomed in Diana’s chest. Albion held her gaze and cleared his throat. His voice restored to its richest pitch, its thunder leaving her to want nothing more than the privilege of listening.

“Suppose one were to view nuptials from a strictly pragmatical perspective.”

“Now, that’s a right cynical take on the matter,” she said, vaguely disappointed, though she couldn’t quite place why.

“I only mean that in London, marriage serves as an effective shield for a woman. You could wield it as such. A gentleman might help you.”

“I have no claim on any gentleman friend who would agree to such an arrangement.”

“A family like mine could protect your reputation. Between Dunc’s title and my mother’s influence. And Mother wants to see me wed. She has made her wishes clear enough.”

“She wants you to marry a woman from your homeland, I imagine.”

“Not necessarily. Marriage alliances go a long way toward securing dependable relations between lands.”

Diana dared to meet Albion’s striking amber eyes. “Speak frankly, sir.”

“I consider you a friend, my lady. A friend I would like to know better. Would you entertain the idea of such a match with me?”

Averting her gaze, she conjured the words her mother once taught her to use in such situations.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have hinted at that. It is a generous offer, but I must refuse. I apologize for manipulating you into feeling obliged.”

Albion’s shuffling hands and sudden self-consciousness confused her. Was he unsettled because of her? Surely not. She couldn’t imagine what would make Albion want to marry her. He was only being polite. And chivalrous in his own way, she supposed.

“It is I who must apologize,” he said at last. “I should not have presumed. You spoke of wedlock only as a hypothetical. I would never expect you to unite with an Orcan family.”

“It has nothing to do with that. Despite my circumstances, I remain assured that romance precedes marriage. I will not rid you or anyone else of the opportunity to find true love.”

“That is a commendable position, yet I put forth the proposition to both our benefits.” He reclined back, returning to his light affectation. “Are you familiar with a mother’s meddling? Mine is pestering me about my bachelorhood.”

“So this is not an act of charity for a bitter human lady?”

“You may be unfortunate and hence disposed to bitterness at present,” Albion said. “Yet I would wager that is not your nature. I resolve to rid you of the inclination.”

“Do not lose your money. The future is a bleak cloud for me, and I have accepted it as such.”

“Humbug! Allow me the honor of your company, and those clouds shall pass.”

“I have not your joie-de-vivre .”

“Only because you lack security. Consider marriage for the sheer fun of it.”

Fun. Diana allowed the word space to settle. She had not felt joy since before her unfortunate night with Nigel Halman. She suspected Albion Higgins offered a type of fun she had never experienced before. The very thought made her burn with curiosity.

Hearing Izzie’s gay laughter brought her back to earth. Seeing her maid a tad too congenial with the innkeeper, she realized she needed to cut this conversation short.

“I really must go, but I appreciate your convivial thoughts, Lord Albion. You have buoyed my spirits.”

Albion pushed the tankard away. “Let me settle up with Ollie and see you home.”

“No need. We are not far, and I might take the time to ponder everything you have said.”

“Are you reconsidering my proposal? There is a condition.”

Diana had not meant to imply she might change her mind, but the nature of this “condition” intrigued her. “Pray tell.”

“In the Hidden Realm, a groom asks the bride to accept a new name, that of a flower, to honor her beauty. I think Daisy suits you. If we were to marry, I ask that you allow me to call you that.”

She had hardly earned such a sunny moniker but felt touched, nonetheless. She had found a friend she sensed she could trust. That was no small matter. When it came down to it, Albion Higgins might have been the only friend she had left in London.

“Daisy shall be your nickname for me, regardless,” she told him. “If it pleases. It will remind me not to always give in to my melancholy. And I do hope to converse further. Counting you as my friend would be an honor.”

He gave a soft smile, and Diana’s chest grew heavy. But better to bruise his ego now than bind him to her. She had already brought sufficient shame onto her family and wouldn’t take him down with her.