riding boots appeared in her line of vision. She froze. Her horrified eyes travelled up a pair of lean, muscled thighs encased in buckskin breeches, over a dark riding coat covering a broad masculine chest and came to rest on the most wickedly handsome face she had seen in her life. With his lean, dark features and midnight black hair, he could be an arrogant Italian nobleman from a Gothic romance.
His disconcerting gaze swept over her face. She flushed and dropped her eyes. Her fingers trembled as she pushed her bonnet back into place. Never had she felt at such an utter disadvantage.
‘It appears you need some help. May I be of assistance?’ the man inquired politely.
‘No, I…’ She snapped into motion, grabbed the last item and shoved it into her reticule. She started to rise, but before she could protest, the man reached down and hauled her to her feet. She backed away, even more flustered.
A small smile of amusement quirked his lips. ‘I am Stamford.’
‘Lord Stamford?’ This man could not possibly be the dissolute gamester she’d expected. Well above average height, his athletic figure proclaimed a man who spent more time in sporting pursuits than hovering around a gaming table. No lines of dissipation marred his fine aristocratic face. But most unexpected of all were the lines of humour lurking about his firm mouth.
Colour flooded her cheeks as the Marquis raised a curious brow.
‘Perhaps you expected someone else? You look rather astounded.’
‘I was merely surprised. I…I did not hear you come in, my lord.’
‘You did seem to be occupied. I am sorry I kept you waiting so long. I usually ride in the mornings and had just returned when I was told you were here. I was not expecting visitors. Have we met before?’ His eyes flickered over her face in a coolly amused manner calculated to put her firmly in her place.
She raised her chin. ‘No, we have not, my lord.’
‘So you do not intend to claim an acquaintance with me?’
‘No, why should I? I had not even heard of you until a few days ago.’
‘The last lady unknown to me who called on me in this fashion wished to renew an acquaintance which I fear I did not recollect,’ he informed her blandly.
Rosalyn stared at him. Whatever was he talking about? Then a shaft of anger shot through her as she perceived his meaning. Did he really have the audacity to imagine she had called on some flimsy pretext merely to make his acquaintance?
Suppressing the desire to let him know exactly what she thought of such arrogance, she said, ‘I am not here on a social call but on a matter of business, my lord. There is no other reason I would ever wish to call on you.’
‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I usually deal through my agent in business matters. However, in this case…’ his lazy gaze slid over her face and down her body ‘…I shall be delighted to make an exception.’
Her cheeks grew even warmer. She hated her appalling tendency to blush. ‘This is a personal matter.’
His dark brows raised a fraction. ‘A personal matter? Now I am curious, Lady Jeffreys—especially since you say we have never met.’
‘It is not my personal business. It is my brother’s.’
‘Your brother’s?’ Surprise flitted across his features. He motioned towards the elegant brocade settee with a careless hand. ‘Please be seated and tell me how I can help you.’
He settled his frame in one of the upholstered mahogany chairs arranged near the settee, his dark eyes fixed on her face.
‘I am the sister of James Whitcomb,’ she began, folding her hands tightly together, wishing he would not stare at her so. ‘I believe you know him.’
‘I made his acquaintance only a few days ago. Go on.’
‘I know that he has lost his estate to you at cards.’
He stretched his muscular legs in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest. Although his expression was still that of the polite host, his eyes hardened almost imperceptibly. ‘So, you are here at your brother’s request?’
‘No, of course not! He would be furious with me if he knew I was here. I pray you will never mention this to him!’
‘I wouldn’t think of it. I cannot see what business this is of yours, however.’
‘What do you mean by that? Of course this affair is my business. He is my brother. It is our family estate!’
‘I understood your brother has full title to the property and is free to do with it as he wishes.’
‘That is true, of course, but I cannot sit by and watch it lost like this! I think it’s quite despicable for you to take away someone’s inheritance in such a shabby fashion!’
‘Are you perchance implying I cheated, my lady?’
Rosalyn shifted uneasily under his hard gaze. ‘No, I don’t know that at all! I only meant that it was quite wrong of you to take advantage of such a green boy! I think that—’
‘I appreciate your sisterly concern,’ he drawled. ‘But your brother is hardly a young boy. He was not forced into staking his estate. I did not hold a pistol to his head. He had no business playing for such high stakes if he could not cover them. I am sorry about the loss of your family estate, but I cannot do anything about it.’
Cold fury seeped through her. ‘I cannot imagine why you would want another estate. I am certain you must have quite enough.’
Lord Stamford laughed sardonically. He uncrossed his arms and rose from his chair to lounge against the carved marble chimney piece. He idly picked up one of the small ivory figurines adorning the mantel. ‘Can one ever have enough estates? I am certain I can think of something to do with the property. But I am still at a loss to know exactly what you hoped to accomplish by coming here today.’ He returned the figurine to its place and regarded her with cool indifference.
Rosalyn had never detested anyone more in her life. She swallowed her anger, forcing herself to remain calm. ‘I had hoped we could reach some sort of agreement. I cannot pay you the entire price, but I am willing…’
She faltered as a cold, cynical light leapt to his eyes. His gaze, suddenly insolent, raked her face and moved appraisingly down her body, resting for an instant on the soft curve of her breast. She sat frozen. No man, not even her husband, had ever stared at her in such a manner.
‘An agreement? Exactly what sort of agreement did you have in mind, my dear lady? I usually don’t bargain my gambling debts away, but I am certain you and I could come to an arrangement that would satisfy both of us. You are not quite in my usual taste, but your figure is satisfactory and you are…pretty enough.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ For the second time, he’d managed to thoroughly confuse her.
Then his insulting words pierced her consciousness. Humiliation followed by pure outrage washed over her.
She shot to her feet. Her voice shook with suppressed fury. ‘You think I am
