an offer.
He rose, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He reluctantly admitted she interested him despite her very real dislike for him. She was quite lovely in a quiet sort of way. Her prim grey gown could not completely disguise the soft curves of her breast and hips or detract from her luxuriant chestnut hair and large hazel eyes. Michael quite looked forward to their next meeting, although she would most likely cut him dead, as he undoubtedly deserved.
His thoughts were interrupted by the soft cough of Watkins, his butler, hovering in the doorway. ‘M’lord.’
‘What is it, Watkins? Not another unexpected visitor, I trust.’
A feminine voice spoke from behind the butler. ‘I shall show myself in. I do not wish to be told again that my nephew is not at home.’
Michael inwardly groaned as Lady Margaret Spence swept into the room, a determined look on her aristocratic face. He wished Lady Jeffreys to the devil for her ill-timed visit. He should have been at White’s by now and out of reach of his aunt and her unwelcome business.
He bowed over Lady Spence’s gloved hand. ‘My dear aunt, I am delighted to see you,’ he murmured.
Lady Spence fixed intelligent blue eyes on her nephew’s face. ‘I doubt it. This is the first time I’ve managed to catch you at home. I am almost inclined to think you’re avoiding me.’
She drew off her kidskin gloves in a businesslike manner and seated herself in the chair near his desk. In her mid-fifties, she possessed the figure and posture of a much younger woman. Today, she was fashionably dressed in a powder-blue round gown with a matching pelisse which set off her greying blonde hair becomingly.
Michael seated himself on the other side of his desk. ‘Why would I wish to avoid you? You know I am always pleased to see you. And how is my uncle? I have not yet seen him about town.’
‘Frederick is quite well. However, I did not call to exchange pleasantries with you. You know very well why I am here, Michael, so I suggest you stop fencing with me. You cannot avoid this discussion forever.’ She impaled him with ice-blue eyes. He sunk back in his chair with all the enthusiasm of a fox run to ground by a pack of hounds.
Nearly an hour later Michael entered the portals of White’s. He was shown to a table in the corner of the dining room where he was greeted by a stocky blond man attired in a bottle-green coat and striped waistcoat, his starched cravat elaborately tied in an oriental knot.
‘Michael, my boy!’ the gentleman exclaimed. ‘I thought you weren’t going to show. I’ve nearly starved waiting for you and was forced to order.’
Michael glanced at his cousin’s ample figure and laughed. ‘I don’t think there’s too much danger of that, Charles,’ he said pulling up a chair. ‘I’ve been besieged by visitors today. First I had a call from—’ he broke off, frowning. ‘Never mind. The last caller was my Aunt Margaret.’
‘Been after you again about that chit? You’ll end up with your neck in the parson’s noose before you know it. I’m glad your Aunt Margaret ain’t my relative. Don’t envy you your father either.’
‘They’re bad enough apart, but together—I’d rather face a firing squad. I’d have much better odds.’ Michael frowned at the glass of dry sherry the waiter set in front of him. ‘My aunt came to inform me my bride-to-be will arrive in town within a fortnight. There’s been a slight illness in the family that prevents her from coming any sooner. I’ll have a reprieve at any rate.’
‘Don’t see how they can force you into marriage. Good lord, you’re thirty, well past your majority,’ Charles said.
‘Well, would you care to oppose my father?’
‘Good point,’ said Charles hastily as the waiter brought his meal. ‘Don’t know how anyone could oppose your parent when he fixes you with that damned devilish stare. Sets me to quaking in my boots every time. I’d marry a woman with a horse-face and freckles before crossing swords with Eversleigh.’
There was silence for a few moments while Charles dove into his food with all the vigour of a man who hadn’t eaten for weeks. Michael sipped his sherry in contemplative silence, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
His father, the Duke of Eversleigh, was notorious for his iron-fisted management of his family’s personal affairs. Several weeks ago he had summoned Michael to Eversleigh Hall. There, in his formidable study, the Duke had coolly informed his heir it was time he married. Since his son did not seem capable of choosing a suitable bride for himself, a bride had been chosen for him. The young lady was Miss Helena Randall, the granddaughter of a long-standing friend. She was to be presented at Court this season. After a suitable period, unless there were major objections on the part of either party, their betrothal would be announced.
Michael could see any number of objections, starting with the fact he had no desire to marry a girl fresh out of the schoolroom. Argument with his father appeared useless. The Duke wore the implacable expression that meant he’d made up his mind and would brook no opposition. In addition, the Duke’s health was poor due to a recent severe bout of pneumonia that nearly claimed his life. Michael hesitated to come to cuffs with his father in his still-weakened condition.
Charles, who always thought better on a satisfied stomach, dropped his fork with a clatter. ‘What you need, my boy, is a fiancée!’
Michael eyed him as if he had taken leave of his senses. ‘Exactly what I’ll end up with if my father has his way. That’s what I’m trying to avoid.’
‘Would save you a lot of trouble,’ said Charles earnestly with all the experience of a happily betrothed man. ‘Now that I’m betrothed to Beth I never worry about matchmaking mothers trying to foist their daughters on me. Not that I’ve ever had the number you’ve had. No more hounding from my mother about finding a suitable wife. And Beth’s a good girl; doesn’t have odd fits or expect me to escort her to any of those damned musical evenings.’
Michael was fascinated. ‘I never realised there were so many advantages attached to a betrothal.’
‘Well, the point is, Michael, if you were already betrothed your family could hardly expect you to offer for Miss Randall.’
‘Very true. It would be awkward. But the problem with fiancées is that one is expected to marry them.’
Charles downed several slices of ham, his brow creased in thought. He wiped his mouth on his napkin and looked up. ‘You could hire one.’
‘Hire one? One what?’
‘A fiancée! Remember when Greely hired an actress to be his wife so he could inherit from his old uncle in Manchester or some other ungodly place? Worked too; the old man fell for it and Greely got the money. Dare say he had to pay that actress a bundle.’
Michael grinned. A few of the actresses he knew flashed across his mind.
‘That may work very well in Manchester but hardly in London. Where in the world would I find an actress I could hope to pass off in the middle of a London season as my fiancée? Even the best of them couldn’t appear respectable enough to suit my father. Besides, my aunt could sniff out an impostor at ten paces!’
‘Maybe you could find a foreign actress.’
‘Good God, no! My father
